Page 40 of Star-Crossed Captive
Grey shrugged. “They pushed me. I thought they could learn a lesson.”
Mace winced as one of the tyros got cut. Then again. And again.Stars above.“You’re so easy to manipulate when I’m not around. Grey, they’re not ready.”
“I know that. But they didn’t.”
“They’re going to kill each other slowly with flesh wounds. They’ll bleed from scratches overnight and be dead by morning.”
“I did call in a couple of medics,” Grey jerked his chin to the side, “but told them to stay put until something serious happened.”
The pair of medics seemed to exist in a constant state of wince, one covering his face with his hands and peeking through his fingers, the other with her shoulders hunched by her ears.
One more slice, and another gasp, and Mace had had enough. “Hold!” he shouted over the din of hisses and groans. Panting, everyone stopped their sparring.
Mace strode to the pair he’d been watching, Shand and Freya, and the rest of the tyros formed a loose circle around them.
“What the hell?” Mace asked, grabbing Shand’s arm to examine the cut along his knuckles. “Why did you take the slash?”
“When using knives, expect to get cut, sir,” Shand replied, keeping his eyes straight ahead.
“Did Sub-Commander Grey spout that bullshit to you?” Mace asked, not needing to look at Grey to know the answer.
“No, sir.”
“Do you know why he would never spout that bullshit to you?”
“No, sir.”
“Because it’s bullshit.” Mace directed his next to the whole crowd. “Expect to get cut doesn’t meanallowyourself to get cut. Who here is unharmed at this point? Who doesn’t have a cut on them?”
No one raised their hands.
Mace shook his head, then glanced at Grey briefly. “We’re going to need more medics.”
His friend shrugged.
Mace returned his focus on his students. “Who here wants to learn how to use a knife?”
They all raised their hands.
“First lesson: a knife isn’t in your hand touse. It’s there to kill. Don’t fool yourself. You’re never going to waltz up to your enemy and have a knife fight like you’re having right now, with dainty-ass jabs and pretty slices of flesh. In battle, we use a knife to kill, not injure. Now, if that’salwaysyouronlyobjective, answer me this: who here is ready to learn how to wield a knife?”
No one raised their hands.
Mild surprise whipped through Mace. “Smart unit. Put the knives away. Get your wounds seen to, then clean up your sorry asses. I don’t want to see your faces again until this evening after your schooling. Dismissed.”
The tyros scattered, tossing their knives into the cleaning stations in the bulkhead and forming two neat lines to await their turn with the medics.
Mace ran his hand through his hair and stared at Grey. His friend’s mouth quirked at the corner before he said, “And they learned their lesson.”
Nia knew, without turning around, Mace had returned to collect her. She didn’t need Sorley’s back straightening, the slow nod he gave toward the door as he sat beside Kilian’s bed, or the soft, “Yes, sir,” from Elec. She would have known from the way the air in the medical bay shifted and changed with Mace’s presence.
The regenerator held firmly in her hand, Nia ran it over the girl’s knee once more, ignoring the intrusion. “And straighten it,” she encouraged, and the girl responded by resting her knee flat against the bed. “Good job. Almost done.”
She began at the top of the kneecap again, making sure all the ligaments were repaired and the dislocated knee joint was healed to her satisfaction.
Assisting the girl off the med bed and discharging her into her mother’s care, she then went to Kilian’s side to make sure he was comfortable. She didn’t have to, but derived perverse pleasure in making her warder wait—and felt his eyes on her the entire time.
After stalling as long as she could, Nia turned to the door and met Mace’s gaze. His brow was furrowed, eyes sharp, and she broke his stare to take off her white jacket and hang it on the hook by the door.
