Lyra's POV
The sword felt awkward and heavy in my hand, almost slipping off as I raised it gently to the air.
I folded my other hand around the first, tightening my grip on the sword, and I dropped slowly into a stance I had seen Zarek do when he fought Draziel.
I looked up at Draziel, feets away from me in the training ground. He held a long, thick wooden cane in his hand. He watched me carefully, his eyes solemn, his look cold. He didn't look like he wanted to teach me anything. He looked like he wanted to beat the idea out of me.
My fingers quivered around the sword, making it shake in my hands. Why did I even agree to this damn idea? Though I needed to be able to protect myself, it was going to take years of training to kill an ordinary demon, not to mention the guards and Zarek. And years—I shook my head sadly—was something I didn't have. Damn. I wish I could back out of this, but I can't. I stared into his cold eyes again. I couldn't let him win.
