I drew my knees to my chest, letting that settle over me.
“Get some rest.” Uther headed for the door. “And stop hoarding the good pastries.”
I managed a weak smile. “I can’t promise that.”
The door thumped shut behind him, and thunder boomed.
Uther looked at red lightning and called itnew.If Uther could treat the apocalypse like entertainment, I could get out of bed.
I needed to make one thing better in a world I kept making worse.
I strolled to the training yard.
The storm hadn’t let up. Wind whipped through the warcamp, carrying with it fat drops of rain. I pulled my arms close as the weather turned, but the droplets slid off the cream linen like oil off glass.
The dress had runes to keep me dry and warm. Magic I’d never dreamed of in Skalgard, where we patched holes with thread and hoped our boots lasted another winter.
The yard sprawled ahead, packed dirt already churning to mud under warriors’ boots. They sparred through the rain, grunts and clashing steel filling the air. Some nodded as I passed.Others stared.
I tugged at my sleeve. The dress was practical by castle standards—simple linen, long sleeves, no elaborate embroidery. But here, surrounded by scarred leather, the soft fabric felt absurdly delicate. Like I’d wandered into a forge wearing silk.
One warrior glanced up, nudging his companion. They both watched me pass.
My cheeks burned. I didn’t belong here. I should go back, bury myself in books?—
“Runebreaker.”
I froze. A female warrior approached, her jaw marked by a thick white scar. Her hands trembled as she stopped a few feet away.
“Yes?”
“Can you…can you look at this?”
She held out a shortsword, and a sickly rune pulsed along the steel, the black veins clawing up her forearm where she gripped the hilt.
“I’ve been holding it for three years,” she mumbled. “Took it off a Caelir raider. Thought it was spoils. Didn’t realize it had a curse rune until I picked it up.”
I pulled on my gloves and reached for the blade. Dark threads erupted from the rune. Writhing things that lashed at my hands. Fishing through the wiry texture, I clutched the core thread, which dug into my finger.
“Hold still,” I muttered.
I twisted. The thread snapped with a burst of green light, and the blade clattered to the ground.
The warrior gasped, staring at her empty hands. She flexed her fingers, then gaped at me.
“Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely. “I thought I’d die with that thing in my hand.”
I smiled. “You’re welcome.”
She bent to retrieve the now-harmless blade and slammed it into a nearby weapons rack, then she raised her clenched fist in the air.
A group of males surged toward me, talking all at once. Rain drummed on their armor as they loomed over me.
My heart seized, and I was back in Skalgard, cornered in an alley, waiting for the first blow. But no one reached for a weapon. They were just…talking.
“Can you really break any rune?”
“What about blood oaths?” barked another.
