A cold sweat washed over me as I sat up. The room spun. I closed my eyes until faint movement to my right made me open them again, reminding me I wasn’t alone.
I breathed out a soft sigh, taking in the sight of Nova curled under the blankets next to me.Memories of last night—of staying up until an ungodly hour talking of nothing and everything—flooded my mind, calming it. Watching her body rise and fall with peaceful breaths brought me even further back to my senses, stopping the room’s spinning, helping me remember why I was here and where I was going.
I wasn’t sure when it had happened, but my internal compass didn’t point north, any longer; it pointed to her.
Quietly, I slipped out of bed and went to the wash room. After splashing handfuls of freezing cold water on my face, my gazeended up transfixed on the ornate mirror above the sink. After weeks spent in Lorien’s clutches, the reflection looking back at me still seemed like a stranger.
I stared at it for a moment, half-expecting to see movement underneath my skin; the crawling sensation hadn’t lessened.
But no matter how long I stared, my reflection didn’t change. My skin didn’t split apart, revealing some heinous beast underneath, trying to make itself known…
I was merely myself again.
For now, at least.
Walking back into Nova’s room, my eyes automatically drifted to Grimnor. It was leaning against the far wall, reflecting none of the rising sunlight that was glinting off so many other things around it. It always seemed to absorb light, instead. I could sense Lorien’s presence hovering within the velvety dark blade—a brand of magic I feared I would never be able tonotrecognize, however faint it was now.
That wasn’t what had woken me up, though.
The crawling in my skin was different. It didn’t feel like something separate from me, trying to gain control. It felt more like something…wakingwithin me. Like an old wound I’d aggravated somehow.
Movement seemed to help settle it, so I dressed and headed for the armory and training grounds on the opposite side of the palace.
As I made my way into the space, helping myself to one of the swords hanging in the armory, I heard voices coming from a meeting room along the grounds’ edge. A tense conversation, from the sound of it. I recognized the voice of Nova’s brother, among others, but I paid them little mind, turning my attention instead to the pile of practice dummies leaning against a nearby partition. I arranged a small army of opponents and went to work.
The next hour passed in a blur.
The meeting continued to rumble in the background, raised voices occasionally distracting me from my practice.
Eventually, the loudest exclamations thus far were accompanied by several people storming from the private room and angrily making their way back toward the main palace.
I drew closer to the scene, curiosity getting the better of me.
Moments later, three more people exited the room—Lord Renvar, flanked by two guards. Bastian followed them out but paused in the doorway, his mouth set in a hard line and his body tense as he watched them go.
Renvar threw a wary glare in my direction but walked by me without saying a word.
A smart choice.
Bastian didn’t move until long after they’d disappeared, at which point he silently made his way over to the battalion of dummies I’d been working against. He unsheathed the short sword at his belt and twisted it back and forth with methodical, balanced precision before launching into a rush of powerful swings and strikes.
I considered calling it quits and leaving him to practice alone, that is until he stopped me with a pointed glance—right after cleanly slicing the head from one of the dummies. It bounced once against the dusty ground before rolling to a stop at his feet.
“There are rumors that you attacked Lord Renvar the other night,” Bastian said.
“Attackedis a strong word.”
He lowered his sword, studying me.
I tensed but said nothing else; if he was hoping for an apology for what I’d done, he wasn’t going to get it.
Because I wasn’t sorry.
If anything, I wished I’d done more than just frightening the bastard.
The regent knelt to pick up the decapitated head, calmly and precisely balancing it back on the figure’s body. I got the impression that he spent a lot of time in these grounds, relieving these practice mannequins of their heads.
Rolling some of the tension from his shoulders, he said, “He was overdue for a good humbling. So, thank you.”
