by Alex Lidell
“What bloody world do you live in, Coal? You won’t be capable of so much as wiping your arse with that arm in a few days. And you are the one who got yourself into that mess to begin with.”
“Lera—” Arisha starts to say.
“No. Coal can keep his votes of no confidence to himself.” My gaze snaps back to the male. “I was patrolling by myself for a month before you came along. And I will keep doing it.”
Coal’s eyes darken as I speak, and now his lips pull back, showing the sharp canines my amulet tries to tell me aren’t there. “Like hell you will.”
“Exactly. Like hell I will.” My words escape through clenched teeth, the flame of frustration that started with sleepless nights and fed on Sage’s death-trapping stupidity shifting into a full-on bonfire. I step toward Coal until we’re nose to nose. “You were invited to the guild to help, not to order me about. As for what you are actually capable of just now—that would be an extra dead body at best and a liability at worst.”
Coal’s furious body heat washes over me. I don’t know who’s he angrier at: me for pointing out the obvious, or himself for still being injured. In the corner of my narrowing vision, Arisha throws her arms protectively around her precious manuscripts, while Gavriel inconspicuously gathers up his china teapot.
“Get out of my way,” I say simply.
“Master Coal—” Gavriel starts, probably feeling the brittleness of every single thousand-year-old book page surrounding us. One breath could blow them to dust, let alone two raging immortals. “Tempers seem to be—”
Coal slams the heel of his palm on the tabletop. “Go out alone tonight, Cadet, and I’ll ensure you regret it.” His eyes are blue lightning, and I have no doubt he means every word.
Unfortunately, so do I.
Nothing.
I’ve patrolled every inch of the forest around Great Falls, north to the great thundering waterfall itself and south to the borders of the village, and all I’ve found is a big fat nothing.
Normally, I’d have stumbled upon a herd of Yocklols at least, maybe a few slobbering sclices, or a rippling shadow that speaks to something lurking in the forbidding gloom. Normally, I’d have had a perfectly reasonable shot at stunning or killing something to drag back and drop at River’s feet.
But not tonight. Just silent woods, soft leaves underfoot, and the warm weight of Shade’s wolf at my side.
It’s almost as if they knew I was coming.
As dark night lightens to a silvery gray, the huge wall of the Academy comes into view. I curse softly, scaring an owl from its roost. I don’t resent the night of missed sleep—I needed a break from Coal’s dark, bloodstained memories anyway—but I do resent what I just risked for this big fat nothing.
Fortunately, I don’t think Coal spotted me going out—which I judge mostly by the fact that no blond bastard tried to tackle me as I left. Much as it grates me to appear to have appeased the overbearing male, I’ve enough wits to know that a physical confrontation with Coal wouldn’t end well for either of us. So I was beyond careful when I snuck out my window and across the grounds, keeping to only the deepest shadows, grateful for the slim crescent moon as I climbed the stone wall. And I’ll take the same precautions now. I know how to remain hidden. For all the good it did me tonight.
Shade pants lightly and presses against my leg—a warning. A guardsman paces across the top of the wall in front of us with torch in hand, silhouetted against the lightening sky. The tunnel it is.
And then a long day of acting completely normal around Coal—and plotting my next move to get River the proof he needs. To do something.
4
Lera
“What in the name of all the stars is this nonsense?” Stopping a few paces short of the training corral for the morning class, Arisha watches Coal spin-kick a post, each blow shaking the wood. The male’s left arm is bound tightly to his shirtless body, the other up in defense. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the warrior had simply taken one arm out of action for training purposes. Certainly, Coal gives no evidence of feeling the agony that must shoot down his bones with every vibration.
His muscles dance under his damp skin, sculpted to perfection. I’d enjoy the view if I didn’t see fury in every twitch. If I didn’t know the idiot was doing greater damage each time he struck.
“That’s Coal being Coal,” I murmur, dread starting to sink into me in cold waves. Something has changed between last night and this morning.
“Do you think he is trying to prove his arm isn’t actually broken? Or that broken bones don’t matter?” Arisha winces, a long whistle-like sound coming from her lips. “Ow, ow, ow. Stars. Who does he imagine is daft enough to believe either anyway?”
Watching moisture bead on Coal’s temples, I shake my head. With the morning chill, the sweat is from pain alone. “He’s proving himself to himself,” I say very quietly. The other gray-clad students now crowd the fence, taking in Coal with wide eyes. “Coal doesn’t tolerate any kind of shackles well.”
“You don’t think he knows you…” Arisha makes a running motion with her fingers.
“No. Of course not. I mean, I don’t see how he could.” Not even Arisha knew I’d left last night until I was back. Is it possible that, somehow, in spite of evading my own roommate’s notice, I still didn’t manage to evade Coal’s?
“I heard Lieutenant Coal started a b-b-brawl with the guards,” says one of the male cadets, a lean red-haired boy named Kirill who rarely speaks when the royals are around. With Katita, Puckler, and Rik all now training with Han, the cadet seems to have found his courage. “No one could stop it, until River himself came on horseback.”
“I’ve always known Coal isn’t fully sane,” Vivian confides in a whisper loud enough to be heard across the continent. “You can see it in his eyes.”
“I didn’t realize you’d ever looked up enough from Coal’s britches to notice that the man had eyes,” another boy calls from behind us, inciting a ripple of laughter that strikes my hearing distantly.
The more I take in Coal’s taut tendons, the harsh lines of his face, and the glistening beads of pain-spurred sweat, the louder a cold ringing in my ears becomes. One thing I’m certain of is that whatever is happening, it will get no better with time.
Might as well get this over with.
Without waiting to see how Vivian’s conversation continues, I vault over the railing, landing softly on the sand beside Coal. The thump, swat, thump of his strikes fill the metallic-scented air between us, the sound appearing to be the only greeting I’m going to get.
Fine. We’ll do this on his time. Tugging down on my gray uniform shirt, I take a step to the side of the corral.
“Osprey, pick a sword,” Coal orders, never slowing his assault on the post. “Everyone else, circle up.”
Arisha raises a questioning brow at me, but I can only shrug in reply.
Gritting my teeth, I walk over to the weapons rack and run my hands over the offerings, looking for the balanced practice blade with a small chip on the handle that I’ve come to favor. With it in hand, I turn to find the rest of the class—now slightly more active without the royals present—already formed up in a large circle around the perimeter of the corral.
Vivian gives me a suspicious look as I brush past her to get into the middle, the other fifteen sets of eyes staring at me with similar uncertainty.
Coal spins a final time, knocking the training post clear off the ground, the thick rope-wrapped wood dropping with a thunk to the sand. Kicking the log out of the way, Coal grabs an hourglass from the top of the weapons rack. He still hasn’t so much as looked at me, and his cold inattention is far worse than shouting would be. “Everyone will have up to three minutes to land a killing blow on Osprey. Anyone failing to do so will run a lap around the Academy. Two laps if you allow her to kill or disarm you before the time is up. Osprey will likewise owe me two laps for each killing blow she receives—though I will wait to collect on that until after the ro
unds.”
My jaw tightens. There are sixteen cadets standing around me. Sixteen.
“What the bloody hell did she do?” Vivian murmurs to Kerill, who gives her a bewildered shrug.
“Osprey.” Coal strides to stand in front of me, finally meeting my gaze with so much force that I almost take a step back. His devastatingly beautiful face is as coolly unreadable as the first time I saw him on the Academy’s training pitch. At least in that instance, his battle of wills hadn’t been personal. “I recommend you end your matches quickly, or our time together will get long quickly.”
Before I can tell him that our time together is already too long, Coal jerks his chin to Vivian. “First in. Grab a weapon and go.”
5
Lera
Giving Coal one final glance, which I infuse with all the ice I can, I focus on the obstacle at hand. Though trained in a similar style to Princess Katita, Vivian is a weaker fighter than the princess—one that I could finish swiftly.
Could. But should?
Whatever happens, I don’t intend to give Coal even the vaguest notion that any of this is anything but a welcome workout. He might think this a lesson to show me the error of my ways, but it isn’t. The bloody real lesson is one I’m about to teach him: I’m strong enough to handle myself, no matter what comes my way. You can take your broken arm out on me all you want, Coal. It’s not changing the fact that I’m a warrior in my own right. And I deserve to be treated that way.
Unless Coal fully understands this now, our time working together is only going to get worse.
So I will ensure he understands, will own every moment of this challenge, and turn Coal’s intended punishment into a favor.
I nod to myself. Coal has just granted me a whole morning of personalized training, and I’m going to be happy about it. In this light, my classmates are here for my sword-swinging pleasure, and Vivian—she is warm-up fodder.
As if sensing she’s just become prey, Vivian tightens her grip on the blade, her olive skin blanched and pretty almond-shaped eyes narrowed in concentration. Deliciously nervous. My nostrils flare, taking in the scent.
“Go,” Coal calls.
I fall into a defensive stance, allowing Vivian to come at me with the high attacks she favors. Left, right, down the middle.
Tap. Tap. Tap. My arm stretches lazily through the parries, the predictable pattern warming my muscles while the grains of the hourglass fall through the chambers. Vivian isn’t bad, exactly, but she is slow. Uncreative. Perfect for my current purpose. Tap. Tap. Tap.
With a few seconds of the match left, I finally hook the blade in Vivian’s hand and pop it free of her grip. The airborne sword makes a wide arc in the air, landing with a soft plop beside Coal’s downed training post. Fitting. Behind me, a slow, tentative clapping skitters around the ring of watching cadets. A corner of my mouth twitches toward a smile while Vivian braces her hands on her thighs and pants, sweat running into her eyes.
I almost feel bad for her. It’s a long way around the Academy—longer still when your lungs and pride hurt.
“One lap, both of you,” Coal calls, quieting the applauding cadets.
“But—” The question is out before I can stop it, the sting of changing rules spurring my pulse the way the match with Vivian failed to.
Coal’s blue gaze is unapologetically level. “You plainly want a warm-up, Osprey. I’m offering you one. Go.”
Bastard.
Swallowing a curse, I fight the urge to launch at him with every nerve in my body, and offer a small bow instead. “That is very considerate of you, sir.” Flashing Coal a smile before he can answer, I jog off to take my lap around the Academy, returning to find the others busy with basic strength training. Trembling arms and sweat-spotted gray uniforms speak of time well spent.
Reclaiming my practice blade to a chorus of poorly hidden sighs of relief from the rest of the group, I settle into a fighting stance, my mind focused. Ready to dance. At Coal’s mark, I let loose my blade, the circle of cadets growing quiet as my ruthless cuts take out one, two, five of their number in under a minute’s time each. Warm blood courses through my veins, my heart keeping beat with the swinging blades. Tap. Tap. Tap. The world beyond the practice pitch falls away, no sound but the thumping blades, my beating heart, and Coal’s curt commands penetrating the bubble.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Through the haze of straining muscles and stinging lungs, the challenge of each new well-rested opponent reaches further. Simple parries that bored me at first morph into precious moments of respite. The short reprieve Coal grants me between rounds turns from a battle of wills to unabashed gasps for breath.
I refuse to look at him. In part, to keep my mind in the here and now, no matter what protests my muscles lodge. In part, to keep from learning whether my growing weakness satisfies the male’s intentions or disappoints him. Either way, any flagging on my part will undoubtedly fuel Coal’s fire, offering proof that I can’t handle myself out in the woods alone. And that isn’t acceptable. Not when the Night Guard may have a shot at turning the mortal world into a magic-filled hell.
I may be swinging my blade against cadets, but I know I’m truly battling Coal. And I can’t let him win.
I’m on the tenth fight when the first truly painful blow rushes past my weakening defenses, the tip of Kirill’s practice blade jabbing into the left side of my groin, where my hip bends. My leg goes numb for a heartbeat, Kirill grinning in triumph as I grunt. Inhaling Kirill’s celebration, I gather enough energy to drop my level into a deep squat and lunge in so quickly that the cadet is flat on his back before his premature victory call is finished sounding.
By the eleventh match, I’ve no more strength for such things. The pleasant spring sun has become an oppressive torch as it climbs to its zenith, the hilltop breeze a maddening joke. Each movement costs me breath I don’t have, my muscles now trembling beneath the strain. The thump thump thump of wood against my flesh becomes a new, distant normal, the sting failing to ignite the anger that might give me an extra boost.
“Time,” Coal calls, ending the match before either of us score a killing blow. I brace my hands on my thighs, my breath coming in desperate pants. Sweat running along my face comes to the point of my chin and drips to the ground. When the cadet I face holds out his hand for me to shake, I stare at the offered palm without comprehension until—
Stars.
Rushing to the side of the training fence, I empty my stomach outside the ring, my shoulders still heaving when Coal’s cold voice calls, “Next.”
I don’t look at Coal as I trudge back to my place. The world sways slightly. In the back of my mind, I’m certain that if I ask for a reprieve, Coal will allow it at once. That I’ll do no such thing is the only thing I’m certain of just now. Everything else—including how to hang on to my sword through another round—is a hazy consideration.
For a moment, I entertain the notion of letting myself be disarmed quickly, but that would be surrender—and the tiny part of my mind that can still think knows it’s not an option. So be it.
I can barely stand by the time the last cadet of the circle steps out onto the pitch. Arisha. She holds her practice blade with all the delicacy of a club, but given that my own sword shakes so hard that even I can’t predict where it’s going next, her grip will unlikely matter.
“Lera?” she says softly, making me blink at my name. Her eyes are blue and soft, her freckled face pinched with worry.
“You aren’t here for tea, Tallie,” Coal snaps, his body a towering bare-chested presence in the corner of my vision. “Ready guard.”
The world sways as I bring my blade into position, and I fall to one knee. There’s a pregnant pause, a collective held breath as I force myself back to my feet. At this point, I don’t know if the other cadets want me to fail or succeed. The sword in my sweaty hands weighs as much as an anvil, my battered body throbbing with bruises and welts.
Raising her own blade into position, Arisha
closes her eyes.
“Tallie.” Coal’s voice rumbles with warning.
Arisha shudders. Then, just as Coal opens his mouth for the next order, my friend tosses her weapon down on the sand. Twisting toward him with a defiant glare and an impressive amount of grace, the girl shakes her head. “No. Sir.”
My chest squeezes, my heart hammering my ribs. If Coal raises a hand to Arisha, I will kill him, whether I can move or not.
Cocking his head, Coal takes stock of the corral. Arisha, trembling but standing her ground. Me, my eyes flashing with thunder despite my shaking legs. The cadets, tense and silent lest they bring Coal’s ire on themselves.
Striding across the pitch, he wordlessly reaches down to retrieve Arisha’s discarded blade. The chiseled muscles of his abdomen ripple as he straightens, weighing the weapon in his good hand. With controlled slowness, he stares down at Arisha, then me, from his much greater height. “I see,” he says finally, his low voice prickling along my skin. “In that case, I’ll take Tallie’s turn for her. The rest of you are dismissed for the day.”
Fight Coal? Now? The overwhelming notion presses so hard on me that it’s an effort to force air into my lungs. But I still too. Even as I watch my dripping sweat leave wet clumps in the sand, as the others hasten to make themselves scarce before Coal changes his mind, I keep breathing. Keep my chin lifted to hold Coal’s intense scrutiny.
“Still think it’s a wise idea to go battle sclices, yocklols, the Night Guard, and anything else in those woods all by yourself?” Coal asks quietly, his blue eyes riveted on my face. Beneath his fury and frustration, I mark another emotion—fear. Desperate fear of a mate that I’ll do something he can’t save me from. Coal swallows, his emotions buckled down deep once more. “Do you imagine they will care more than I do whether you are tired or not?”
I flash Coal a smile that doesn’t touch my eyes. “I imagine they will at least talk less than you do. Can we get started? I’ve some running to do yet.”
