Chapter Eighteen
Cadence
“Your turn,” I said, tossing Callum the practice sword.
Eamon chuckled from behind me, far too pleased with himself. “Don’t tell me you’re quitting. We were just getting started.”
My chest heaved from exertion, and I grabbed my waterskin, drinking deeply. The liquid tasted like metal and sweat, but I drained half the skin anyway. My muscles screamed in protest as I lowered my arm, and I could feel Eamon’s eyes tracking my every movement, cataloging each weakness.
“I’m not quitting,” I said, wiping water from my chin with the back of my hand. “Just giving Callum a chance to get his ass kicked.”
My brother tested the weight of the practice sword, moving it from hand to hand. He’d been watching us spar for the better part of an hour, studying our techniques with that calculating look he gets whenever he’s scheming.
He was a quick learner. Perhaps he’d teach Eamon some humility before long.
Eamon rolled his shoulders. There was something lethal in the way he moved, all coiled muscle and thinly restrained violence.
I suddenly felt a little apprehensive about my brother’s well-being. Eamon took it easy on me, fearful of Ryker’s wrath. Callum, however, would receive no such reprieve.
“Come on then,” he said, motioning for my brother to advance.
Callum entered the training yard, his sword gripped in both hands. The tip wavered — nerves, maybe, or excitement. It was hard to tell with him.
“Loosen your hold,” I called out, settling onto the stone bench that bordered the sparring ring.
Eamon’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Don’t coddle him, Cadence. He needs to learn on his own.”
Callum adjusted his stance, loosening his grip on the hilt. He’d been practicing the forms Eamon had shown him. It was clear by the way he positioned his feet, the angle of his shoulders.
“Ready?” Eamon called, though he was already advancing.
The first crack of wood echoed across the courtyard, sharp and unforgiving. Callum stumbled back, his face flushed with effort.
Eamon had barely moved, just a lazy strike that sent my brother reeling. He kept his sword pointed toward the ground as he watched my brother, a smirk spreading across his face. Callum circled him like a hunter sizing up his prey, but Eamon only grinned wider.
“Any day now.” The taunting lilt to Eamon’s voice had my brother scowling.
His knuckles were white from how hard he gripped his practice blade, and I could see the tension building in his shoulders. He was letting Eamon get under his skin, exactly what I’d warned him not to do.
“Don’t listen to him,” I called out, earning a sharp look from Eamon. “He’s just trying to unsettle you.”
That got a reaction.
Eamon’s eyes flashed in warning. “Getting into the mind of your opponent is a valuable skill, woman.” Suddenly, his sword was in motion. He cut through the air with deadly precision.
Callum barely raised his blade in time, stumbling under the intensity of the hit.
“Footwork,” I shouted, unable to help myself. “Keep your weight centered.”
“Cadence,” Eamon growled. “Let him learn on his own. Pain is the best teacher.”
Callum adjusted his grip and came at Eamon again, this time with more control. His sword flew through the air in a wide arc, but Eamon sidestepped the blow, bringing his own weapon around to tap Callum’s ribs.
“Dead,” Eamon announced with a chuckle.
My brother ground his teeth, and I recognized the stubborn set of his jaw.
This was far from over.
“Again.”
My brother’s demanding tone lit up Eamon’s entire face, and he raised his hand, beckoning him forward.
“Oh, good, I didn’t miss it,” a masculine voice said from beside me, and I jumped.
I had been so fixated on the sparring match in front of me that I hadn’t heard Riordan approach.
“Please tell me your brother is going to ditch his tunic sometime soon. I can already imagine how he would look with sweat dripping down his tanned muscles.”
“Leave Callum alone,” I chastised, but there was no bite to it.
Riordan turned his storm-grey eyes on me, his bottom lip extended in a pout. “I need some help here, sweetheart. I’ve been charming, seductive, and sickeningly sweet, but nothing works on him. Tell me what a man’s got to do to win your brother’s favor.”
“Be a woman.” I shrugged.
Riordan scowled. “Well, that’s just… anatomically inconvenient.”
His shoulders slumped, and he let out a dramatic sigh, one hand thrown over his heart like he’d been mortally wounded.
“Truly, I give, and I give. And what do I get in return? Veiled threats and a look that says he’s contemplating setting me on fire, which frankly, is just rude considering I’m the Fire Fae.”
I smirked. “That’s how you know he likes you. If he hated you, you’d already be ash.”
He brightened. “Really? That’s encouraging.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” I said, patting his shoulder. “It means he’s still thinking about it.”
“I enjoy a challenge, sweetheart. And besides, I’m fireproof.” A flame ignited in his palm to demonstrate his point.
“Oof.”
The sound drew our attention to the two men sparring in front of us. Callum lay on his back, Eamon’s sword pointed at his throat. He pushed it away with a snarl as he rose to his feet.
“Again,” Callum said.
“Oh, this is getting good.” Riordan grinned as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
I opened my mouth to deliver a sarcastic retort, but the noise that tore through the training yard silenced me mid-breath.
A wail.
The mournful sound sent shivers cascading through my body.
Then I heard it a second time.
My spine went rigid, and an icy rush of fear flooded my veins. My gaze darted around, desperately searching for the source.
The banshee had returned, and it could only mean one thing.
“Do you hear that?” I whispered.
“What’s that, sweetheart?” Riordan asked, his eyes never straying from Callum.
“Never mind.”
This warning was for me, and me alone.
The wail came again, more insistent this time, piercing through the clatter of practice swords and Callum’s frustrated grunts. I pressed my palms against my ears, but it did little to drown out the keening noise.
“Sweetheart? What’s wrong? You look pale.” Riordan’s words sounded distant despite his closeness.
“Cadence?” Callum’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts.
He stared at me with furrowed brows, holding his wooden practice sword limply at his side.
I shook my head, forcing myself to stand. Riordan sprang to his feet, and Eamon’s calculating gaze shifted to me before sweeping the surroundings, searching for any sign of danger lurking nearby.
“I’m fine,” I said.
Riordan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re a terrible liar, sweetheart.”
I swallowed hard. The banshee’s cry came again, the sound thinner now, fading as it slipped back into the shadows.
But I knew better.
The harbinger of death never retreated. It stalked, waited, and watched. Sooner or later, it would claim its victim.
“I need to —”
The words died on my tongue as a group of the King’s Guard approached the training yard.
“Lady Cadence,” the leader said, bowing at the waist. “Your presence is required in the throne room.”
“For what purpose?” Riordan demanded.
“Forgive me, Your Highness. My only instructions were to retrieve her.”
Riordan moved closer, pressing his mouth to the shell of my ear. “Go with them, I’m right behind you. I’m going to find Ryker, and we’ll meet you there.”
I nodded, and Riordan inclined his head toward Eamon, silently instructing him to remain at my side.
“After you,” Eamon said as he reached me. “It’s going to be all right. There is not a single fae inside those walls who would stand against Ryker.”
My stomach twisted in knots, and I found myself desperate for the man I was trying to escape.
The fates sure had a sick sense of humor.