“Gods, Nyleeria. I never intended…” He bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”
I rose from my seat and knelt before him. Tilting his chin up, I pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I only have eyes for you, Thaddeus.”
With loving tenderness, he kissed me back.
I rose to my feet, extending a hand toward him, and said, “Lay with me.”
Snuggling in under the covers, he held me tight, and the warm comfort of him pressing against my back allowed me to contract back into shape a little more.
The next morning, I rolled over, reaching instinctively for Thaddeus but instead of the warmth of his body, my hand met a hard surface. Blinking in surprise, I found a tray laden with breakfast and fresh flowers where he usually slept. Sitting up, a grin spread across my face—perhaps Thaddeus should be guilt-ridden more often.
A simple breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, toast, fru—my heart skipped a beat. I barely registered the glass of orange juice clattering against the plate as its contents spilled out. The blade, the sphere, the intricate swirls were just as I remembered. Gods, how I’d missed my dagger—the only remnant of my past.
Emotions flooded me, predominantly relief. I hugged the dagger to my chest, feeling the weight of it against my body, the hilt under my fingers. Closing my eyes, I tipped my head back to face the heavens.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
I took in every detail, rubbing the sapphire-blue stone with my thumb. This dagger didn’t just represent where I came from, or Eithan—it reminded me of who I was, what grounded me, and what brought me joy. I couldn’t deny that part of me any longer, and I knew now that I didn’t have to. I was safe.
Maybe one day I’d feel the same way about magic as I did about the blade, but until then, I’d keep throwing. Even still, I doubted I would ever let this part of me lay dormant again, knowing the cost.
There was a quiet knock on the door.
“Enter,” I said mindlessly, continuing to reacquaint myself with the dagger.
“You spoiled your breakfast,” Ava said.
I smiled widely and set the dagger aside. Embracing her tightly, I said, “Stars, it’s good to see you.”
“You weren’t awaythatlong,” she remarked.
“True, but stars, it felt like a lifetime.”
Ava laughed, and the soft sound lit up the room. “The Summer Court suits you,” she said, noting my darkened completion, my skin looking as if summer had almost passed.
“I think that’s the only part of the Summer Court that agreed with me,” I said with a dark chuckle.
“Let me get you something else to eat,” she offered as she went to clear the untouched tray.
“No, thank you. I’ll just grab something from the kitchen on my way out.”
My dreams last night had been full of training sequences, the fire within fully rekindled. And now, with my dagger in hand, I needed to immerse myself in that rhythmic flow. Denying the urge would be like a wave depriving the shores of its presence—impossible.
Ava’s brows furrowed, but she made her way to the wardrobe and laid out the simple skirt and shirt combination I’d become accustomed to.
“I’m going to need something…different today,” I ventured.
She took my measure, noting the dagger, and gave a nod of understanding. Mercifully, she didn’t give me a hard time and handed me a tight-fitting pair of navy-blue pants with sufficient stretch to them and a simple pale-blue T-shirt with a loose fit. It was perfect.
I’d wanted to throw my hair in a bun and leave, but she insisted braids would hold better. My knee bobbed incessantly as I waited for her to finish weaving the double braids and tie them into a bun at the nape of my neck.
Lost in excitement, I arrived at the training area in a blink,thoughareaseemed too modest a word as I took in its grandeur. The last time I was here, my attention had been stolen by the half-naked men on display. I quickly pushed that memory aside and continued up the small staircase.
The platform stretched out into a massive rectangle, roughly fifty paces from corner to corner, offering ample space for sparring. Oversized pillars flanked the perimeter, supporting a small, ineffectual roof that failed to shield the training surface. It might have been intended to shelter spectators from the elements, though I had my doubts. The ground was covered in tight wooden planks reminiscent of hardwood flooring, though rough and weathered.
As I stepped off the worn surface and onto the training area, I had to rebalance. Kneeling, I examined it. While the dull sheen and density gave it a stonelike appearance, it was anything but. The material yielded beneath my touch, reminding me of spongy moss, although greatly compressed.
I rose and bounced on my toes, lightly testing it. The strange flooring responded much like the taut hide of a tribal drum yielding to the seasoned thumb of the drummer, gently forcing it to rebound. I wondered what purpose it held. Surely, it would hurt less to fall on, but I doubted that was a consideration for these ancient males. It must have some performance-enhancing elements, or perhaps it reduced injury.
