Chapter 18
Lunara felt different.
Alive. Vibrant in a way she hadn’t for a long, long time.
She’d dressed herself without Nyri’s help that morning, and had almost—almost—foregone Hedda’s soothing tonic. She’d begun to like the burn in her thighs and arms, the ache of a body being bettered.
The addition of an extra gift of blood between her healing and meeting Hedda last night had certainly contributed, but it was the surprise she’d had for Lunara afterwards that’d made all the difference.
The hot spring in the mountain cave Hedda had taken her to was… Blessed moons, there were hardly words.
Lunara was made of magic. Power lived within the very heart of her.
And yet, that place was steeped in it, in a way that defied everything she thought she knew.
It had felt ancient, almost sleepy, lulling her into a dreamy trance that had been more restorative than anything she’d ever experienced in her life.
A comforting cocoon of steam and stillness, every breath muffled in the sultry air.
After Hedda had left Lunara alone, it hadn’t been at all difficult to imagine she was the only creature that existed in all of Bordoroth, happily lost in the solitude of silence.
You should revise your deal with Lyriat and ask to live there instead.
She’d do it without another moment’s consideration if she thought she could fit a bed in there.
“Head out of the clouds, Sorcerit!”
Lunara jolted at Hedda’s booming command just in time.
She dodged a mock blow from Faldir and mimicked jabbing the heel of her palm into his nose, biting her lip to smother the roar of triumph trying to break free.
“Good. Very good.” Faldir cranked his neck this way and that, shaking his shoulders out, and backed himself up to his starting position. “Again.”
He struck without further warning, uncaring that she hadn’t caught her breath or steadied her form. A blur of limbs and horns and linen, burgundy hair streaming behind him.
“I saw that look of surprise,” he said, his voice little more than a growl as she squeaked, barely stumbling back in time to avoid the kick he leveled at her head. “An enemy won’t give you the luxury of gathering yourself, Sorcerit.”
She managed to knock his sweeping foot away, but probably would have been laid flat by the fist slamming to a stop mere centimeters from the tip of her nose.
“Dammit.” Lunara sagged, tipping her head back. She hadn’t seen it coming, let alone been fast enough to deflect or evade it.
“Your reaction is actually improving,” Hedda said, an almost-reluctant hint of pride in her voice. “A couple days ago, he’d have had you on your arse with his initial drive.”
A thread of delight wove its way through Lunara. It didn’t matter that said arse was probably still sporting bruises from four days ago that proved Hedda’s words to be true, regardless of the blood gifts and tonics and springs. It was progress, acknowledged by a warrior of high standing.
And it felt good. Really fucking good.
Too bad it’s all practice nonsense, and you’d probably die within seconds if this were a real battle.
She only just resisted the urge to punch her own damned self in the face.
The twins shifted, sharing a look, conversation flowing silently between them as birds chirped and waves crashed against the land below. Lunara wasn’t sure she liked the wicked tilt to Faldir’s lips, or the way one of Hedda’s brows shot up in challenge.
The branches soaring above the practice field seemed to know their minds better than Lunara could ever hope to.
Faldir stood with arms crossed, steeped in a creeping arm of shadow, while Hedda glowed within Solyrian’s dazzling morning rays, as if the universe sought to reveal their intentions to her through shade and sunlight.
Lunara wasn’t comforted at all when Faldir raised his chin, sliding his gaze towards her.
At that look, Hedda sighed and threw her arms up. “Fine, but start small. And nothing weird.”
Faldir rolled his eyes. “We’ve talked about this a thousand times—nothing is weird if it does the job.”
Genuinely not liking where this is going.
“Agree to disagree.” Hedda turned to Lunara, and winked. “As ever, little brother.”
“Sisters fucking spare me.” Faldir turned his back and strode away, muttering under his breath.
“There, Lunara,” Hedda said, laughing. “A lesson in weaponry—sometimes words can be just as sharp as any blade. They agitate and unbalance your target before blows are even exchanged, and often dig just as deep.”
Lunara huffed. “I believe you already imparted that particular lesson the day you agreed to train me.”
“My, my. Such sass, Sorcerit. We’ll make a warrior of you yet.”
No. Don’t you dare start beaming like that. You’re a healer. Nothing else.
A hand sprang up in front of her, two fingers dangling a small dagger by the pommel.
“Words are fine, but useless in the end. Take this.”
A gasp lodged itself in her throat when Faldir flipped the blade inches from her face and extended the handle to her.
Cross-eyed, she reached up and took it, surprised so little a thing could have that much heft. It felt unwieldy. Too heavy in her palm, too wide to get a good grip, the sharpened point more of an idea than something she could tangibly perceive.
“Now, if you’d been holding that during the last attack, you could have stabbed me right in the gut and won the fight.”
Lunara tossed a wide look at Faldir, trying to still the trembling of her fingers. “I…”
You’re not meant to inflict wounds like this, you’re meant to heal them! Punching around for giggles is one thing. This? This is ridiculous. Give the damned thing back before you hurt yourself.
She let it slip from her hand until she was holding it much the same way he had been—though she was certain he hadn’t possessed even a drop of the unease working its way through her. “This is not—”
“Are you planning on telling the witchling that she’s holding it wrong, or are we letting her learn the hard way?”
Lunara froze at Magnus’s voice rumbling directly behind her. The flush creeping slowly over her skin was a pale insult to the panicked thump of her heart stopping and restarting.
Ten gold coins says the Wolflord is judging the ever-living shite out of you.
She couldn’t bring herself to turn around. Couldn’t bear it.
There was no mercy to be found in the twins. Even if they noticed her pleading look, it wasn’t as though they could wave their hands and make her invisible.
No, but you could. Leave your likeness standing here in a drooling stupor. They’ll think you’ve gone catatonic and won’t bother with you anymore.
Perfect. Wonderful advice. That wouldn’t make it worse at all.
“You know…”
Oh Sisters, why? Why?
Brand sidled up to her, his words hardly more than a gravelly breath in her ear. “If you reach your arm out just a little further, you stand a high chance of landing the tip in the top of Faldir’s foot. He’d probably deserve it, knowing him.”
Why did he have to smell so good? Sound like that? Even if she’d never laid eyes on him, it would have been enough to draw her in. To tempt her into silly things like wondering what he felt like in the dark or whether he might be willing to protect her from those she feared most in this world.
Shitting stars, why did he have to be here?
Lunara had avoided him since their interlude on the mountaintop, successfully hiding in between her training.
Everyone had to be aware she was the reason their trip to the Westrealm was delayed—she wasn’t completely out of touch, after all.
But facing them, knowing they knew, was another matter.
How could she look them in the eye when she felt so… so…
Incompetent. Inadequate. Like the bumbling nincompoop you are.
Hedda had said she was nothing more than a pretty liability. In front of them—him—she actually felt like it.
Dammit. How long had they been there?
A nervous laugh escaped her, a plea in its own right. “I don’t suppose you saw the part where I successfully countered his attacks?”
“We did,” he said, rounding her fully. “Anyone you come up against will have quite the surprise on their hands. You don’t often see Nachthellians employing the Straelani fighting style.
” He tilted his head, half smile in place.
“Forgive me, Lunara. You seem”—His eyes darted to the dagger—“uncomfortable?”
That was an understatement, if she’d ever heard one.
You’re also still holding it out like a soiled nappy.
Without thought, she dropped the blade and snapped her hand away as if it had burned her, her mind too slow to stop her from doing something so rash. Careless.
Brand side-stepped and swooped down, catching it without so much as a blink.
“I did say Faldir’s foot.”
There was no censure in his tone, but Lunara still cringed. “I’m so sorry, I just—”
“No apologies needed.” Gripping her hand in his own, Brand turned her palm upwards.
“It’s normal to feel nervous when you truly understand the damage that can be done with even a weapon as paltry as this one.
” He wrapped her fingers around the handle, adjusting them into the grooves there, and placing her thumb tightly atop the others.
“I’m sure you’ve seen what happens on the other end of a blade often enough in your healing.
Knowledge isn’t always as helpful as one would assume. ”
The others were fooling around, trading insults and challenges, but all of her attention was on Brand. The way his callouses grazed over the softness of her own skin. The goosebumps crawling up her arm. The tenderness in his voice and touch alike.
He gave her hand a final squeeze. “There.”
That one word was like a lightning strike. She’d nearly stabbed him, and he still offered her reassurance. Encouragement. Confidence.
All she had to give him in return was her honesty.
Well, about this, anyway.
“I don’t know if I can do it.” Her voice shook as she stared at the blade’s edge. “How can I deliver death, when I’ve sworn to preserve life?”