I don’t realize how much I miss morning drills until I don’t go. The recruits I was training with have shifted to midday sessions, and that’s when I’m busy with little Sinna. I still haven’t seen the queen to be able to ask about alternatives— and even if I did, I’m not sure I want to bother her with something so minor.
But without any source of physical activity, I discover I’m more antsy. More agitated. I’m consumed with worry over the queen’s depression, the princess’s acting out, and Alek’s threat to tell everyone about everything. I have nowhere to put all this energy.
When I was working in the bakery, I might have been stressed about the state of our lives, but there was no shortage of labor. Worry and anxiety never had an opportunity to consume me like this. It’s hard to obsess over everyone else when sacks of flour need to be heaved into the store room, stalls need to be mucked, or pots need to be scrubbed.
Here in the Crystal Palace, my life is too easy. There’s no need for heaving and mucking and scrubbing. If I’m not looking after Sinna, itseems I have two options: I can train with the soldiers . . . or I can practice embroidery and gossip with the court ladies. There’s no middle ground— or if there is, I haven’t discovered it.
I never thought I’d be envious of Nora’s brutal afternoon training sessions with Verin, but here I am.
By the third day, I can’t take the monotony. An hour before dawn, I pull on my leather trousers and lace up my boots. Then I lean over my sister’s bed and deliberate between waking her gently or giving her a good shake.
She chooses that moment to snore right in my face, so I go with the latter.
Nora wakes with a start, sitting up so abruptly that she almost smacks me in the face. I have to shove her back down so I don’t end up with a concussion. She thrashes against my grip.
“Nora!” I whisper fiercely. “Clouds above! It’s just me!”
As soon as she hears my voice, she stops fighting. She blinks sleepy eyes up at me. “Why are you on top of me?” she demands— and she’s not quiet about it atall. “What’s wrong—”
I slap a hand over her mouth and regret this entirely.
“If you wake Sinna,” I whisper through clenched teeth, “we’ll never be able to do anything at all.”
She breathes behind my hand for a moment, her eyes wide awake now. I let her go.
“Whatarewe doing?” she finally says.
“Get your gear. Let’s go spar.”
Her eyebrows shootwayup, and her eyes skip down my form, taking in my clothes. “You want tospar?” she whispers. “Now?” “Yes.”
“Withme?” she squeaks.
She sounds so excited that I regret not doing this sooner. “Sure,” I whisper. “Hurry. We can probably get an hour.”
She hurries.
It’s so early that the hallways are nearly deserted, only a few random guards standing at their posts, their green- and- black livery matching the heraldry occasionally marking a doorway. The gold- and- red colors of Emberfall are nowhere to be seen any longer: no soldiers, no guards, no banners, nothing. Even Noah, the queen’s doctor and Lord Jacob’s husband, is gone. I hadn’t realized how many Emberish people were always in the palace until theyweren’t.
The training arena is deserted, too, which feels unusual, though it’s probably not. Without the need to share the space with other units, early morning drills are probably less necessary. When Nora and I arrive, we discover that the exterior doors to the fields are still bolted closed, and none of the lanterns or torches are lit.
“Oh,” Nora breathes. “Maybe it’stooearly.”
“No,” I say, because I’ve learned that no one will mind our presence here. Soldiers can— and do— train at all hours of the day. “I don’t have a key to open the doors to the fields, but we can light the torches.”
In the shadows, I see her eyes widen, but I gesture for her to follow me. I have flint on my belt, and I strike it at the low torch I’ve seen soldiers and servants use to light the others. As the sparks glow and die in the dim, early morning air, I’m struck by a memory: Lord Tycho standing in my barn, setting a strand of hay on fire with his magic.
The same magic that flows through my veins.
For an instant, I want to try it myself. I’ve only ever used magic for healing: first on my own wounds, then on Alek, after he was attacked by scravers.
I glance at Nora, wondering how she’d react if she knew. King Grey’s magic started the fire that killed our father. The king was defending himself and his family, but it was still magic, and still a fire. What would my sister do if she knew I could summon the same power? How would she react? Would she be afraid?
Maybe. She watched Lord Tycho heal Jax’s hand, and she seemed more fascinated than wary. And she certainly had no qualms about the king and his abilities or we wouldn’t be here at all.
But that’s very different from discovering the same magic in hersister. I remember the burn of betrayal in Alek’s gaze when he realized I’d used magic to save him.
I imagine seeing it in Nora’s eyes, and that makes me strike the flint extra hard. But just as I do it, sparks of magic flicker in my veins.
