By the time training ended, I was fairly certain Lyssairia had succeeded in rearranging every bone in my body through sheer determination.
I stumbled through the doorway of her house with all the grace of a dying animal, my legs trembling, my shoulders aching, and my dignity dragging somewhere behind me in the dirt.
Lyssairia stepped in after me, looking, infuriatingly, as composed as ever. Not a strand of hair out of place. Not a trace of strain in her breathing.
I hated that.
She leaned her practice blade against the wall and rolled one shoulder before glancing my way.
"There will be no training tomorrow."
I stopped halfway to my room and turned to stare at her.
For a long moment, I said nothing.
Then I narrowed my eyes.
"...Are you sick?"
Lyssairia's ears twitched sharply in irritation.
"That," she said flatly, "is not the response I expected."
I shifted the pillow under my arm and kept staring. "You expect me to believe you suddenly chose mercy?"
