Liss Corran stood ten paces away in the yard, and she was already copying him.
The sun was still low over the east wall, and the stones of the yard were cold through the soles of his boots.
Calen had not said begin. He had only shifted his weight onto his back foot, the way he always did before a stance. She had shifted hers.
“Stop,” he said.
She stopped with her weight on the back foot, the same as his. Her hands sat low over her belt. Her face was flat and still, the way it always was when she did not want to be read.
“This is the Mirror Drill,” said Calen. “I move. You move the same, every line and every step.”
“Every line,” said Liss. “Every step.”
Her words came back to him word for word, the way they always did. Calen noted it and said nothing.
