Streams of Essence whirled around them both—what little she assumed was remaining in their Wells.
“And this was Lykor’s idea,” Aesar added, shifting his stance as he circled the prince. “He wanted to practice wielding magic while I focus on combat.”
Vesryn lunged, his blades flashing in a wide arc. Aesar’s glaives screeched as he caught the blow. Vesryn hurled a burst of force straight at Aesar’s chest. But shadows erupted around his twin, disintegrating the magic before it landed.
“I can beat both of you,” Vesryn said, nearly winded as he whirled for another strike.
Effortlessly batting the prince’s weapons aside, Aesar arched a brow. “We’ll see about that. I think you underestimate how much Lykor is looking forward to—” Shadows detonated around him before he could finish, lashing at the prince like a hundred whips.
Serenna lingered, watching the fluid rhythm of their clashing weapons and colliding magic as Lykor fought with an unseen hand. There was a brutal artistry to the caged violence, a symmetry in their movements, the way power wove seamlessly through every calculated strike.
Sensing a humming pressure behind her, Serenna turned toward the rocky overhang. Beneath it, Jassyn was twisting a current of wind, sweeping away layers of snow as he began arranging their accommodations.
His shelters had grown more intricate each night, the frozen walls shaped into five distinct alcoves, offering a semblance of privacy.
Pulling herself from the sparring, Serenna made her way toward him to help prepare their camp. At some point, Fenn had been by, his pack leaning neatly beside the others. Serenna released a long, relieved breath as she shrugged off her own bag, its weight hitting the frozen ground with a satisfying thud.
“What do you think?” she asked, brushing her hand across the ice-streaked wall, thankful that the rock shielded them from the wind. “If Fenn can scrounge up something to burn, we could set a fire here,” she said, scuffing her boot outside the overhang.
Jassyn swept his arm in an arc, the icy crystals beginning to stack in response. “We can wall this whole area off.”
“I might as well make my section bigger,” Serenna said with a resigned sigh.
Stretching out her hand, she reached toward the snow beyond where Aesar and Vesryn were sparring. The flakes lifted and gathered, swirling into a whirlwind as she hauled a drift toward herself.
This evening would follow the same unfortunate script as the others. Fenn would somehow manage to claim a spot beside her—inherpocket of space—making Jassyn’s carefully constructed compartments feel pointless.
Serenna could already picture the routine. Fenn would proceed to flash the prince a fanged grin, suggestively patting the space beside himself in invitation. And then Vesryn’s fingers would twitch, his irritation hardly masked, but he’d swallow whatever rebuke lingered on his tongue and stoically settle on her other side.
For all of his shameless antics, Fenn at least kept his clothes on at night. Serenna suspected that it wasn’t out of any sense of modesty, but because even with his warmer blood, he couldn’t ignore the biting cold.
No sooner than Serenna and Jassyn set to work barricading the sheltered overhang with snow, Fenn warped back into the clearing, burdened by a mound of logs and branches.
“We get to have a fire tonight?” Serenna asked hopefully, her steps light as she hurried toward Fenn while he arranged the sticks on the frozen ground.
Longer-burning fires were a rare luxury. Deadwood was scarce and, more often than not, Fenn would have to portal back to familiar terrain to scavenge enough to heat their evening meal.
“And not just that,” Fenn said, digging around in his cloak. With a flourish, he pulled out a handful of sprigs dotted with delicate white fruit. “I found some of those frost berries you like. Perfect for brewing tea once we get the fire going.”
Serenna leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
Fenn grinned in response, the bond humming as he tunneled into her side of their Well. Siphoning a stream of magic from her reserves, he channeled her power to fuel his force talent. With a burst of pressure, he gouged a hollow in the ground, the snow scattering like feathers before he began neatly stacking the branches inside.
Essence thrummed in the air, drawing Serenna’s attention back to Aesar and Vesryn clashing in the distance. Rhythmic pulses of magic clashed with the ring of steel.
Catching her staring, Fenn elbowed her with a knowing smirk. “Nothing like two males sparring. Think they’d let me join?”
“To train? Maybe.” Serenna patted his shoulder. “But I have a feeling you’d try to lure them into something else.”
Fenn snorted, snapping a branch. “It’s always a venture worth pursuing.”
Serenna huffed a laugh, drifting over to their packs to rummage for the cookpot and kettle. She flicked her wrist and gathered a stream of snow, steering flakes into the pots.
When Jassyn’s icy wall finally blocked Fenn’s view of the brothers, he sighed and refocused on her. “I’ve been scouting for signs of hot springs, but it seems you’ll have to endure another day lacking that bath you’re about to perish without.”
Serenna grimaced. Washing up with melted snow was a dreadful substitute for a proper bath. She didn’t want to think about the state of her hair, still bound in the tidy braids that Fenn had helped weave before they’d left the jungle. While freezing water around Lykor back at the fortress had been effortless, heating water was a skill that continued to elude both her and Jassyn.
Fenn brushed chips of bark from his claws as he rose. “I’ll venture out again to see if there’s anything to hunt.”
