5
The barrier between my skin and theirs works a little too well.
Fighting my Storm Command feels the same as fighting pieces of wood. It’s not like touching living, breathing creatures. On the positive side, I stop seeing my ladies as elves. I stop worrying about hurting them the way I’ve been trained to fear hurting others ever since I became the Princess.
By the end of the week, one day before the Heartstone Ceremony, Jordan has beaten any remaining fear or uncertainty out of me. I’ve also discovered my weapon of choice.
As ten female elves surround me, I see only targets.
The blows come lightning fast, but I feint left, right, duck and slide, retrieving my wooden staff from the ground several feet away. I return to my feet, swinging my weapon at foot level while I’m down.
As the wooden staff sweeps the ground, two of my Storm Command are swept from their feet with it. I quickly follow up with whip-like blows to both their torsos, forcing them down as I leap upward. Three more are upon me but I shove the weapon at one, hearing the air leave her lungs, as I quickly withdraw it and swing it left at the other, connecting with a crack against her ribs. I kick out at the one approaching from my right, losing myself to the rhythm of the fight.
I leap and spin to avoid the next dagger, the next sword, using the staff to disarm and attack at the same time. I love how much distance it gives me, keeping my attackers at bay and if they get too close, I use my legs to force them backward.
One of them decides to fight fire with fire, coming at me with her own wooden staff. The two weapons thud and crack against each other, back and forth as we continue to avoid each other’s attacks. An arrow whistles in from the side and I deflect it, vaguely aware that there are only two other females still standing. I jab the staff left, but don’t give it everything. The female avoids my attack by feinting right but I’m too quick for her, casting my weapon in that direction before she can adjust. It connects with her shoulder with a savage thud and she stumbles backward.
The final two females race at me at once, swords in hand, one ducking under the staff, the other flying upward. I rotate left, my weapon passing between them, but I’m already spinning it. It catches the leaping elf across her legs, knocking her off course and the second across her cheek, cracking against her head so loudly it jars me back to the present.
I drop my weapon and race to her. “Are you okay?”
Every one of my ten Storm Commanders lies on the ground. They alternate between wincing and grinning at me. Laughter and clapping follow from the ones who have found it as far up as their knees.
The one I clobbered in the head rubs her scalp, but she’s smiling. “Nothing a bit of ice won’t fix, Princess. It’s an honor to have fought you.”
I spin to Elise, still concerned, but she nods. “The cloaking spell protects them from wounds as well as touch. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”
I exhale and help the female to her feet. “I think I’ve gotten a bittoostrong.”
Jordan jumps to her feet from where she stood on the sidelines. She wears a giant grin. “There’s no such thing as too strong. Well done, Princess. We’ll train again after the Heartstone Ceremony, but only when you’re not needed for the protocols.”
I bite my tongue before I tell her that I won’t be able to train again at all. “Thank you for helping me regain my skills.”
I help pack up the weapons. Then I have time to visit Mai at the healing center one last time before I have to head to the Storm Vault. The good news is that she’s doing much better. A golden sphere rests on her stomach: the spellcasters devised it as a way to capture the Storm’s remnant energy and draw it safely out of her. They promise me she will be better in a week but she won’t be able to attend the ceremony tomorrow.
On the way out of the healing center, Elise creates a sound barrier around her and me. She’s grown more and more subdued as the week progressed and I expect her to tell me that she has no new information—more than anything I want her to tell me that a curse isn’t even possible. All of me hopes that’s true.
She gestures at the sky. “The magic that holds our home together is deep magic; the kind that existed at the beginning of time. The ecosystem around us isn’t created by spells made up of words and spellcasting, but by the ancient magic of creation. It’s only through the deepest magic that our world can exist between layers of the Earth.”
She studies the sky for so long that I prompt her. “What is it Elise? I doubt you intend to give me a history lesson right now.”
She wraps her hair behind her ear. “I made a mistake, Princess. When I was searching for a curse, I looked in the spell books—even in the Heartstone Protocols—and I found nothing. I convinced myself it wasn’t possible. I didn’t want to believe that the curse could be something far worse.”
“Now you’re scaring me.”
“A curse shouldn’t be possible because the Heartstone Protocols can’t be breached. As soon as a champion hands you his family’s heartstone, the protective spells wipe clean any previous spells cast over him and prevent any new ones being placed. It’s created that way so that a champion can’t win by casting spells over himself. But… the protocols don’t protect against deep magic. They can’t.”
My heart sinks. “You’re telling me the curse is made from deep magic? But deep magic can’t be countered.”
She nods. “It would be like trying to stop the sun from shining. The curse may as well be sunlight—”
“More likedeath-light…”
“—shining around the champions. When the final protocol is complete and your husband is chosen, the curse will activate in the same way that our sun rises.”
“Then nothing can stop it.”
“Only you can,” she says.
