It was a solid hit to his chest. As he started to fall farther forward, she brought her elbow down on the back of his neck. He grunted at impact and bent double, but didn’t go to the ground. “Good,” he said. “Harder though, especially if it’s not me you’re fighting.” He grabbed her calf and jerked her legs out from under her. “And don’t let words distract you,” he half teased as she hit the floor of the fight room they’d reserved for the morning. She stayed on the floor, staring up, holding Belias’ gaze. He was smiling, happy, and relaxed when it was just the two of them. In The City, he had a role to fill, a duty he took far more seriously than most daimons of their age, but Belias’ father had died when he was young, so he’d always had a somberness to him. It was one of the things she’d decided she liked when she was told he’d be her spouse: he seemed more like a man than most daimons of their caste. As she rolled to her side and came to her feet, she asked, “Have you ever thought about Marchosias’ Competition?”
