Cold air scorched my throat with every breath as we ran out of the training pit. The moment I stepped off the cobblestone, I inwardly groaned. My boots sunk through slush that seemed to swallow my feet whole. I hated the snow. The cold. Everything about the never-ending winter of the Mortal Kingdom. The wind lashed needles against my face, each step dragging and slowing me down.
“Sorry for upsetting you,” Riven said easily beside me, not winded in the slightest. “Your scars are none of my business… it just took me by surprise.”
I stumbled, almost falling into the snow. Apologies were something I was not used to hearing. The kindness coiled like guilt in my chest. It was a foreign feeling that made my words lodge in my throat.
“It’s fine,” I managed betweenlaboured breaths. We both knew he could run much faster, but he kept pace with me. For a heartbeat, the quiet loyalty only worsened the guilt. I had wanted to hurt him less than an hour ago. We rounded the corner of the barracks, where the island expanded into dense trees. Somehow, I could sense the ocean was further away in that direction, like an inner compass. The blackened limbs of the trees rustled from a breeze I couldn’t feel, and snow dusted towards the ground. An unnatural stillness prickled over my sweat-soaked skin.
Find it.My steps faltered.
It’s here. A piece. Find the pieces.
The voice rasped through the branches, a chorus of whispers scraping against my bones. The shadows seemed to pulse, drawing me towards them.
“Lyra?” Riven’s voice sliced through the trance.
“It’s nothing,” I said quickly, shaking my head and forcing my body back into motion. We had fallen behind. But the voices followed, threading through my skull, impossible to shake.
“You sure?” Riven pressed, eyes narrowing as if he could see straight through my lie.
I gave him a tight-lipped smile and ran faster. He chuckled from behind, keeping pace with infuriating ease. By the time they called us to halt, my muscles were trembling so violently I could barely stand. We jogged towards the group of initiates who looked like they may have stopped running a while ago.
I doubled over, hands on my knees, thankful that they hadn’t fed us breakfast before training because I was sure it would be spilled in the snow by now.
Riven nudged his shoulder against mine, his body heat pressing into me. His grey eyes bore into mine, holding me captive for a moment.
“You did well for a princess,” he said, his half smile causing a dimple in his cheek.
“I guess I’m used to running,” I murmured, tilting my head up to look at him. I hadn’t realised how tall he was. Or the rust-coloured flecks bursting around his iris, like a hint of golden sunlight through storm clouds.
“Arm yourselves!” Captain Bronwyn’s voice startled me, and my eyes broke from Riven’s as a stack of swords got dumped into the snow in front of us.
My fingers felt numb as I picked one up, nearly dropping it. It was heavier than it looked, the cold metal biting into my palms.
Lieutenants and corporals bled into the pits from the viewing benches, joining their squads.
Orin paced in front of our squad, Bohdi standing behind him with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Hold your swords in an attack position,” Orin commanded. I almost laughed; I had no idea what that was. I glanced around and the others held their swords with two hands, braced in front of them with a wide stance, ready to strike at moment’s notice. Clearly, they had done this before.
I struggled to mimic the stance. The sword wobbled as my balance threatened to give way.
Hadley seemed to be having difficulty as well, the tip of her sword dipping towards the ground. Her hands slipped and her sword dropped into the snow with a wet thud.
Bohdi walked over, picking up her sword and placing it in her hands with a warm smile.
“Let’s try that again,” he told her gently. She nodded and followed his directions.
“This is not a toy,” Orin said, voice low and cold. “It’snot for show. When your Sanctum burns out, your weapon is the only thing between you and death.”
He walked down the line, assessing grips and stances, stopping short when he reached me. His jaw flexed, a sigh escaping him as if he’d expected no less than to see me struggling.
“Your grip is too tight,” he muttered.
He nudged my boot with his, forcing my stance to open. The heat of his body pressed into my back as he walked behind me. Large hands closed over mine, prying my white-knuckled grip loose before adjusting my hold on the hilt.
His familiar scent of leather and steel washed over me, rich and steady, tugging me back to memories of being in his arms.
It was a smell I had missed for seven years, though so much had changed since then. I was not quite the fragile princess Orin had left behind.
