by A. K. Wilder
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It makes me jump, and one of the plates slips from my hand, clattering to the ground.
Did you hear that?
The heat from the fire stops me as I back away, eyes glued on the window. My imagination?
“Definitely not.”
Without looking, I reach behind, fumbling for the hilt of the poker. I grip it tight and shove it into the fire, sparks flying up the chimney. I may not have master-level sword skills, but a molten shaft will make anyone think twice, won’t it?
“Anyone or anything?” My inner voice isn’t panicked like me; but it’s not saying I’m being silly, either.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I brandish the red-hot poker in front of me, keeping my back to the fire. As my arm begins to shake, the door opens.
“Ash?”
“Kaylin!” I spin toward him, then return to my guard position, weapon pointing at the window. His casual smile evaporates and he’s at my side, sword out of the scabbard in a split second. How does he move so fast?
“It’s here again,” I say in a hoarse whisper. “I think it’s watching me.”
“Did you see?”
“No, but I heard it. Outside on the ledge. Tapping.”
He exhales a hissing breath. “I’ll check the room.”
Kaylin keeps his sword raised toward the window while he backs to the en suite and glances in. He scans every corner, eyes like a cat’s, then advances to the curtains, opening them wide in a flourish. Nothing.
“It’s gone.”
“But it was here.”
“I don’t doubt you, lass.” He sheaths his sword and puts more wood on the fire, lights a few candles. “Gone now,” he says again in his comforting accent.
Slowly, I return the poker to its stand, the foreboding still hanging around the edges of my mind. “It woke me up.” Somehow that doesn’t cover the terror I still feel.
“Aye, lass.” Kaylin rinses the teapot and fills it with chamomile, lavender, and lemon balm, a healer’s potion for sleep. The steam wafts over the room while it steeps, but I’m tense as lute strings anyway.
He chats about his day, asks me about mine. I’m still so anxious I can hardly follow the conversation. I know he’s trying to make me feel better, but in the end, nothing does. I’m scared out of my wits and ashamed to admit it.
“There’s no shame in it at all, lass. Your mind is trying to protect you.” And then Kaylin sighs. “Sleep is the only thing that will help.”
I stare at him, unblinking. “I can’t possibly sleep.”
“You can, Ash.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I will stand guard over you.”
Oh.
When I think about it, the headlands, the Aturnian attack, it’s true. Whatever’s doing the tapping, having Kaylin between me and it is comforting.
He pulls down the bedcovers, holding them open for me to climb in. “Come. Sleep.”
I keep my sweater on, and my pants, slipping out of my sheepskin-lined house boots. I am tired. But still, it’s another moment before I can climb into my bed. “Are you going to watch over me for the rest of the night?”
“That I am.” He blows out the candles.
In the dark, I hear his sword belt undo and the weapon being set against the nightstand. The rustle of fabric comes next.
Fear of the unknown hasn’t left me; it’s just being replaced by a whole new set of things to think about.
Such as the fact he’s climbing into bed. My bed.
“He did say he would stand guard over you for the rest of the night.”
Yes, but this is not the same thing!
Body flushed with something that feels a lot like excitement, I roll away, onto my side. When he says sleep, I know he means just that—sleep. But that doesn’t stop the swarm of butterflies battering my insides. Especially not when Kaylin’s bare arms wrap around me, holding me tight against his chest.
And this is supposed to make it easier to nod off? After forcing my lungs through the motion of a few deep breaths I manage, “Thank you.”
“It’s no trouble at all, lass.”
My fingers and toes are tingling, a smile on my lips.
And amid that warmth and comfort, my lids grow heavy and I let them close.
…
I stir the next morning, perfectly rested even though it’s barely past dawn, the daylight filtering honey gold through the lightly draped window. I stretch, long and satisfying, until remembering the events of the night before—the tapping, brandishing my poker, Kaylin sleeping next to me—and freeze.
I swallow noisily and peer over the pillow. He’s still here, asleep beside me. At least, his eyes are closed, and his chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm. I’ve never seen him so still.
As if he hears that thought, Kaylin shifts, and the covers slide down, exposing his broad shoulders and chest. I prop myself up on an elbow and study him. His body is flawless, surprising for someone who fights as much as he does. His hands aren’t hatched with scars, and his chest and abdomen have neither scab nor blemish from the fight on the headlands or with the Aturnian scouts. I frown, looking closer. Surely a mark somewhere?
He opens his eyes. “You would prefer me marred?”
I jump. Had I spoken aloud? “I prefer you just as you are.” I pull the covers up to my neck as I speak, which I know is silly, since I’m wearing day clothes and a sweater over the top. Plus, we swam together with me much more exposed. Nothing about my form can surprise him. Still…
He frowns. “That remains to be seen.”
I puzzle for a moment, not understanding his meaning. “Cryptic this morning, aren’t you?”
He changes the subject. “You slept well?”
“I did. Thank you for the comfort.”
“Tonight’s the night.”
I give him a shaky smile. “We’ll either find the text we need or get caught with a whole lot of explaining to do. What could go wrong?”
Kaylin chuckles. “It won’t go so bad as that.”
My smile fades and we go silent without a note of awkwardness for once, just a mutual gaze, a communion of sorts.
He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Beautiful,” he whispers.
As is he, not that I can manage to grasp any of the many words I know to express this. Not with the way his eyes hold me captive.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, as if he can hear my inner struggle.
Before I can embarrass myself further, the moment breaks with a start and we both sit up, listening.
Was that a scratching at the window? My eyes go wide. Is the tapping back?
Kaylin motions for me to stay put while he leaps soundlessly from the bed and finds his sword, slowly drawing it from the scabbard. I creep from the bed and pick up the fire poker. Kaylin checks, but there’s nothing at the window. We listen intently until someone bangs on the door and I jump out of my skin.
Kaylin is there in an instant, shirtless in his drawstring pants, brandishing his curved blade. I follow him, gripping the poker. He throws open the door wide and his shoulders relax, sword lowers.
I peek around him to see who it is.
“Marcus?” I finger-comb my hair, wondering if he will start lecturing me about the protocols what with Kaylin’s bed neatly made and mine rumpled, but Marcus isn’t noticing anything of the kind. He’s completely preoccupied.
“I have to talk to Ash.” Marcus waves aside Kaylin’s sword and strides into the room, wild eyed, not asking why we have weapons in hand. He sits at the table and lifts the lid on the cold teapot.
“You look awful,” I say. “Have you not slept?”
“How can I?” Marcus scrubs his face. “Is there hot water? Tea?”
I pick up th
e empty jug. “I’ll get it.”
“Let me.” Kaylin takes it and slips out the door, leaving us alone to talk.
“What’s happened, Marcus?”
He stares at me, his eyes red, expression strained. “I can’t do it.”
I sit opposite him and push the plate of leftover bread and cheese in his direction. “Nonsense. What can’t you do?”
“I can’t control my phantom or glean an iota of respect from him, or Zarah for that matter. At this rate, I’ll never receive my yellow robes.”
“You’ve been at it only a week, Marcus. You passed the eliminations, and you’ll continue with your training every day. That’s why we are here.” I pull my hair back into a neat ponytail. “There’s plenty of time.”
“That’s just it. Yuki herself gave us a new deadline. Just under three weeks and we have to leave, with or without yellow robes.”
My mouth drops open. “I thought we had another month at least.”
“So did I. The freeze is predicted to come early. Bone Throwers called the deadline.” He pulls at his tangled hair. “He’s like a petulant child, Ash.”
“De’ral?” I whisper the phantom’s name, expecting to be admonished for using it.
Marcus only nods. “Whatever I do has no effect. When I ask for help, Zarah all but laughs. She still calls me Baiseen, and not in a flattering way.”
“I’ve heard her.” And I’ve felt the sting on Marcus’s behalf every time.
“I’m the joke of the class.” Marcus lets his face fall forward onto the table and leaves it there, golden hair spilling over the placemat. “You can’t deny it.” His voice is muffled. “You’ve been there for almost all of it.”
“Warrior phantoms take the most work. You have to give the relationship time to develop, and if there isn’t enough time, you’ll just have to work harder.” I get out of my seat and haul him up. On this journey, I’m both recorder and his best friend. “This is why you’re here, Marcus. To train. To compete. To accomplish.”
He frowns but gives a small nod.
“Baiseen needs you, Marcus. And your phantom.” Strength comes out of my depths and into my voice. “Don’t speak another word about failure or compare yourself to anyone else. Talk only about what you will achieve.” I rub his back as I speak. “And relax. If you’re this tense, your phantom will be, too.”
Kaylin returns with freshly boiled water, and I make a strong pot of Ochee. The scent of spices fills the room.
“Maybe today, Marcus. Tomorrow or the next day at the latest. Things will start to look up. You’ve just had a tough beginning, and he is a very strong phantom.” I look at Kaylin, thinking he might add something, strange as it is, us non-savants in the role of mentors.
He joins us at the table and surprises me with his insight. “At the core of your being, the phantom and you are one. That’s where you will find communion”—he sets out mugs in front of us—“and build the relationship from a shared heart.”
Marcus lifts his head and studies him carefully. “Odd that you know this.”
They have a moment where neither of them blink or turn away. I don’t know what passes between them, but eventually Marcus says, “It makes sense.”
Kaylin shrugs, handing him a plate of fresh bread.
Marcus tears off a piece and layers on the butter. His eyes glance over the room and back to us both. “I didn’t see either of you at dinner last night.”
“We had it up here.” Kaylin brightens. “We’re planning a—”
“Map!” I cut in before he spills our plot to break into the library. “For the records.”
Marcus nods. “You’re doing great work, Ash. I only wish I was doing better.”
“And you will be soon.”
“Tell him of the shadow? The tapping?”
My inner voice seems fine either way, but I don’t know if I should burden Marcus with the updates.
“If such a burden throws him, how will he ever hold the throne of Baiseen?”
Point. But no, Marcus doesn’t need to worry about this now. Not on top of everything else.
Marcus stops chewing and looks to Kaylin. “The phantom and I are one?”
“At the core,” Kaylin says.
Marcus downs his tea and rises. “You’re right, the both of you. I need to work harder, connect deeper. That’s all there is to it.” He’s at the door before I can stand. “First bell’s in an hour. I’ll see you on the training field.” He nods to Kaylin and then he’s gone.
The door shuts, leaving us in a moment of silence.
“Marcus isn’t usually so abrupt,” I say eventually.
“I know.”
We finish our breakfast, putting the final touches on our secret plan. Next thing I know, Kaylin is pulling on his shirt and threading his sword belt through the loops in his pants.
“You’re off?”
“Aye, off a-hunting.” He leans close but doesn’t touch me. “Could take a while. I’ll see you tonight.”
I wonder if he’s going to track down the shadow that haunts my room. And I’m not sure which I’m hoping for more—a successful hunt that rids me of the danger, or an excuse to keep him close another night, with his arms protectively around me.
44
Ash
The late morning sun hits the training field with pale golden rays but offers no warmth. If it weren’t for morning ritual followed by hot porridge, and the anticipation of our library break-in, my teeth would be chattering, quill hand shaking.
As it is, my blood’s running hot and I’m content on the sidelines, writing board in my lap, noting the highlights of Marcus’s and Belair’s class right along with half a dozen other recorders. The students have come in from running the perimeter, and steam rises from their robes.
I note how Belair is improving, his link to the red cat progressing quite naturally. But I also see him holding back in subtle ways, allowing Marcus to, if not shine, then at least appear to keep up.
I think our carefree Tangeen is more loyal to the Heir than he first appeared.
“Loyal, or prudent?” my inner voice asks.
It’s a fair question. Are Marcus and Belair becoming fast friends, or is the Tangeen thinking ahead, fortifying the relationship between our realms? A bit of both? I finish my entry and look up at the head of the class.
Bucheen is there, arms wide, keeping the students’ attention as she talks about the ins and outs of phantoms, literally.
“It’s always a push in. Don’t expect the resistance to diminish until you’ve had years of practice. Instead, expect your ability and sensitivity to improve gradually. You will become proficient over time, I promise.” Bucheen rolls up her sleeves. “Two things to know.” She holds up her first finger. “The longer you stay in your phantom’s perspective, the more of it remains with you. This can be beneficial, and it can also be dangerous. If you lose your sense of self, you will not be able to bring it to ground.” She pops up her second finger and narrows her eyes. “Secondly, getting in is easy compared to getting out. You can find yourself…”
She pauses, searching for the right word. In my mind, I think, hesitant, reluctant, resistant?
“Attached,” she finally says, “especially in battle. This is a great asset, as long as you stay in control. Lose it and you could lose your life.”
The students stay silent while they nod for more.
“Make no mistake. If your phantom is overcome, sent to ground when you are fully immersed in their perspective, then peace be your path.” She holds us all with her fierce gaze. “When your phantom is injured and starts to succumb, there is only one thing you can do.” She crosses her arms. “Anyone?”
Cyres raises her hand and Bucheen nods at her.
“You get out,” the girl says with just the right amount of conviction. “Before your phantom
’s wounds disable you.”
“That’s right. You move out of phantom perspective as if your life depends on it, because it does. Questions?”
The class stirs, but no one raises their hand.
Bucheen bows to Zarah. “I hope to never see any of you in the infirmary.” She looks at Marcus and Belair. “Again.”
I rest my eyes on Marcus. You better be soaking this up. He doesn’t give me so much as a glance, but I know he appreciates my support. Marcus has sworn to train twice as hard as the others, get up before first bell, study late into the night, and that’s definitely going in the records. Belair’s, too. He’s working hard right beside Marcus, but I know it’s Marcus who leads. I tap my chin. The results may take the scant number of days they have left, but I have faith. His newfound resolve will make all the difference, and the instructors see promise or he wouldn’t still be here.
Mistress Zarah claps her hands and off they go to do two more laps. Marcus, as usual, struggles with De’ral. He’s going red in the face, yet again taking the brunt of Zarah’s reprimands. I don’t blame him for being furious. She is not kind. Belair and his beautiful leopard move off last, then slow to give Marcus a chance to catch up. But De’ral stays seated and crosses his arms. I’ve never seen a phantom sulk like this. “What is the matter with you, De’ral?”
My mind fills with an image of a raven in a small gold cage. It’s overwhelming, my body feeling caged, just as the black bird. I have to take a few breaths to calm down. Whatever’s happening, I need to accept it. And, use it. “You’re feeling imprisoned? By Marcus?” I ask De’ral.
The raven beats his wings against the bars.
“It would seem he is,” my inner voice observes.
I look over my shoulder to see if anyone else is seeing what I see, but they all have their heads down as they write and sketch. The only others here are Marcus, who jogs off, and his lump-of-a-grump phantom who stares straight at me.
“Go on, De’ral.” I send an image of a horse cantering proudly around a large field. “Do as Marcus asks. If you work together, you won’t feel so trapped.”
