It was the smallest thing, the shake of Fyar’s head.
“You’re too tense. You need to calm down. A good fuck or fight would do, and since I can only help with one of those, what do you say? Shall we have a go?”
Fyar met Killian’s eyes over his shoulder, and nodded.
“Out!” Killian yelled, his voice carrying. “Now!”
The training grounds cleared in record time at the sight of the king following on Killian’s heels.
“Swords or fists?” Killian asked once they were alone.
Fyar cracked his neck as he stripped out of the top layer of his robes, the long sleeves and train not ideal in a fight. “Swords.”
The clashing of steel on steel echoed as Fyar met Killian blow for blow. It was a dance, hard and heavy and quick. Neither holding back.
It was easy to forget, in all the luxury and pomp that was Fyar’s world, that he had been a soldier. That he had fought on the frontlines and commanded armies before Killian was even born, and it was evident that he hadn’t lost a bit of that strength.
They fought until they were both panting, sweat soaking their skin.
They fought until they had each taken blows, blood dripping from shallow cuts on their sides and arms and legs.
They fought until Fyar’s eyes were bright again, and he was smiling, the weight on his shoulders a little bit lighter.
“Want to talk about it?” Killian asked as they put up their swords. They looked out at the hedges along the labyrinth. They squirmed excitedly, as if they could feel Fyar was close.
Fyar bit his lip. “It was harder than I thought it’d be…seeing Lyra again. I’d hoped after all this time it would be easier.”
“It doesn’t work that way. The time and the distance. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t dull any of it, no matter how much you wish it might.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“I understand more than most.”
“Ah. Yes. Your brother. Our situations are more alike than I realized. Though yours seems to have a happier ending.”
Killian cringed. “Maybe not.”
Fyar wiped his brow. “I wish…” He trailed of, shaking his head. “I wish a lot of things. None of them possible.”
“What? Tell me.” It was so rare for Fyar to show his pain. If Killian could listen, or help, he wanted to. “What do you wish?”
It came out slowly, Fyar’s truth. “I wish things could be different. I wish my mother weren’t dead. I wish my father had been stronger. I wish I hadn’t had to do what I’d done. I wish Lyra weren’t so smart. I wish…I wish I had my family back and I wasn’t doing this alone.”
The weight of Netyere on Fyar’s shoulders must be unbearable.
Killian pressed closer. “I know it’s not the same, I can never replace them, but I’m here. Whatever you need or ask, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You have to say that.” Fyar tapped the exposedenilthat peeked out from Killian’s sleeve.
“No, I don’t,” said Killian. “I can serve you, and still hate you. I onlyhaveto be loyal and obedient. That’s not what this is, and you know it. I’m not going anywhere, Fyar. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that.”
Squinting at Fyar, Killian held up his wrists like he were in shackles, and shook them in Fyar’s face. “Really? How could I leave?”
Fyar shoved him. “Whatever.”
Killian paused. “Could you forgive him? After what he did? After what he tried to take from you?”
