Hollis
“No, anchor your fingers at your ear.” I yank Ty’s elbow back until his fingers are at least near his ear. The young noble from Tansy Beach trembles.
‘It’s like he’s never lifted a f*****g weapon.’ I growl at Zain.
‘He probably hasn’t,’ Zain replies. ‘Tansy Beach is weird about human fighting.’
“Breathe and release,” I say to the kid anyway.
His breath shudders out from between pursed lips, and his fingers slip off the string, knocking the arrow loose. It falls in the grass at his feet as the bowstring twangs.
“Ow!” he yelps.
“I told you to watch your grip.” If I stick with him a second longer, I’m going to take his f*****g head off, so I turn to the next delegate in the line of archers Zain and I are ostensibly training with.
Training? Certainly. With, not so much.
The nob
