It took her a few minutes of walking east of the manor when she heard it. The familiar clang of metal meeting metal pierced the morning air. Horses whinnied in the distance, and some men were shouting obscenities.
Astraia smiled as she came upon the stone courtyard that served as the entrance to the Virellian military compound. Barracks surrounded the courtyard in a semicircle, offering housing to at least a hundred soldiers. Most Virellian soldierswho stayed in the barracks close to the manor were young men, handpicked by Lord Vireaux himself, to train and later compete in trials for the honor of being named Empyrean Guards. The Empyrean were not typical brutes or foot soldiers—they were as silent as the winds and twice as lethal. Trained not only in warfare and swordsmanship, but also in the contentious art of shadow-walking as assassins.
When Astraia was fifteen, she had already been training with Elion and her instructors to sharpen her into a weapon, at the bidding of her father. Her skills with her Starwood bow were unmatched, even at a young age. However, her blade work was shoddy at best, despite hours of drills and several blisters on her hands. One summer she spent in Volpes, she snuck out of the manor and followed Caelan to the compound. For hours she had watched hidden from view as the men dueled and practiced drills with a blade, but she was ousted when Caelan found her cowering in the bushes.
Astraia had feared she would get a firm lashing for leaving the manor unattended and spying on the training sessions, but the training general, Cetus, had thrown her a wooden practice sword and, without a word, placed her in the lines of soldiers to run drills. Every morning that summer and the next, she joined the recruits for morning drills, running leagues along the hillsides of Virellia, learning battle strategies, and mastering the blade. Cetus would only ever give her short words of feedback. “Good. Again,” or “No, like this.” He might not have been a verbose instructor, but Astraia had cheated death on more than one occasion thanks to his tutelage.
Glancing around the courtyard, not much had changed in five years. It was still early morning, with mist coating the grounds of the compound, but that meant little to the men. They were here to be the lethal extension of Virellia, which meant late nights andearly mornings paired with grueling training sessions that taxed the body and mind.
Another clang of metal clashing with metal reverberated through the courtyard. Astraia’s eyes locked on the source of the cacophony—two men dueling in front of the other soldiers. Both men appeared energized, clearly unbothered by the sweat pouring down their skin or the crowd of men goading them.
Both men were shirtless, wearing nothing but their leather pants and armed with longswords. The mist swirled at their feet as they danced in a circle, each weighing the other’s next move and calculating their retaliation. Their bodies were honed to be expert killers, muscles defined by sweat dripping down their tanned skin.
One of the dueling men had an intricate tattoo of a vine twisting up his right arm, spreading into roots across his back. Peering closer, Astraia could make out the faint peppering of golden dots on the man’s low back in the distinct shape of the fox Vulpecula, the lumenmark of Desire.
Caelan.
He moved with refined grace, dancing with his opponent. It reminded Astraia of his effortless footwork dancing with her last night. Pure instinct as he stepped, blade at the ready, and a smirk on his face. She kept her distance, watching the opponent’s movements, attempting to decipher his next move.
Caelan laughed, goading his opponent, “You seem tired, Apus. Did you get locked out of the barracks again for missing curfew? Stars know it’s not because of some woman.”
Apus’s face turned fifty shades of crimson, then he lunged with a roar, but Caelan was expecting him. As Apus lunged, Caelan sidestepped, evading his attack. Twisting mid-stride, Caelan was behind Apus within a breath and had kicked the backs of his knees. Apus cursed, falling to the ground as a blade came to rest on his neck.
“Your emotions will get you killed if you can’t control them. Now, yield.” Caelan spoke sternly, no longer flippant.
Apus nodded, laying his sword down in forfeit. The small crowd of soldiers standing behind them clapped, some laughing and teasing Apus for his misstep.
Astraia strode through the courtyard, unfazed by the looks the soldiers were giving her as she approached the dueling ring.
“I thought the Empyrean were honorable, Captain? Or have standards slipped so low that they allow any riffraff who fights using his manhood in the guard?” She stopped only a few steps in front of him, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.
The courtyard went completely silent, all eyes trained on her and Caelan.
Caelan smirked, sweat dripping from his brow as he closed the final distance between them. His eyes darkened as he spoke. “Why don’t you show us, since I recall you were once part of ourriffraff?”
Astraia smiled, removing her bow and quiver. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Astraia removed her navy cloak, lightening any restrictions that might impede movement. Caelan was strong and fast, but she would need to move quicker.
The dampness of the morning mist clung to her hair and skin, but she welcomed the cold shiver that made its way down her spine as wind met beads of sweat. She needed to feel alive and banish Draven from her thoughts.
Just to be safe, she dove into her mind and fortified the tether to Power and Sacrifice, pulling the cord taut. This would be a trial of purely body strength, speed, and technique—her bonds needed to stay deadened and hidden.
Caelan eyed her warily, tossing her a practice sword. He brandished his own as he circled opposite her in the dueling ring. Astraia drew her focus to the blade in her hand and theweight of the hilt, the way the blade reflected light. She readied herself, tightening her core and bouncing on her toes, preparing to dodge any advance from him.
Caelan winked at her, then thrust his blade toward her on the attack.
She dodged, spinning around and raising her blade to block another advance. The courtyard was eerily silent except for the clang of two dueling Starborne. Metal clashed with metal, creating an ominous symphony in the early morning hours.
The waltz continued for several minutes with Caelan on the attack, thrusting, slashing, and lunging at her. Her feet were light, avoiding his advances and managing to stay within the dueling ring. Soon, sweat beaded on her forehead as the sun rose, and her muscles screamed from the abuse.
Astraia knew Caelan was a better swordsman, with far more years of practice, but she could tell he was taking it easy on her. His breathing was not nearly as ragged as hers, and his attacks were lazy compared to what she had witnessed with Apus. Always the nobleman, he was not going to risk unintentional harm in a training duel.
But she did not want charity. She needed a challenge.
Caelan lunged again, bringing his sword down, but at half the strength she knew him to be capable of inflicting. Astraia waited until the last second, then dodged, spinning behind him.
Without hesitation, she crouched on her knees and spun out her leg, catching his feet. He tripped and tumbled to the ground. Just before his face met stone, he caught himself with his hands and rolled on to his back.
