I’d made the right decision. Although the desire to sneak away to see the camp for myself throbbed in my heart. Even if I hadn’t given my word not to escape, I wouldn’t be able to go very far before Kerrick dragged me back.

The knowledge that my choice was based in logic failed to remove the sharp knife of pain in my chest. Over the next couple days, I picked at my food, and stayed under my blankets as much as I could.

On the third day, Belen hauled me to my feet and cajoled me into leaving the cave. I squinted into the bright sunshine as fingers of cold air stroked my face and ruffled my hair. Loren and Quain practiced sparring with sticks instead of swords. Flea napped in a patch of sunshine. Kerrick, of course, was gone to I-couldn’t-care-less.

“See that target?” Belen asked.

A red circle had been painted on a tree trunk about forty feet away. “Yes.”

“Here.” Belen handed me my knives. “Even though my memories are fuzzy, I seem to recall someone needs to work on her aim.”

I stared at the daggers. Both gleamed. I wondered which one had embedded into that man’s thigh.

“That someone is you, Avry,” Belen said. “Try to hit the target with the knife.”

“I’m not in the mood for this. Maybe later…”

He refused to take the weapons or to move out of my way.

“You’re not going back to the cave until you hit the target,” he said.

I glared, but he remained unaffected. “Fine.” I grasped the end of the blade and threw the knife. It missed. So did the next one and the next and the five after that. Frustration welled. Focusing, I pushed all distracting thoughts and problems to the side and concentrated on the red circle. The knife hit the target and bounced off.

“There. I hit it.” I moved to leave.

Belen’s huge hand clamped onto my shoulder, stopping me in midstep. “Not so fast. It has to stick.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Too bad. So sad. Try again.”

My aim had improved, but none of the blades would pierce the bark. “It’s too far for me. I’m not strong enough.” My voice whined. Normally, I would have been appalled. Not today.

“No. You’re not putting enough heat behind it.”

“Heat?”

“Yeah, heat.” Belen scratched his arm as he searched for the right words. “Heat like energy, desire, emotion. Think of that target as a giant spider and then throw the knife.”

“I like spiders.”

“Then think of it as something you don’t like. A snake or a Death Lily. Anything.”

I aimed at the red circle and imagined an image on the tree’s trunk. Anger and annoyance in equal measure flowed through me. Whipping the knife, I put heat into the throw. A satisfying thunk sounded.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Belen said. “What did you think of? The Death Lily or the snake?”

“Neither.” Could I do it a second time? Conjuring up the feelings the image evoked, I sent the second blade deep into the trunk next to the other.

“Nice. See, you are strong enough.”

I pulled the knives from the bark, returned to Belen’s side and buried them both again.

“You got it. What gave you the motivation?”

“Kerrick’s face inside that target.” I sucked in a deep breath. Pain no longer stabbed quite so deep. Perhaps I needed to throw a few dozen more knives right between his eyes.

“That’s not nice,” Belen scolded.

“Too bad.” Thunk. “So sad.” Thunk.

“At least you’re smiling again. Think you can hit a moving target?”

“Maybe.”

“For any task, you need two things above all else. Confidence and practice. When you have those two, you can do anything.”

“A cheesy motivational quote. Kill. Me. Now.”

“Being nasty will only prolong your knife-throwing lesson.”

I shrugged. “Not like I’m doing anything else.”

“You could be running laps to get into shape. Climbing the Nine Mountains is strenuous in any weather, but particularly difficult in the winter.”

Ugh. “Sorry. How do you plan to mimic a moving target?”

“Quain rigged up a board with some ropes. Quain, are you ready to take a break?”

He and Loren finished their bout.

“Yeah, I’m tired of winning,” Quain said, wiping the sweat that dripped off his smooth head.

“You call that winning? I’d call it barely keeping up.” Loren’s red face and damp tunic told another story.

Flea woke, stretched and yawned. “Yep, that was a super exciting match. I’m glad you guys invited me to observe—I needed to catch up on my sleep.” He ducked as they flung their sticks at him.

We all walked to an area that had a long thin line of sight. At the end, a square piece of wood with a red circle on it hung down from the trees. Quain wrapped his arms and legs around a tree’s trunk and climbed into the lower limbs.

“Ready,” Quain said.

“Start slow,” Belen ordered. “Side-to-side motion.”

Quain yanked on the ropes, causing the board to sway.

“It’s all in the timing,” Belen said to me. “The aim and throw are the same, but now you need to release the knife at just the right moment.”

Flea and Loren watched. Guess I would have an audience. Yippee. Gripping the blade, I counted beats as the board swung one full circuit. No real reason why, just seemed like the thing to do. It didn’t work. After a few misses, I clipped the wood. I adjusted my timing and had another near hit.