Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Nyrica slams Thalric to the ground in an incredibly masculine display that would have my blood pumping—if Nyrica wasn’t grinning down at Thalric with his heart in his eyes.
And if I hadn’t spent the last two nights having entirely inappropriate and exhausting sex dreams about Ryot of fucking Stormriven.
I’ve awakened in a tangle of sweaty sheets and with want that spirals through my blood like a virus.
I’ll admit, I’d started to fear my dreams were some kind of divine power from the gods.
I snort and then slap my hand over my mouth to cover a delirious laugh, because I highly doubt the gods are blessing me with sex dreams of Ryot.
My restless sleep is nothing but my own nightmarish past, my own forebodings, my own desires.
Still, I wish I could somehow snuff them out altogether.
They always leave me feeling muddled the next morning.
I cradle my head in my hands and rub at the ache that spreads out from my right temple, my fingers gliding over the raised edges of my scar.
In a motion that’s a blur, Thalric intertwines his feet with Nyrica’s, tripping him and pulling him to the sand.
The pit—where the men engage in less formal fighting and sparring than in the outdoor arena—is in an indoor area of the Synod reserved for training.
There’s also an enclosed gymnasium, a weaponry, and a weights room.
This room is slightly sunken, with a sandy pit at the center.
A flash of lightning momentarily brightens the poorly lit chamber through its one high window. The quick burst of light—followed by the boom of thunder overhead—makes me wince as my head pounds.
There’s been no news from Carrisfal. The men blame the lack of word on this behemoth of a storm that rolled in yesterday afternoon and hasn’t eased up since, not even for a few minutes.
The faravars won’t fly in it, they tell me, not unless they have to.
Still, worry for Ryot has haunted my waking hours, just like need for him haunts my sleep.
Nyrica quickly pins Thalric beneath him.
The two of them stay like that—chests flush together, hands intertwined, heavy breaths intermingling.
I avert my eyes from the match, giving them a little privacy.
My eyes drift upward, to look toward the high window.
Even today, most of the men are outside taking advantage of the foul weather to get in elements training.
My time spent training in the godforsaken elements did not help my headache.
I struggled through a lesson on building a protective shelter with Caius, before deciding it was literally impossible.
The wind ripped the hides that were supposed to form the walls of my tent to shreds.
The incessant rain and mud made anchoring anything impossible.
My lesson ended with me wrapped up in one of the animal hides on high ground, curled up in a ball trying to retain body heat.
Caius laughed, told me I looked like a drowned rat, and sent me here to learn sparring.
That was an hour ago. My wet hair is still plastered against my face, my drenched tunic is clinging to my skin, and my feet are soaked in muddy, water-saturated leather.
I’m fucking freezing. It would’ve been heavenly to have taken a warm bath or, at the very least, change my clothes.
But wards aren’t permitted to clean up or warm up until the end of the day.
It’s part of our resilience training. Godsdamned elements training and resilience training are for the birds.
My mouth twists down in a sardonic smile.
My entire life has been a lesson in resilience training.
I don’t need to walk around in soggy boots to know my own strength.
“Leina,” Nyrica calls out. “You’re not paying attention.”
I jerk my gaze over to see Nyrica standing in the center of the pit with his legs spread wide and his arms crossed over his chest. He’s covered in sand. Thalric is rising from the ground, meticulously wiping the white sand from his black leather pants.
I sigh and get up from my seated position on the cold floor.
“Why don’t you two go into the bathing chamber and clean up?
” I nod toward the door on the other side of the room.
It leads to one of the many bathing chambers scattered around the Synod.
Every training area has its own, most of them located in the depths of the earth, where hot springs bubble up and fill natural caverns with delicious warmth.
They both stiffen.
“What did you say?” Thalric asks, his voice low. I shift my gaze between the two of them. I can’t tell if they’re offended, so I tread carefully.
“I’ll stay here,” I gesture vaguely at the sparring room. “And review …” my pounding, frozen head is having a hard time coming up with anything. “Meditation.” I’ll keep watch, I try to tell them with my eyes. “You two can go get cleaned up before we move on to the next session.”
Please, go relieve some of that sexual tension for all our sakes.
We all stand there, paralyzed. Them with indecision; me with a growing unease.
Finally, after what feels like hours scrutinizing my face, Nyrica cuts his gaze toward Thalric and inclines his head back as if to say, how about it?
Thalric is breathing heavily—heavier than he was at the end of their match—and he turns wide eyes to Nyrica. Again, I avert my gaze.
Nyrica clears his throat, and I look back toward them, more than a bit terrified that I’ve overstepped. That outrage and disgust will shine on their faces. But that’s not it at all. They’re stunned, sure. But also … excited.
“That’s a great plan, love,” Nyrica smiles, his dimple flashing out.
“We can’t leave her alone,” Thalric says.
Nyrica’s smile dims. “That’s true.”
I scoff and gesture to my scythe. “I’m a grown woman, marked by a goddess, with gods-blessed fighting skills and a temper,” I assure them. “I’ll be fine.”
Nyrica is considering, but Thalric hesitates again, until Leif walks into the pit from outside. Rain and lighting fill the small chamber until he closes the door behind him.
Nyrica grins so wide, both dimples wink out.
“Perfect timing, Leif!” Nyrica takes a step backward, toward Thalric. He gestures between Leif and me. “You and Leina work on hand-to-hand until Thalric and I get back.”
Nyrica and Thalric intertwine their hands together in a move that’s so natural, I know they’ve done it hundreds or even thousands of times before. My smile is so wide it’s hurting my face. I’m delighted for them and for me , that I’m officially in on what I know is a cast-kept, sacred secret.
“We’ll take you to Tempest Reach, Leina,” Thalric says, as they walk through the door that leads to the bathing chamber. “It would be a good day to get some climbing practice in. In the elements.”
My joy is so complete and real that Thalric’s words about more elements training doesn’t register until they’ve disappeared down the stairs. Immediately my smile turns into a frown. Climbing practice? In this weather?
“More elements training? Those bastards,” I groan, turning to Leif.
Leif stares forlornly at the closed door to the bathing chamber, his wet hair plastered to his forehead and his wet clothes plastered to his body. He shakes himself to get some of the water off, and then he sighs. “It’s really not fair that wards can’t even dry off,” he mutters.
I cast a side eye at the sand pit. I do not want to add to my mud-soaked misery with sand . “So,” I hedge. “Did we think the hand-to-hand thing was an actual command, or more of a suggestion?”
Leif grins at me. “Definitely a suggestion.”
“Oh good,” I say, sliding down to resettle onto the cold floor with a huff. I lean my head back against the stone wall and let my fingers rest on the scythe propped next to me. It’s comforting.
Leif does the same on the other side of the sand pit, as if he’s too tired to even walk across the room.
The storm is still raging outside. The rain slams into the stone fortress in a cacophony of sound that’s punctuated by regular blasts of thunder.
The noise from the storm is nearly deafening, easily drowning out any noises from the bathing chamber below. Thank Serephelle.
But it doesn’t take long before my headache intensifies.
My troubled thoughts circle back like an ugly swarm of whispers flitting and buzzing about in a swarm.
What if Ryot didn’t make it through the battle?
What if he’s injured? What if he tried to fly back, but he and Einarr were caught in the storm?
Pound, goes the rain. What if, says my mind. Pound, goes my headache. Boom, goes the thunder. Pound. What if. Pound. Boom.
Oh, blessed Thayana. How do I make it stop?
Meditation. I’ll try meditation. It certainly can’t hurt.
I allow my eyelids to drift closed and inhale a lungful of cold air.
The exterior door—the one that leads to the training field—slams against the wall, and my eyes snap open. Leif jumps to his feet. A handful of wards strut in like they own the place.
And one of them is Tyrston.