31. Weak Legs
Wilder knew Lyra hadn’t spotted him yet from his sanctuary in the tree, even though Maelys had already. Lyra walked to the middle of the grounds and stood there, closing her eyes.
The well of magic in the core of his being surged, and he couldn’t help but increase his wind.
Lyra spun in a circle, her head tilted towards the cloudless sky. He had never seen her hair braided back that way. But the serene expression on her face was his undoing.
He slid off the branch and dropped to the ground, his knees bent to absorb the impact, and then he stood to his full height, towering over her.
There was a gleam in her eyes when she saw him. He stood in her personal space, but she didn’t cower or back away from the challenge.
No, she tipped her head back to meet his gaze. She squinted against the sun’s glare, and when she did, it curled up the corners of her lips. Similar to a smile, but not.
“I don’t even know where to start with you,” he said.
“Usually, you start at the beginning,” she chirped. He closed his eyes and sighed. She would make this more difficult than it needed to be.
Footsteps crunched against the dirt, and they turned to see Otto, Ridge, and several guards breaching the grounds.
Otto gave a polite wave, bedecked in his gray linen tunic and pants, but had nearly half a dozen weapons strapped to him now.
Ridge walked through the archway next. He towered over everyone else, and his brown leather top and breeches were snug against his bulging muscles. Wilder squeezed his lips into a thin line to keep from chuckling.
The guards seemed to be the four he knew the best. Cedric, Oak, Dust, and Oron. They were the guards that Wilder, Ridge, and Otto trained when they joined the guard—and the only four Wilder trusted implicitly with his task.
Although Wilder oversaw the entirety of the guard, he delegated most of his tasks to them and had split their ranks into quarters, positioning each of them as captains.
Cedric and Oak were twins, but they couldn’t have been more different. Cedric was broad and quiet. Oak was lithe and loud.
Dust was a fiery mix of color and personality. Both quick in wit and with his help. Oron was dark-haired and of a gloomy disposition.
“I thought you could do with some help,” Otto said, stopping a few feet away from Lyra.
“Me?” she pointed to herself. “Or him?”
“Both,” Otto chuckled.
“We were due for our midday training anyway,” Cedric chimed in.
Wilder nodded. “That’s good. Start with your normal warmup. I need to gauge where to begin with Lyra.”
“And me?” Otto asked.
“You already know,” Wilder replied, weary from the number of orders he was bound to give.
The guards and Otto peeled off and began jogging laps around the ring.
Ridge stood beside Maelys as they waited for Wilder’s instructions.
“Maelys, get me a bow, two arrows, and the smallest sword you can find.” She nodded, flashing Ridge a smile before disappearing.
“Ridge, we’re going to need the witch on standby. And a table set up with plenty of water and fresh fruit.”
Ridge crossed his arms and studied Lyra. “You’ll probably need to start with morning exercise and afternoon sparring. I don’t think she can take one long training.”
Lyra straightened under the weight of their assessment. “She is right here. Don’t talk about me as if I’m not.” She crossed her arms over her chest and gave them both a look of disgust.
Ridge chuckled and walked away. “Good luck, Lyra. You’re going to need it.”
When he had cleared the archway and was trudging up the hill to the palace, Wilder began.
“Alright, your legs and muscles are new. I don’t want to injure you immediately. Let’s jog a lap and then stretch. We’ll check your arm strength and your weapons capability before we move on to magic. You’re such a skillful liar, I will have to see everything for myself.”
He could see an array of emotions flit across her face. Annoyance, apathy, anger, and finally, fear.
“Why am I training physically and with weapons? The bargain was to use my magic.”
Wilder glared at her as she conveniently skipped over her admission of lying.
“Your magic comes from within you. It’s easier to wield when you can control yourself both mentally,” he pointed to his head, ”and physically.
” He gestured to his chest, where it was covered in the light tunic he favored for training.
What Wilder left off saying was that she was weak. And using her magic in her current state would likely injure or kill her.
“I can control myself.”
Wilder reached out with two fingers and pushed her. She crumbled like a rotted tree in the Three Sisters. Not only did she not stay on her feet, but she also collapsed to the ground.
A cloud of dust plumed around her, and she coughed.
“That was unnecessary.” Her eyes watered not from the pain; he couldn’t scent any coursing through her. Perhaps it was from the dust she waved out of her face.
“You’re weak, Legs.”
Lyra clambered to her feet and charged at him, shoving with all her might, but she felt no bigger than a bird fluttering against him.
She huffed and struggled to shove him once more, and he chuckled. His laugh set her off, and she surged up with her knee, trying to kick the sensitive spot between his legs.
He blocked her with his hand, and she cried out.
“Ouch! That fucking hurt!”
“What was your plan there? Did you think I would allow you to hurt me?”
She rubbed her knee and then glared at him.
“You elvish males think you’re so big and strong.”
He smiled at her then, a sinister, bloodthirsty smile. “Because I am.”
Lyra rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips. When her lips parted with what was surely a sharp retort, he cut her off.
“Start jogging, Legs. We have a workout to complete.”
She bit her lip and looked to where Otto and the guards had started their warm-up. “How many laps?”
Wilder shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Until I say to stop.”
“No.” Lyra plopped onto the ground, crossing her legs.
He tilted his head back to the sky to keep from screaming.
“You made a bargain with the High King.”
Lyra wrapped her arms around her legs and squeezed them to her chest.
“Do you know what happens when you don’t uphold a bargain?” he prompted.
She refused to answer and kept staring at the willow branches that waved in the rising wind.
“You. Die.”
She closed her eyes and sucked a breath down. He squatted down so that they were face-to-face. “Suit yourself, but if you’d ever like your freedom, you’ll follow my orders.”
He dangled that word in front of her like a carrot.
Lyra took the bait. Pulling herself off the ground with forced slowness, she glared at him.
“Tell me how many laps, first.”
He sighed through his nose. “Start with five.”