by Lynette Noni
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he hastily apologised. “Let’s go back to your Meyarin abilities. Is it because of them that Aes Daega wanted you to stay in Meya? So we could teach you how to utilise them?”
Alex nodded, relieved that he was able to come to the conclusion on his own. “The changes in me are relatively new,” she told him. “In my time, you were only just about to start training me; teaching me to be a Meyarin, I guess you could say.”
“It’s not natural for you, I take it?”
“I have to concentrate really hard,” Alex admitted.
“That first day you were here and we sparred,” Roka mused, his eyes unfocused. “You needed a moment before we could fight.”
“I needed a moment otherwise you probably would have killed me,” Alex returned pointedly. “Every time I call up the Valispath or do some stupid stunt like jump off a waterfall, I have to first centre myself to trigger the blood in my veins. I have to stop and listen and breathe until it sort of… kicks over from human to Meyarin.” She shook her head at herself. “It sounds weird, I know it does. But I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“Should I ask why you need to have the strength and skills of an immortal? Why you need to move and fight like one of our race?”
Trying for a casual tone when she felt anything but, Alex quirked up her lips and joked, “Someone’s gotta keep you crazy Meyarins in line.”
It was clear the prince saw straight through her act, but he didn’t press her, likely guessing it involved the malicious Meyarin of the future.
“Well I guess there’s only one thing we can do, then,” he said instead.
Alex raised her eyebrows in question.
“We have to follow through with what Aes Daega asked,” Roka said, “and teach you how to be a Meyarin.”
Not entirely sure if that was a good idea anymore, Alex started to argue, “Roka—”
“Am I correct in assuming that during our first sparring session you panicked, fearing I might draw your blood?”
She nodded slowly.
“And that’s why you’ve been avoiding fighting me ever since?”
“Can you blame me?”
He chuckled lightly and she felt a weight lift off her chest at the hearty, genuine sound. He wasn’t forcing it for her benefit. He was just… Roka.
“No, Aeylia, I can’t blame you, given how I reacted earlier today.”
“About that…”
Rushing to assure her, he said, “I won’t tell anyone, I gave you my word.”
“It’s not that,” Alex said, though she was definitely relieved. “It’s just… Are you, um, okay? I mean, I have been lying to you for the past ten days. And my secret is not something small. I’m mortal, Roka. I’m human. That’s like… That’s like buying a pet dog and going home to find it’s really a cat dressed up as a puppy. No one wants to own a cat disguised as a puppy. Most people don’t even want to own a cat that looks like a cat!”
Thankfully, Roka chose to ignore her strange analogy and focused on what was more important.
“I don’t know what you are, Aeylia,” he said, lifting her hand and looking at her scar, then flicking his gaze along her forearm showing the glow of her bond with Xiraxus. “But human, Meyarin, Draekoran, or otherwise, I don’t care. Aes Daega wouldn’t have asked us to help you without reason, and now that I know the truth, you don’t have to hide anymore—not from me. I’ll train you here, just as I would have done in the future.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully and amended his tenses, “Just as I’m sure I will do in the future.”
Her eyes swimming, Alex had to blink to keep her grateful tears at bay. “Roka, what you’re offering—You don’t know—”
“Is it important?” he interrupted. “Your learning how to control your Meyarin abilities?”
“Very,” Alex replied quietly.
“Then that’s all that matters. There’s nothing else I need to know.”
With calm determination, he stood to his feet, holding out a hand to Alex.
She looked at it in question.
“Well, come on then,” he said, gesturing for her to take it. “You said you’ll be returning to the future as soon as your draekon can manage. We don’t have any time to waste.”
Alex’s eyes were wide when she guessed, “You want to start my training now? It’s after midnight!”
“Are you tired?” Roka instantly returned.
“Well—no,” Alex admitted. In fact, she was wired with adrenaline after the events of her evening.
Roka grinned. “Then what are you waiting for? Let’s go see if we can turn a mortal into a Meyarin. Are you with me?”
Looking from his open fingers to his bright eyes and, reading the challenge in them, Alex inhaled deeply and said, “Yeah, Roka. I’m with you.”
Twenty-Seven
If Alex thought hours of sparring with Roka every… single… day… would transform her into a Meyarin fighting machine, she would have been wrong. Very, very wrong. The truth was, as much as she appreciated his instruction, and as much as she was learning from him, she didn’t actually feel she was getting anywhere. And as hard as it was to admit it, that was because of Roka.
To put it simply, he was babying her. She felt as if every time they fought it was like he walked on eggshells around her, excruciatingly aware of her mortality. Every move he made, every attack, every single motion was carefully controlled so as to not cause even the smallest bruise. Alex wasn’t sure if it was because this Roka was much younger or because he’d spent so little time around mortals and didn’t want to accidentally harm her, but either way, the next seven days of ‘training’ benefitted her much less than she would have liked.
A big part of the problem was that he was of the opinion she needed time to ‘warm up’ and become familiar with her Meyarin abilities before he was willing to outright assault her. She, however, argued that there wouldn’t be any warming up in a life-and-death situation, and that was what she needed to be preparing herself for. She even mentioned that in the future he had fought her blindfolded—and fully armed—the first time they’d met just to prove that she was able to fight like a Meyarin.
Needless to say, Roka was horrified to hear he’d attacked a ‘helpless mortal’ in such a way.
Alex didn’t speak to him for a day after that remark, though she did feel better after throwing a wooden practice sword at his head. It didn’t matter that he reflexively ducked in time; her action was still cathartic.
Aside from her growing frustration at her lack of progress, Alex’s week wasn’t a complete write-off. Thanks to all the hours she spent sparring with Roka—regardless of how basic those attempts at fighting were—she was using her Meyarin abilities more frequently than ever before, which meant they were coming more naturally to her now. It still took time to ‘enter the zone’, as she called it, but she was noticeably faster each time she tried.
Despite that, after a whole week of training, Alex was neither comfortable nor confident with her ability to access Aven’s blood in her veins, and that royally sucked.
So, to get her mind off her snail-like improvement, Alex spent her downtime with Kyia, Aven and Niyx. Roka, too, when he was free, though with the Garseth becoming increasingly prominent on the city streets, the prince was busier than ever trying to play peacemaker with the Rebels and preventing Astophe from recognising Aven’s involvement.
Alex didn’t know why Roka bothered, since she was certain the king had to be aware that his youngest son was at least in cahoots with, if not the leader of, the anti-mortals. But she admired Roka’s dedication to keeping his family intact and figured it best to let him remain committed for as long as possible before all hell broke loose on House Dalmarta.
The good news was that disaster wouldn’t be unfolding any time soon. The day Roka and Kyia had disappeared turned out to be because they’d visited the ruling human monarchies of Medora—there were four of them in the current time—to ask that they hold off from vis
iting Meya until the political climate had calmed. The trade agreement was still in place, but until the anti-mortal propaganda quietened, all exchanges of wares would happen outside of the city on human soil.
Since D.C.’s recount of history claimed that Aven’s massacre happened in front of the Meyarin palace the next time a trading group of humans visited, Alex was thankful to know she, at least, wouldn’t have to witness it happening in the short time she had left in the past.
As for Aven himself, he’d been a constant in Alex’s life over the past week. After her daily breakfasts with the queen—a rendezvous Niida seemed to especially treasure—no matter where Alex was or what she was doing, Aven always sought her out for lunch. Most days someone else joined them; Niyx, Kyia or Roka if he could swing it. Sometimes all three managed to come along, and those were the lunches Alex loved the most. She was still homesick for those she’d left in the future, but there were moments when she would laugh so hard at her Meyarin friends’ antics that she nearly cried—particularly when Niyx’s attempts to be debonair were crushed by Aven’s relentless wit. Then there was the equally hilarious development between Roka and Kyia that had only become more noticeable since their day trip around Medora. Now as awkward as a pair of opposing magnets, Alex was certain something must have happened between them. Not that they’d ever tell her. Though, Roka did look at Alex appraisingly the first time she badgered him for details, and she hastily retreated after realising that, since he now knew she was from the future, he’d likely put the pieces together.
Other than that particular ‘oops’ moment, the rest of her week outside of training was reasonably uneventful, apart from Niyx’s mysterious disappearance three days ago. When Alex questioned his whereabouts, disguising her concern as mere curiosity, Aven reassured her that he was out hunting in the forest and would be back soon. It was something Niyx often did, apparently, disappearing only to return later with his spoils, just like a cat leaving a mouse on the doorstep of its master.
Alex chuckled at the thought of Niyx slinking back home with a rodent between his teeth. Somehow she doubted that was the kind of hunting he was doing, even if the mental picture was entertaining.
Apart from sparring with Roka, breakfasting with Niida, hanging out with Aven, Niyx and Kyia, and continuing to dine with the whole royal family and whatever council members might be in attendance, the rest of Alex’s time was spent helping organise the upcoming, end-of-summer festival. She blamed Kyia for roping her into it, since the Meyarin had claimed Alex was no longer paying attention to her theory lessons, so she might as well do something useful with her time. When Aven, who was in charge of organising the festival, overheard this, he jumped on the idea of Alex’s assistance—dragging Kyia along too, much to her disgruntlement.
Aven made it sound as though the whole city would be taking part in the celebration, filling the palace to capacity until the Meyarins spilled into one massive street party. Given the scale of the event, Alex had been apprehensive to help at first, but it turned out that with Astophe and Niida’s—mostly Niida’s—last-minute decision to finish the banquet with a masquerade ball, Aven needed all the help he could get when it came to the only part of the night’s planning he considered to be outside of his expertise: fashion. The rest was covered, from the food to the music and everything in between. But when it came to the clothes that the royal family would be gifting to each and every one of their citizens to wear for the celebration, he was at a loss and happy to delegate that mammoth task to Alex and Kyia’s governance.
With neither of them having any idea where to start, they were both relieved when the queen took up the cause alongside them, launching herself into fashionista mother hen mode. Between the three of them—and a host of other helpers, including the king himself at times—within seven days they worked wonders, having the production of thousands of decadently formal outfits and masks well on their way to completion. Feathers and frills, silks and sparkles—their innovative creations stretched the boundaries of fashion, resulting in unparalleled miracles of design.
Aven, in Alex’s mind, owed them big time, even if she came to enjoy their haphazard planning sessions surrounded by scrawled drawings and fabric samples. It was the most girlishly carefree she’d felt in a long time, and she revelled in the feeling. With only eight days to go, she knew they were well on their way to experiencing the best dressed festival in the history of Meya, and Alex couldn’t wait to be a part of it.
Presuming, of course, that she was still in the past when that time came. Xiraxus had yet to give her a solid idea of when he’d be ready to return her to the future, but every day he assured her he was getting stronger, which meant they were drawing nearer to the time when she’d have to leave her new friends behind—half of whom, in the future, wanted her dead.
But that, she knew, was a problem for another day. As for now, she would live in the moment, enjoying her time in the past while it lasted.
“I have something to tell you,” Roka said, ducking his head to avoid the blur of Alex’s wooden sword slashing through the air, “and you’re not going to like it.”
“There are a lot of things I seem to not like,” Alex said, targeting his torso this time, “especially when they come with a warning like that.”
She parried to the right, to the left and then left again, with Roka effortlessly meeting her attempts with his own dummy sword. It was beyond frustrating considering she was currently keyed into her Meyarin power and still she wasn’t offering up any kind of worthwhile assault against him.
“Come on, Roka! Attack me!” she cried for what felt like the thousandth time that week.
Everything they were currently doing—or not doing—was messing with her psychologically, from the knowledge that Roka would never hurt her to the craptastic wooden swords that wouldn’t slice butter. She only hoped the Roka of the future would give her a better run for her money, especially if his past self continued to suck so badly as a teacher.
“Just hold on for a second,” he said, relaxing his stance and dropping his sword arm.
“You know, I can multi-task,” she huffed out. “I’m able to carry on a conversation while we fight—if that’s what you want to call what we’re doing.”
Inside the domed Myrox barrier, no one else could watch or hear them, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it kept Alex’s mortality a secret, but a curse because it kept Roka treating her like she was made of glass. Alex wondered, not for the first time, whether he’d finally take the kid gloves off if she surprised him with a public attack. But since she couldn’t risk getting a scratch and exposing her humanity, her hands were tied. At least until she became really desperate.
“Maybe I’m the one who can’t multi-task,” Roka said. “Or maybe I just want your full attention.”
“Then say what you have to say so we can get on with it,” Alex said, crossing her arms. If she’d held a real blade in her hands, she would have sliced open her stomach with the move, but the wooden toy barely snagged on her outfit, so blunt as it was.
“I’m going to be away from the palace for the next few days,” Roka said. “A fresh round of recruits just finished their varrungard and have been accepted into the Zeltora, and it’s up to me to make sure they all start their training on the right foot.”
Disappointment washed over Alex. Even if her time with Roka wasn’t progressing at a speed she would like, anything was better than nothing.
“Are you sure you’re the best person for that job?” she asked, raising a sceptical brow. “Or do you like your elite guards using wooden swords to protect your kingdom?”
Thankfully, he grinned and accepted the dig with grace. “Don’t worry, Aeylia. Unlike you, I’m confident they won’t trip over their own feet and impale themselves if I let them use proper weapons in their training. It’s real steel for them.”
“You,” Alex said, narrowing her eyes, “are not very nice.”
He laughed out loud, and she glar
ed all the more for it.
“Why are you the one who has to start their training, anyway?” she grumbled. “Teaching the newbies doesn’t seem like something a prince should have to do.”
“Normally the head of the guard would take on that responsibility, but since our previous leader stepped down and we haven’t found anyone to take her place yet, the duty falls to me,” Roka explained. “I only need to get them settled and then others in the guard will take over their training from there on out. I’ll be gone a few days at most, but I wanted you to know so you don’t think I’ve abandoned our mission here.”
“Mission aside, you know who would make a great new leader of the Zeltora?” Alex said casually.
Roka’s tone was wry when he replied, “Let me guess, Zain Erraeya?”
Smiling widely, Alex said, “It’s like you read my mind!”
The prince looked like he wasn’t sure whether he was more amused or exasperated. “Or maybe it’s because you’ve been saying it for over two weeks now.”
“Have I? My, how time flies.”
“Aeylia—”
“Roka, has it occurred to you that perhaps since, oh, I don’t know, I’m from the future,” Alex said with glaring emphasis, “that maybe I know what I’m talking about?”
“Of course it’s occurred to me,” Roka returned instantly. “But short of conscripting him unwillingly into service, there’s nothing I can do. He has to want to become Zeltora. No one can make him. And believe me, Aeylia, with his history, the chance of him ever making that decision seems impossible to me, regardless of what you imply the future holds. He wasn’t always a criminal, you know. As much as I disagree with what he does, I can’t blame him for travelling down that path, not after everything that happened to him.”
Alex didn’t like the sound of that at all. “What are you talking about? What happened to him?”
Roka shook his head. “That’s not my story to share, nor do I even know the full extent of it. Just trust me when I say I’m doing everything to follow through on my end of the deal to convince him to join the ranks of the guard, but at the end of the day, I can only do so much. The rest is up to him.”
