Chapter 24 #2
“She doesn’t have time,” Ryot cuts in, looking only at me now, daring me to question him. So, I do.
“What’s the galehold?” I ask.
“The galehold is where the faravars live. It’s their sanctuary, carved into the upper mountain behind the Synod,” Ryot says.
“Like … stables?” I ask.
All of the men, even Kiernan, kind of scoff as if I’ve said something incredibly stupid.
All of them, that is, except Ryot, who tilts his head and asks me, “You’ve seen Einarr, and ridden him. Do you think he could be confined in a stable?”
Well, when he puts it like that ...
Ryot steps toward me. “The galehold isn’t a stable or a pen. It’s open—wild, sacred ground. The faravars come and go as they please.”
Thalric picks up where Ryot leaves off. “New wards normally aren’t brought to the galehold this early, not until they’ve proven discipline, mental clarity, and physical readiness.
The wind up there could rip you off the cliff.
Or, if the faravars are so inclined, they could rip you to shreds. They’re territorial and unpredictable.”
My mouth has gone dry, and my hands have a little tremble. I hide them behind my back. “Well,” I say. “Let’s not rush on my account.”
Kiernan laughs weakly at my joke. “Why do I need to go now?” he asks. “I’m not marked by the gods. I shouldn’t have to go now.”
Thalric turns hard eyes onto Kiernan. “You think our entire cast isn’t in more danger now? Now that we hold Thayana’s marked one in our care?”
Kiernan’s eyes flare even wider, and fear churns around him. It tastes like copper and lands sharp on my tongue.
“Even more dangerous?” he almost wails. “How could it be even more dangerous? We already lost half our cast this year! Ryot’s and Nyrica’s new wards, dead. Zal, dead. Torin, dead. Kaveh, dead. All three of their wards, dead. Aelric, disappeared. And that’s just this year!”
Kiernan’s voice rises with each word, and so does his fear.
I never went to school. I only learned numbers from my mother, and only enough to help at market. But I’m no idiot—that’s eight men dead and one missing. In half a year. Godsdammit, that can’t be normal. Right?
Faelon plugs his nose, crinkling his face in disgust. I try to breathe through my mouth, but even then I can taste it, Kiernan’s fear.
“Your shields are failing, Kiernan,” Caius barks out. “You don’t want the faravars to know your fear, boy.”
The harsh words make the stench of his fear that much more potent, that much more alarming. I’m no wild beast, but the way it clogs my nostrils and bites at my tongue makes me want to fight something.
I flick a side glance at Kiernan, and finally ask the question I’ve been wondering since Ryot captured me in the forest. “How do we block our emotions? How do we shield?”
Thalric wings an eyebrow up like he’s surprised by the question and then looks at Ryot questioningly. “You haven’t taught her already? She does it so well.”
Ryot stares at me, quiet and enigmatic. “I haven’t.”
Thalric hums low in his throat, a sound that’s both amused and impressed. “Then she’s either lucky … or dangerous.”
Nyrica grins, his dimple winking out. “Or both. I do love a dangerous lucky charm.”
I glance between the three of them, not sure what to say, until Kiernan shoots me a look that’s filled with both awe and panic. “How do you do it?” he whispers. “It’s so hard.”
“I just …” I think back to that moment in the sand with Maxim, when I desperately wanted him out of my head, when I wanted to die alone, in peace, and I felt something snap in place. “I just … I closed the curtain.”
Kiernan looks at me helplessly, eyes wide and confused.
It’s Faelon who laughs, breaking the tension. “That’s all there is to it, Kiernan. Just close the curtain.”
I don’t have to taste the panic on the air—coming from Kiernan—to know that my advice was unilaterally unhelpful. “It wasn’t—” I shake my head. “I don’t know how to explain it. I didn’t even know I was doing anything.”
Ryot curls his lips at the corners, in the faintest hint of amusement. “Most wards train for months before they manage to shield.”
“If she’s doing that untrained …” Thalric mutters.
“But she’s not untrained,” Ryot says, shocking all of us—me most of all.
I shoot him a glare sharp enough to slice wheat. “Oh, please, Ryot . You’re the one who keeps reminding everyone I’m untrained. Isn’t that why we spent all night sparring? Because I’m the weak one?”
Ryot takes a threatening step toward me, but I don’t back down.
Why do I think he likes that?
“You think training starts with a blade in your hand?” His voice is low.
Lethal. “Tell them, Leina. Go ahead. Tell them what it’s like to wake before the sun just to survive.
To bury people you loved and keep moving because no one else was coming to save you.
To give your food to your baby brother, to go hungry day after day so he could eat.
Tell them how you learned to bite down on grief, to swallow rage, to choke on endurance. ”
The words punch through me. I hate how accurate they are. How much they ring true.
I hate that he knows.
“I never said you were weak,” he continues, low and steady now, as if he can sense the turmoil in my soul.
“We didn’t stay up all night sparring because you’re fragile.
We stayed up because you’re behind . But you’re behind in mechanics — technique, footwork, weapons, timing.
And that?” He takes another step closer, until our breaths mingle in the frosted air.
“ That we can teach. We can stay up all night, every night, until you’re caught up. ”
There’s a danger that tinges his words. He stays close to me like that, our chests almost touching when we take deep breaths. He leans down, his words barely a whisper, meant for my ears alone. “And that’s Master Ryot to you, now, rebel girl.”
My breath stutters and my heart accelerates, until Thalric speaks. I jerk back.
“Alright, let’s move. The sooner we get there, the less chance we have of being caught in an outraged squall after dark.”
Faelon smirks. “First faravars trip! I hope you packed extra trousers.”
Ryot stays in front of me, his gaze locked on mine, even as the others walk away, toward an iron gate at the back of the fortress.
“Let’s go, rebel girl.”
I tilt my head back, so I can look directly in his eyes. “Yes. Master Ryot.”
I mean to say it sarcastically, but it comes out something else altogether. There’s a flash in his eyes—it’s primal and it burns, and it starts a fire that stirs something in my own soul.
He liked that.
And gods help me, so did I.