Vegard and four other Guardians arranged themselves around the room. The rest remained outside to stand guard.

Tam stood in the center of the dueling circle and made no move to come toward me. “You should be resting.”

“I slept for nearly ten hours and stayed in my room for most of the day.” I thought I wouldn’t mention that “my room” had in fact been Mychael’s bedroom. “I’ve had enough rest. I can’t afford to be stiff or slow.”

“You can’t afford to be hurt again.”

“Too late for that. Sarad Nukpana isn’t going to cut me any slack, so neither am I. That means neither are you. Tam, you know it as well as I do—either I’m deadly or I’m dead.”

Tam tossed me a pair of goggles identical to his own. I was good, Tam was better, and our practice blades weren’t killing sharp, but accidents happened. To risk losing an eye in a practice session was just plain stupid. And it’d be careless after what’d happened with the Reapers for me not to warm up first. Even with all the healing Mychael had done, my muscles were still stiff and sore. Tam waited patiently as I stretched out. He’d probably already stretched. Though who was I kidding? Tam and jungle cats—they didn’t stretch; they just attacked.

I sat on the floor and started stretching. Tam pulled a chair close to me and sat, his elbows resting on spread knees, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. I groaned silently. I knew what that meant.

Tam wanted to talk. Tam never wanted to talk. He was manipulative, secretive, and you couldn’t get a straight answer even if you could choke it out of him, but when Tam wanted to know something, he was relentless.

I didn’t need our umi’atsu bond to know what he wanted to talk about. With the closeness of our bond, he probably knew everything that had happened to me. I was about to find out how much “everything” included.

“You nearly died,” he said quietly.

“What, no small talk first?”

“Reapers are nothing to joke about.”

I stopped stretching and looked up at him. “Tam, if joking keeps me from screaming and curling up in a corner, then I’m going to keep it up. If I joke or think about it as little as I have to, I might not need a padded room.”

“Understood. But you shouldn’t have attacked them.”

I flexed my foot back, stretching my calf, and pain shot up my leg. I winced, and stretched it again, slower. “Yeah, my hindsight works real good. It’s seeing into the future that I can’t do.” I lowered my voice. Vegard was the only Guardian in the room who knew my dad’s identity. “I didn’t know he could defend himself against those things. He’s my dad, Tam. I’m not going to lose him.”

Tam was silent. He knew all about losing people he loved. He’d been married while at the goblin court. His wife had been a duchess, making Tam a duke by marriage, a title he retained after her death—murder, actually. Tam blamed it on his ambition; her family blamed it on Tam.

“You don’t want to lose your father,” Tam said quietly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Tam wasn’t just talking about a Reaper sucking my soul out.

Until the Saghred was a pile of dust, the rock and I were a package deal. Wanting me would get Tam killed; the Saghred would get him damned. I was determined that neither one was going to happen.

Tam was a dark mage. I knew what that meant, and none of it was good. For a dark mage, power was an addiction, and the more power they got, the more they wanted—and the more they were willing to do to get it.

Like use objects of power such as the Saghred. I’d been resisting its temptations ever since it latched onto me. A dark mage wouldn’t have resisted. I’d always told myself that whatever Tam had done while in the goblin court, he’d done it to survive. Maybe. When Tam left the goblin court, he’d gotten help for his addiction. Call it what you will—intervention, black-magic rehab—Tam had fought his way back from the brink. I wasn’t going to be the cause of his relapse.

I stood up. “Then let’s work on making Mid a safer place for everyone.”

Tam moved the chair out of the dueling circle. I put on the goggles and pulled on a pair of padded leather fencing gloves. I drew my swords and exchanged them for the pair of practice blades Tam had laid out on a table for me.

“What are we working on today?” I asked him.

Tam pulled his goggles down. “The same thing we worked on last time.”

“What? I didn’t get it right?”

“You got it right twice.” He put on his fencing gloves. “You need to get it right on instinct, not thought. Last time I could still sense you thinking—and if I could sense it, Sarad will, too.”

I swore softly.

“That’s why we’re only working on four moves,” Tam reminded me. “You don’t have time to perfect any more. You’ve got the first three down, one more to go.”

Since I knew my way around a blade and was good at adapting my fighting style to my opponent, Tam was teaching me four down-and-dirty moves using goblin blades. Really dirty moves. Moves that I could throw into a fight and if I was quick enough and lucky enough—and if Sarad Nukpana was solid enough—I just might get to skewer the goblin.

That moment would be a dream come true.

Goblin swords were both stabbing and slashing weapons. Goblins used two blades as naturally as breathing, like extensions of their arms. They were taught from an early age. Elf children played with building blocks; goblins learned to spin blades.

Tam stood facing me, his hands by his side, his blades angled toward the floor. He looked relaxed. I knew better. When Tam had swords in his hands, relaxed meant ready.

In our lessons, Tam always made the first move.

Change is good. Dirty is better.

I sauntered toward him like I was just getting into position to go on guard. Then I lunged, my blades dropped to block his, and my heel came down hard on his instep. Tam hissed and I pivoted sharply to the right, intending to pommel strike his ribs and dart the hell out of range.

Darting didn’t happen. Neither did the pommel strike.

Tam’s leather-clad arms pinned my arms—and swords—to my sides. His blades were up and crossed entirely too close to my face for any kind of comfort.

So much for striking and darting.

“Well, shit,” I said mildly. “That could have worked better.”

“My foot thinks it worked quite well.” I heard the pained grimace in his voice. “Nicely done.” Leather creaked as his arms tightened around me, and his voice lowered to a teasing purr. “The rest of me agrees. This is more than pleasant. Now, how do you propose to get away from me?”

“What?”

Vegard was here, so I knew Tam wouldn’t actually try anything, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t play with me like a mouse.

Sarad Nukpana would do the same thing.

Tam was right. He couldn’t let me go.

“You chose the game, darling. I didn’t.” His lips were near the tip of my ear. “Escape from me, and feel free to do whatever you have to—” He froze, then inhaled, taking my scent. “Mychael.”

My heart did a double thump. Goblins had a predator’s sense of smell. “Mychael what?”

“I can smell him on you.” Tam inhaled again, deeper. “All over you.”

I sighed. I’d really wanted to avoid this. “You said it yourself, those Reapers almost killed me. Mychael healed me. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be alive and standing here for you to sniff.”

Tam was silent for a few moments. “Mychael told me that your injuries were quite extensive—covering nearly your entire body.”

“So was the healing he had to do.”

“I’m familiar with the process.” Tam’s voice was flat and emotionless. “How long?”

I wasn’t going to lie to him. “Ten hours. Seven for healing, three for sleep.”

“In bed.” He paused. “Together. And bare skin works best.”

“Yes,” I said simply. “Tam, I—”

“Mychael did what he had to do.” Tam’s warm breath exhaled against my ear. “I am grateful for his talent—and that he was there when you needed him.”