Morning, the moments when dawn was pale and weary, seemed to be the only time I could train.
After last night’s feast, I’d not been able to sleep long. Unrest at the sight of Lyra locked in the strange craft-induced trance kept sleep from ever settling fully. The way she’d sobbed against me, more broken than before, cut through me to the marrow of my damn bones.
Fadey never stayed under the control of his craft so long. For a moment, I was not convinced Lyra would wake. More unsettling than her stupor was the jolt of concern for her if she did not pull away.
I finished wrapping my wrists and selected a practice seax from one of the racks, then rolled the blade, testing the give and weight.
Frustration over my misplaced interest in the melder was like a slow bleed, yet I couldn’t find the wound.
In the weeks since she arrived, I’d followed her every step under the king’s order. Whether it be from a corner during the queen’s many luncheons, or in silence while she studied books on craft, I kept aloof, agitated.
But my resolve was failing.
Lyra was skilled at masking, I’d give her that. The woman was well practiced in smiling and nodding, while slowly dimming the light in her eyes. She knew how to become faceless in a crowd, never drawing the eyes of too many.
She kept drawing mine.
I thought I might hate her for it. Never had I been so unraveled. Now I was having damn nightmares with her face.
Since building my life in Stonegate, I kept my focus on my duties, my strength, and keeping our people safe. Mere weeks after bringing a stubborn woman into these halls, I slept less, thought of the way her lips twitched as she read, and I’d grown a bit of smug pride with how she took to heart learning the language of my hands.
I thought too damn much about the way her skin, when it touched me, no matter how briefly, lingered like venom I wanted to drink again and again.
A festering energy to beat a sword against anything had me storming the practice fields before my new charge woke for the day.
“Lord Ashwood.” Darkwin cut through the mists, shield and blade in hand, eyes alight after I’d battled in solitude for a full bell toll. “Care for a partner?”
I arched a brow.You’re early to rise.
Kael studied my hands. Stav learned most of my crucial gestures—the ones I used for commands—within the first weeks of training. Most never tried to learn more. Only Thane and Emi knew every word I spoke—well, Lyra was catching up quickly.
Kael was a curious sort, and he’d learned enough to hold a decent conversation.
“After last night, I couldn’t sleep.” Darkwin paused. “Thank you, by the way, for helping Lyra.”
A muscle flinched in my jaw.Is she awake?
“No.” He hesitated. “I’m sure it was exhausting. That was the longest she’s pushed her craft.”
I didn’t want to speak on Lyra Bien any longer.Have you settled here?
“I have. My unit is honorable and I’m pleased to see Edvin and Hilda have started smiling again.”
A bite of something like guilt gnawed at my chest. Worthless to feel guilt over something beyond my control. We were ordered to take the crafters, so we did.
“They’re a bit like Ly, reading up on craft a great deal,” Kael went on. “Edvin enjoys sparring ever since the ravagers attacked the wall. But I think Hilda might find more joy with the herb healers. She was often at the bedsides of the sick back home.”
The brother and sister did not leave anywhere without each other. Darkwin might’ve been trying to find the good of their new existence, but I was inclined to see the darker pieces of folk—they were in pain.
True love of family was lost on me. Thane was the closest I had to a brother, and I tried to imagine being torn from him like the man had been torn from his family and the woman from her husband. Difficult, to be sure.
Nothing I could do. I was not king here.
Kael’s smile widened and he tossed his blade to the other hand. “So? What do you say? Up for a round?”
Already sweat beaded my brow from slicing straw-stuffed canvas sacks, but I rolled my sword in my hand and bent at the knees.
When the sun was high overhead, the sparring fields were filled with Stav not assigned to watchposts, and Darkwin was about to be defeated for the fifth time.
