by Anna Logan
“Dunno.” Kae shoved her feet into the boots and bent over to lace them. “I think Grrake convinced the council that Yhkon was the better choice.”
Despite the logic and reasoning that said otherwise, she realized that she agreed. It was difficult to imagine the roles reversed—Grrake the leader, Yhkon the subordinate. Though really, they acted more as partners than as superior and secondary anyway. “Huh. Ready?”
They went down to the lounge of the inn together, to find Grrake, Wylan, and Ki already waiting. Wylan blinked with surprise when he saw them, eying their new wardrobe. “That’s different.”
Smiling, she poked his arm. “You have no idea how easy you men have it. Dresses are a curse. And if this goes against propriety, then propriety is a curse too.”
She’d rather expected him to squirm or flush, uncomfortable with discussing something like the appropriate clothing for the opposite gender, or even critical of what might seem a lack of feminine rectitude on her part. Instead, he just shrugged. “I can imagine.”
“Listen up.” Grrake snapped them to attention. “Before breakfast each morning, we will be going on a run.”
“A run?” she glanced at the other wards, wondering if they better understood his meaning. “A run to where?”
Kae was right. He was enjoying his role as strict trainer. “A run around the island, that’s where.” He strode out of the building and went straight into a jog, waving for them to follow. “Keep up!”
Running around the island seemed a pointless activity to her. But that was what they did. Grrake led them away from the inn to the beach, then set their course parallel to the water.
If nothing else, the scenery was pretty. If only she could kick off her shoes and go the rest of the way to the sea, walk barefoot in the sand, let the tide bring the water to her toes. This was the closest she’d been to the ocean. There was something serene about it. The steady lapping of the waves against the sand, the shimmering turquoise that stretched on as far as she could see.
After a while, they left the beach and the town behind, entering a small forested section of the island. By that time, she was starting to feel the effects of the exertion. At least the other wards were starting to breathe harder too, even if Grrake wasn’t. Running through the woods was trickier, it required more concentration to dodge trees and not trip over underbrush or rocks.
As they left the trees and were once more running alongside the beach, she could tell Wylan was beginning to struggle. She had a feeling that with his more compact, muscular body type, he’d be better at sprinting than long distance. The twins on the other hand seemed perfectly suited to it, with their lanky builds and long legs. Finally, there was her. As far as she could tell, she was in some awkward middle ground where she was neither good nor bad at either one.
And Grrake. Talea felt certain he could easily outdo any of them at either sprinting or long distance. They’d been running for what felt like forever, and he didn’t even look winded. Isn’t he fifty-something?!
“Alright, stop!” Grrake came to a halt, turning to assess them. He probably wasn’t impressed with their panting, their grimaces, their wobbly stances. “Wylan, you’re clearly better suited to speed than distance. You wait here long enough to catch your breath, then you come after us at a sprint and see if you can catch up. The rest of you, let’s go.”
Oh, come on. Who says I wouldn’t be better at sprinting too? She reluctantly forced trembling legs to keep going. Burning lungs to keep breathing. They eventually came back into view of the inn. It looked so terribly far away. It was as if it were gradually pulling away from them, never quite letting them reach it. Her heart hammered mercilessly against her ribs, lungs aching as they tried to keep up with the demand for oxygen.
An eternity later, they were there. A few more strides, and they’d be—
She veered sideways a little, caught by surprise, as Wylan charged past her. He came to a stop in front of the inn seconds before they did. He was still breathing hard, the collar and underarms of his shirt darkened with sweat, but he no longer looked miserable.
Lucky him. She felt plenty miserable, and probably looked it, too. Her skin felt hot and sticky. Imagining doing the same run with a dress on made her groan inwardly.
“Good job, all of you.” Grrake gave them a nod. The collar of his shirt was a little damp, he was breathing through his mouth instead of his nose, but otherwise, he might have been walking for as tired as he looked. “Now.” He herded them inside. “Get some breakfast. After that, it’s drills. After that, workouts. After that, we’ll see if I’m in a good mood or if it’s more drills.”
By the time the final “after that” came around, Talea was desperately hoping Grrake would be in a good mood. The drills had been fun, in their way. Apparently a drill qualified as multiple things, including practicing their responses to Grrake’s hand motions in a combat situation: his hands pointed to the left and right meant they split up. His hands pointing left and right then forward meant the split up to flank the enemy. His fist in the air was an easy one—stop. His fist yanked backwards, retreat.
Another of the drills was with some borrowed celiths. They practiced mounting, first. Then mounting while the celith was moving at a walk. Then at a trot. After that, dismounting while it was moving.
Finally, he had them practice stealth tactics. From how to walk quietly, to how to crawl while flat on their bellies, making as little sound and movement as possible.
After the drills was the workouts. Those started out as fun…for a few seconds. Until her abdominal muscles ached, and her arm muscles ached, and her leg muscles ached, and muscles she didn’t even know she had ached.
Now, they had just finished the final repetition. Grrake was in his “training posture”, as Kae called it: feet spread, arms crossed, hazel eyes scrutinizing their every move. “Well,” he relented the stance. “Since you’ve all done well, I’ll be merciful. Be off with you.”
Grinning, Talea walked with the others back into the inn. She had no idea where her family was. But first, it was time for a bath.
Half an hour later, she was clean, and grudgingly wearing a dress. Kae had already told her that she and Ki were spending the afternoon with Haeric and Tarol, getting a tour of the island. So, she made her way to Wylan’s room, and knocked.
He opened it, his damp hair proving that he’d felt the need to wash up too.
“Hey.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “I don’t suppose you want to go find your sister and my family with me. We’ve been abandoned by the twins.”
With a nod, he disappeared back into the room. Reappearing with a jacket over his arm, he closed the door behind him, and they went down to the main room. Grrake was there, reading a book on the sofa. She could tell immediately that the trainer-persona was gone, and he was back to the friendly, gentle Grrake she was used to. It turned out that he knew where her family and Nakelsie were, so they left the inn with a direction.
“I guess they were good all along, after all.” He said as they walked.
She smiled. “Guess so. Up until this morning, anyway, when Grrake decided to go all ruthless-tyrant on us.”
He mirrored her smile.
Talea watched the shop that was their destination draw closer. She stopped. “Wylan?”
He looked at her expectantly.
Well, now you’ve got no choice but to say it. She rubbed her thumb against her index finger, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Spit it out. “We’re still in this together though, right? This whole crazy ward thing, even though we don’t have to worry about the Wardens now?”
Wylan didn’t look surprised by her question. If anything, he looked satisfied, as if the same thing had been on his mind and he was glad she’d voiced it. “We are for my part.”
20
Broken Chairs
A shiver snaked its way down Yhkon’s spine, making his shoulders quiver. Pulling his hood up and tucking it in around his neck helped for about two seconds
—the wind blew it back almost instantly.
A deep inhale, an even deeper exhale. Good old Calcaria. Good cold Calcaria.
He’d reached the outpost on the shores of the Shadow Region hours ago. Gotten a fresh lareer to finish the rest of the trip on. Now, instead of the endless miles of water, he flew over the treetops. Not much else than that. Their section of Calcaria was almost entirely forest, and thick forest at that. There were mountain ranges on either side and prairie on the other side of those, but that was the untamed parts of the region. As if any of it could really be called tamed. They had inhabited it, sure, but it was still a much wilder place than any civilized portion of Zentyre or Sanonyn.
Snowflakes flurried in the air around him, a sparkling white contrast to the murky darkness of the cloudy night. It had to be close to midnight already. He’d flown straight through the night and the day, until now. Weariness was pulling at him like weights tied around his shoulders. By this time, he’d probably gone more than forty-eight hours without sleep. Not that he’d never done that before, but it still wasn’t pleasant.
The city came into view, a scattering of yellow lights shining in the darkness. Finally. A few more minutes, a celith ride to the palace, a few staircases, and he could collapse into his own bed. Maybe he’d even sleep all the way through the night.
The last few minutes of the flight were always the longest. It was as if the lareer decided to slow its pace to a crawl. Finally, finally, they were diving into a landing outside the station. The men on shift came out, gave their bows and greetings, took the lareer, saddled a celith. Climbing from one saddle to another made his stiff muscles and aching joints scream in protest. Not only forty-eight hours without sleep, but almost all of it aboard a lareer. The trips back and forth were perhaps the most miserable part of being a Warden. That and council meetings.
He rode the borrowed celith at a gallop to the palace. The animal was rested, he was not, so a gallop seemed fair. Upon arriving, he handed the gelding over to a stable boy to be taken care of, while he climbed the stairs to the main entrance with a grimace. He had a strange sort of love-hate relationship with the palace. He loved it, or at least was proud of it, because he’d helped build it with his own hands, and it was to be the home of the wards, who represented his single focus in life. He hated it because all too often, it was a prison. A giant cell. It locked him in its halls and chambers, its council meetings and its long, sleepless nights. Its memories.
In a way, he had the exact same love and hate for all of Calcaria.
There wasn’t much activity at that time of night. He passed one servant, whom he instructed to inform the council of his arrival when they awoke and set the meeting for eight in the morning.
It wasn’t until he was in his personal quarters that some of the tension left his shoulders. Not all, but at least some. Stripping off his light armor, weaponry, and outer clothes, Yhkon kicked off his boots and slumped onto the simply made bed. At some point, a chill covered his skin, making him subconsciously get under the covers. At some point, he jerked awake, thinking it must be morning and he was late for the meeting. Then, he tossed and turned his way through a nightmare about his sisters.
Yhkon nearly sprang clear out of bed at a knock on the door. He blinked. Trying to clear the haze from his mind. There was sunlight peeking out from under the closed shades on the window. Blast. He’d overslept. Since when did he sleep past six? “Who is it?”
“My name is Jin, sir. I was just bringing some breakfast.” Came the muffled voice.
He finished getting out of bed, made sure he was at least somewhat respectably dressed, and called for the man to come in.
Jin bowed as he entered, set the tray on the desk, and started to leave.
“Wait, what time is it?”
“Six o’clock sir. I hope I’m not too early. I was told you usually woke by—”
“No, it’s fine, thanks.” So much for sleeping past six. Alone in the chamber again, he moved forward to inspect the contents of the tray. A steaming bowl of oatmeal, some fruit, and a glass of water. Exactly what he’d eventually persuaded the servants was all he wanted each day. Sitting down at the desk, he picked up the spoon and began. His thoughts drifted to how on Kameon he was going to occupy himself for two hours, until the council meeting. And to the meeting itself. What sort of complaints or demands would Enisham have this time?
He glimpsed something white out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw what it was: the corner of a canvas poking out from a partially open drawer.
His stomach churned as heat flamed in his face. Yhkon lunged from the chair, shoving the canvas back into the drawer and kicking it closed. His feet carried him down the length of the room, back, and down again. Pacing, fists clenched. He never left that drawer opened. It had to be one of the palace staff, probably doing something innocent like putting away spare blankets or clothes for him—or snooping. It didn’t matter. He’d tell Bactah to put his quarters off limits. If Bactah didn’t listen, he’d go down to the servant’s hall and tell them himself.
Half of the breakfast was left. With the stone in his gut and the dryness in his mouth, it sounded about as appetizing as eating sand.
Yhkon stopped pacing. Let out all the air in his lungs in an attempt to calm down. Instead, an image of the face that was painted on the canvas filled his mind. His hands were reaching for the chair, grasping the back. Rage burned in his muscles like a fire. He hurled the chair across the room, into the foot of the bed. Wood splintered and scraped as it shattered where it made contact, now just pieces on the floor.
He picked up one of the pieces, gripping the jagged end where it had broken off. Squeezing, the veins in his arm bulging. The pain of the serrated wood biting into his palm barely even registered. By the time he threw it against the wall with a snarled oath, his hand was bleeding.
Inside the privy attached to his chamber, he poured water from the basin over his marred palm, rubbing at it roughly to wash the blood away, before picking out any splinters left in the skin. Done, he paused and looked up into the mirror. The face that stared back at him was red with anger, worn with exhaustion and stress. He looked older than his twenty-four years. He felt older.
Splashing water and massaging it in had minimal effect. It didn’t do much beyond removing a smudge of dirt and take away some of the redness. He still looked just as tired, just as haggard.
Anyway, if he was going to a council meeting, it would probably be best to be fully clean, and some water on his face didn’t do much. Jin would no doubt return in a few minutes to remove the tray, so he could ask to have a bath prepared then. It was just a matter of waiting. A matter of pacing up and down the room as mindlessly as possible.
Jin knocked. It was only then that Yhkon realized the broken chair would be clearly visible when the man came in. “Just a moment,” he muttered, swiftly using his arm to sweep the pieces of wood under the bed. The awkwardness of having Jin see it and question, or just look at him worriedly, wasn’t something he wanted to deal with. He’d need to get a new chair at some point, but that could be dealt with later. In the past, Grrake had often been able to hear the racket made when some victimized object was broken. He’d come in and look Yhkon over to make sure he was alright. If there was an injury involved, he would silently bandage it. Then he’d silently help clean up the mess. Until finally, silently, he’d leave.
They’d worked out multiple such routines. Grrake used to ask what was wrong or try to get Yhkon to talk about it. He’d quickly learned not to.
“Come in.” He kicked the final fragment out of sight.
Jin slipped into the room. If he noticed that there was a chair missing, he didn’t display it. “Silquije, was the food not to your liking? I could bring you—”
“No, it was fine. Just don’t have an appetite. Could you have some water brought up for a bath?”
“Certainly, sir.” Jin picked up the tray, dipped his head to him, and backed out of the room.
Tha
t left Yhkon to his pacing. Once, when Haeric had been in his quarters, he’d quirked an eyebrow at the floor, and commented that it was strangely worn down for having only one occupant.
Jin returned with another man, each lugging two buckets of hot water, which they poured for him and left. The whole thing was a confounded business, really. Why should he have servants waiting on him hand and foot? He could fetch his own bathwater. He could break his own chairs and replace them without having to answer delicate questions. Shouldn’t the fact that he was an elite warrior mean he ought to live independently and fend for himself, not be pampered in a palace? Gsorvi, maybe he could just go back to living in the Elikwai barracks.
After washing, he dressed in his usual clothes, though a clean set. Trousers, a long-sleeve shirt, a leather vest, boots. There wasn’t much reason to bother with the pauldron and gauntlets or the variety of weapons when he was in Calcaria. There was a time when he used to wear it around the city because he enjoyed the awed or admiring looks of passersby, and because it made him feel confident, powerful. Now, he’d rather go in public in the least conspicuous clothes possible and avoid attention. So, he strapped on his sword but left the rest.
Still an hour before he needed to be at the meeting. The rooms of his chambers seemed to be closing in, shrinking the space he occupied, soon to suffocate him. There wasn’t any more loose furniture like a chair to wreck; if he attacked anything else around him, it would be harder to repair. Get out.
Yhkon grabbed the towel he’d used and tousled his wet hair with it, soaking up as much of the moisture as possible. Good enough. He left the room, door locked, and headed for the stairs. His body was still sore from the long flight, but he ignored it. How to spend a whole blasted hour? There were only so many ways he “entertained” himself when he didn’t have a task to do. Going for a ride was a primary one, which wasn’t an option since his celith was in Zentyre and he didn’t like borrowing one. Besides, he’d rather not get back into a saddle before he had to. Go and do some solo training was another. That would be stupid to do when he’d just bathed, though, and he didn’t have the energy for it. Watch the Elikwai training was another. Uselessly spy on oblivious Elikwai it is.
