Even if she could help more, could bring herself to once again be part of the family, she would inevitably make things worse. It was a large part of what fueled her panic and anxiety around them.
“It’s been three years.”
“Not long enough.”
Her grandmother looked close to losing her temper. Iryana knew that eventually her grandmother would reach her limits and give up on her, kicking her out or sending her somewhere else. That thought was a gaping wound inside her.
Iryana knew what her grandmother did to Kleesolds that grew to be too much of a nuisance. Bitterness filled her. She knew what happened when the First had to put the family and those they were sworn to protect above all else.
“I won’t abandon my oaths, you know that,” Iryana added quietly. “I do as much as I can, but don’t ask more than that.”
In truth, she did far more than the volunteers stationed there, took far more watch hours at the western watchtower than any others, but there were so many things she just couldn’t do.
She had to stop giving her grandmother ammunition, stop doing more than she promised. Or at least stop letting them see her do it. She knew her family was struggling now, more than they ever had since erecting the wall, and it grew harder not to help.
Despite everything, she still loved her family more than anything. Especially her sisters. She would do anything for them, even die for them. Anything but being part of the family again.
“Fine,” the First snapped. “You’re dismissed.”
She repressed a flinch, instead bowing her head in respect before she fled.
Slipping out of her grandmother’s office, Iryana was shaky and raw. The same way she left every meeting with the First.
She was coming undone, tears threatening to spill, fears she didn’t understand clamping around her throat, as she rushed through the constricting halls again.
When Iryana stepped out of the house and into the courtyard, she was met with a comforting shock of cold, sweet breeze on her face. It immediately calmed her nerves as she sucked in a deep breath, the chill filling her lungs.
She begged it to soothe her, to dull the edges of her pain.
The first hint of their short highland spring was always a wonderful time in the part of Istri they called home. This year, the end of the Lying Moon was warmer than usual, which was going to send them into the Mud Moon with a fervor. The ice coating the rivers was already melting, animals were coming out of hibernation, and despite the icy sludge and mud, it was easier to tend to her chores with the lengthening days. That month was called the Mud Moon for a reason.
The air was still cold, but nothing like the bone-deep chill of winter, when only a quarter of the day saw even dim light. It settled in her lungs like a familiar friend.
Soon, she was feeling in control again.
But as her eyes passed over the packed-earth courtyard, she immediately shrank back. In the center, Uncle Dinhal was training some of his other nieces and nephews. Iryana’s cousins.
Iryana tucked herself into the covered doorway, letting the shadows obscure her.
The Kleesolds’ main house was L-shaped, making up the corner of a large walled-in courtyard containing stables, a training area, and a protected space for the youngest of the clan. The walls were sturdy, but nothing that would stop the dakii for long. If the post’s wall fell, this one would only hold long enough for those inside to escape through the underground passage. A chance at least for the children of the clan and the surrounding village.
Her heart quickened, but she couldn’t stop herself from looking her cousins over.
She missed them.
They all wore training armor, not the full guardian armor that Iryana wore since she’d come straight from the watch. These days, most of their clothes were neutrals that would blend into the forest as needed, not brightly colored and patterned like those of the past or those who never worried about venturing into beast territory. While female civilians usually wore long dresses if their work accommodated it, female guardians wore knee-length dresses over their trousers and tunics.
Kladara and Edvar, the two middle children of Iryana’s Aunt Emadya, were sparring with training staves while the others watched.
By the time they turned twenty-one, all Istrins went on a pilgrimage to one of the wells to forge their raw magic with that of one of the elemental gods and to forge that god’s magic with their own bodies through the use of tattoos. This gave their magic form and enhanced abilities when they summoned it, based on whether the Istrin was metal-forged, earth-forged, air-forged, water-forged, or fire-forged.
Despite their both being over twenty and thus forged, guardians still trained with an array of weapons beyond their forgings. If either willed it, they could call the magic held within their bodies into the physical world. But that magic was limited to the forms they had forged it into, which wasn’t always the right weaponfor every situation. Like most younger Kleesolds, Kladara and Edvar were both air-forged, and their forgings held air magic which was not as strong against the beasts.
Kladara, perhaps the most competitive of all the Kleesolds, had her dark eyes narrowed fiercely, her dark-blond braid swirling as she moved. There was a sneer on her face, likely because she seemed to be losing to her younger brother. Edvar, to his credit, had certainly improved since Iryana had last seen him, despite the circles under his eyes—likely from a late night of drinking. He was lean, with chin-length blond hair that was currently a sweaty mess, and a strong face she’d seen the village women fawn over at festivals.
Levek, their reserved younger brother, stood next to Uncle Dinhal watching. His square, blocky face was tense with focus, and he was coated in a sheen of sweat, as if he had just finished sparring himself.
Tonhald, the eldest, was unsurprisingly absent; probably on watch or helping his wife with their baby.
