Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
“Again.”
One day after our confrontation in his quarters, Falcen circles me, demanding I charge at him with my weapon again. It’s heavy and cumbersome, and even in the hours before dawn, I notice the wisps of black Veilrot floating off my soul-blade.
They trail as I drag the weapon through the air. My arms burn with the effort, muscles screaming in protest as I swing it again. He sidesteps easily.
“Too slow,” he says, his voice cutting through the pre-dawn chill. “And your Veilrot is leaking everywhere. Might as well hang a sign around your neck that says ‘Dissect Me, Keepers.’”
I grit my teeth, swallowing the retort that threatens to spill from my lips. “I’m trying.”
“Try harder.” He reaches out and taps the glowing shaft of my weapon. “Focus on containing it. The Veilrot is part of you, not separate. It responds to your intentions, your emotions.”
“That’s not helpful,” I mutter, watching as another wisp of black energy curls from the edge of the larger silver blade like smoke. “How am I supposed to control something I barely understand?”
Falcen slows his steps. “You control your breathing, don’t you? Your heartbeat? The Veilrot is no different.”
“My heartbeat is automatic. I don’t have to think about it.”
“Exactly.” He steps closer, and I brace for the inevitable goose bumps that skitter up my spine every time he’s near. “It needs to become instinctual. Like breathing.”
The training arena is vast and empty at this hour, our voices muted against the stone walls. Torches cast arcs of light cresting over the packed clay ground and into the center ring, where I’m sparring with Falcen.
Actually, sparring is too kind a word. Falcen hasn’t even summoned his soul-sword to fight against me.
“It’s part of you,” he continues. “Not some foreign invader. Your soul created it, shaped it, gave it form. Now you need to tell it what to do.”
He moves behind me, his chest nearly touching my back. I stiffen as his hands come to rest over mine on the halberd’s shaft and adjust my grip.
“I didn’t think you were allowed to touch another’s soul-weapon.”
“Close your eyes,” he commands, ignoring me.
I hesitate, but comply. Blindness envelops me, heightening my other senses, like the heat of Falcen’s body, the scent of leather and metal that clings to him, the sound of our synchronized breathing.
I inhale deeply, focusing on the sensation of foreign energy pulsing through my weapon. It feels alive, hungry, like a beast straining against its chain, yet apparently it’s not foreign and very much a part of me.
How can my body make something so foul? My soul?
I take insult to that, my ember mumbles, then flutters inside my chest before expanding and contracting, shortening my breath.
“I can feel it,” I whisper. “It wants to escape.”
“Of course it does. The Veilrot feeds on fear, and you reek of it.” His voice hardens. “Now command it.”
“I don’t know how.”
His hand suddenly leaves mine, and before I can react, pain slices across my cheek.
My eyes fly open as I stagger backward, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth.
Falcen stands before me, his expression impassive as he holds his soul-blade aloft.
“What the hell?” I spit, then prod my cheek with my free hand. It comes back slick with blood. “Did you just take a swipe at me?”
“Fear won’t save you,” he replies coldly. “Pain might.”
He strikes again, this time a quick swipe to my ribs that sends me sprawling in order to avoid it.
“Stop it!”
The halberd clatters beside me, Veilrot now pouring from it in angry waves.
“Get up.”
I rise shakily, rage building in my chest. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m saving your life.” He circles me again. “Combat training begins in three hours. You avoided it yesterday because I vouched that you’d fallen ill. But this morning, if you can’t hide the Veilrot by first bell, you’re dead.”
He lunges without warning, his soul-blade whistling through the air. I barely manage to grab my weapon and block, the impact jarring my bones. The Veilrot surges in response, coiling around my arms like hungry serpents.
“Control it!” Falcen barks, striking again and again, each blow forcing me backward.
Falcen’s blade slips past my guard, slicing across my forearm. I cry out, more in frustration than pain.
He comes at me again, and something inside me snaps. I pivot, ducking under his swing and bringing my halberd around in a wide arc. The move is clumsy but effective, forcing him to jump back.
My ember twirls behind my ribs at the success, and I swear to Lux the Veilrot shrinks against her happiness.
“That’s it,” Falcen says, cocking his head at the subtle change. “What did you just do?”
“I don’t know. I just felt a warmth inside me,” I lie.
Falcen takes advantage of my distraction. His bright sword comes at me again, this time grazing my throat. I barely manage to block it, the clang of metal reverberating through the air.
“Do it again,” he orders, pressing forward with relentless strikes. “Whatever you just did, do it again.”
“I can’t just—” My words cut off as his blade slices through my sleeve, drawing a thin line of blood across my bicep. “Damn you to Nox, Falcen!”
While I’m reluctant to call upon the ember with Falcen so focused on me, I also don’t see any other way out of this. I reach for her, trying to coax her outward as Falcen’s attacks grow more vicious.
“Focus!” he roars, his face inches from mine as our weapons lock together.
The ember flares in response to his proximity, to the danger, to the blood now trickling down my arm. It’s like a small sun burning beneath my breastbone, pushing. I risk closing my eyes and letting her sensation wash over me, heat traveling down my arms, through my fingertips, and into my weapon.
I suppose I’ll help, but fighting the Elite is boring in his current form.
What? I ask her, but the confusion is quickly forgotten when I notice what’s happening to my weapon.
The Veilrot recoils, curling inward like smoke sucked back into a flame.
My halberd gleams, its silver-blue blade now merely edged with the faintest trace of black smoke instead of billowing with it.
“Yes,” Falcen breathes, his eyes locked on my weapon. “Hold it there.”
I nod, sweat beading on my forehead from the effort. The ember beats rhythmically inside me. It feels like trying to compress a mattress with my bare hands, the tension building so high that it threatens to snap back at any moment.
I throw myself forward, swinging the halberd in a wide arc. The movement is smoother this time, as if the ember is putting her weight behind the effort as well as mine.
Falcen parries, the clash of our blades sending sparks dancing across the training floor.
“Again,” he says, but there’s a different note in his voice now. Something almost like approval.
I press forward, finding a rhythm. Strike, parry, feint, strike again.
Each movement is more fluid than the last. The ember burns steadily within me, containing the Veilrot while lending me strength.
I’m not sure how I feel about granting her so much access to my body, but her assistance is undeniable.
“Enough.” Falcen’s command cuts through the air as he raises his hand.
I stumble mid-swing, nearly toppling over from the momentum. My chest heaves with exertion, sweat plastering my hair to my forehead and neck. The ember flickers once more before retreating deeper inside me, leaving me suddenly drained.
Falcen banishes his soul-sword with a flick of his wrist, the blade dissolving into particles of light. He studies me with an unreadable expression, his attention lingering on the cuts adorning my arms and face.
“You’ll do,” he finally says, which from him might as well be effusive praise.
“I’ll do?” I repeat incredulously, leaning on my halberd for support. “You sliced me open in six different places, and all I get is ‘you’ll do’?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Seven places, actually. You missed the one on your back.”
I reach around awkwardly, my fingers finding a tear in my corset and the sticky warmth of blood beneath. “Bastard.”
“You controlled the Veilrot,” he says, ignoring my insult. “It’s still visible, but minimal enough to pass as a shadow effect or trick of the light. The other initiates won’t know what they’re looking at. Veilrot isn’t studied at their level.”
I let my weapon dissolve, watching as it fragments into motes of blue-white light that sink back into my palm. The crimson veins on my palm pulse with dull pain as the weapon returns to my body.
I flex my fingers, wincing at the lingering ache. “So now what? More torture before sunrise?”
Falcen’s eyes track a bead of blood as it trails down my cheek. It might be concern flickering across his face as he does it, though he’d sooner throw himself into the Void than admit it.
“You need sustenance,” he says, turning away to gather his cloak from where it hangs on a nearby weapons rack. “And your fellow initiates need to see you among them. The longer you’re absent, the more questions arise.”
“So I’m to bleed all over the breakfast table? That’ll certainly make me blend in.”
He tosses me a small cloth pouch that molds to my hand when I catch it. Inside is the golden power I used on him in the cave after the Void hounds attacked us.
“Heal yourself. Not all of your injuries, however. Leave enough evidence of your first training to be believable. Combat begins after the morning meal.”
I dab at the cut on my cheek, grimacing at the sting. “And if the Veilrot decides to make a grand appearance in front of everyone?”
“Then you’ll call upon whatever you just did to control it.” He squints at me. “The warmth you mentioned. What exactly was it?”
I busy myself with applying the shimmering powder to the particularly deep cut on my bicep. “Just a feeling. Like I told you.”
Falcen studies me for a long moment. I hold my breath, willing my expression to remain neutral.