The runes, Ezer thought.
Arawn nodded, still watching the sky.
We’re protected for several hits, thanks to our Scribes, and hopefully the aerie will be able to make one count.
What is their weakness?Ezer asked.
Daylight, Arawn answered.If it weren’t for the sunrise, this war would have been lost long ago. Sacred magic slows them, but it won’talways kill them. It must be the removal of their heads or wings … a hit they cannot heal with their shadows.
Just like the wolf in the woods.
She imaginedSixout therein the battle.
Imagined a Sacred’s blade driving deep into the pup’s belly, and she shuddered.
She felt sick.
How do the Riders decide, Ezer asked,that they want to be in the sky?
His voice was gentle, faraway as he thought back to her.It’s in our blood, Minder. Just like that feeling you said you get. Now … the Descent is over. It’s time we train.
Her stomach sank.
And when she turned to him, he looked like a warrior again.
Cold as the stone in her pocket.
‘Please,’ she said out loud. ‘I’ve no desire to train in any sort of physical activity, Arawn, especially against children half my age.’
Not because she feared she’d best them.
But because she knew they would all kick her ass.
But as Arawn shrugged and turned away, she realized they weren’t going through stances, or wielding training swords, or getting ready to spar.
‘What is this?’ Ezer asked, as she sat down beside Izill.
Everyone had sat in their own spaces on the floor, where one of the older servants had begun passing out wooden trays. Each one held a bowl of water, a seed, two candles – one lit and one unlit – and finally, a small dagger.
‘The night class,’ Izill said. ‘For those – mostly the younglings – not yet settled on their pillar, because they’ve yet to wield at all. If they fail to settle before they turn thirteen, odds are they’ll never settle at all. And as of now … well, I suppose it’s also a class for you. And me.’ She sighed. ‘A special circumstance, given our advanced ages, but every Sacred’s got to start somewhere. We’ve a rare few that settle in their later years.’
‘Settle withwhat?’ Ezer asked.
Izill smiled. ‘Yourmagic.’ She pressed afinger to her lips as everyone turned to face the front of the room … where it wasArawnwho stood waiting like an impatient professor.
Of course.
This was what Kinlear had meant when he saidto look after the younglings.
He’d said it like it was embarrassing. A demotion, or a punishment.
She couldn’t stop herself from looking at Arawn’s hands, remembering when his fire had fizzled out in the woods. All the stories about the crown prince with the gods’ glorious magic …
It’s all my fault,he said.
What had he done … what could be so bad that the gods would deny the invocations of a crown prince? The King was dwindling. And with Arawn next in line for the throne, they couldn’t afford to lose him. He’d die as fast as thenomagetroops without magic.
His eyes fell upon hers as he said, ‘Let’s begin.’
