CHAPTER 6 CALLYN
CALLYN
I don’t realize how much I miss morning drills until I don’t go.
The recruits I was training with have shifted to midday sessions, and that’s when I’m busy with little Sinna.
I still haven’t seen the queen to be able to ask about alternatives— and even if I did, I’m not sure I want to bother her with something so minor.
But without any source of physical activity, I discover I’m more antsy. More agitated. I’m consumed with worry over the queen’s depression, the princess’s acting out, and Alek’s threat to tell everyone about everything. I have nowhere to put all this energy.
When I was working in the bakery, I might have been stressed about the state of our lives, but there was no shortage of labor.
Worry and anxiety never had an opportunity to consume me like this.
It’s hard to obsess over everyone else when sacks of flour need to be heaved into the store room, stalls need to be mucked, or pots need to be scrubbed.
Here in the Crystal Palace, my life is too easy.
There’s no need for heaving and mucking and scrubbing.
If I’m not looking after Sinna, it seems I have two options: I can train with the soldiers .
. . or I can practice embroidery and gossip with the court ladies.
There’s no middle ground— or if there is, I haven’t discovered it.
I never thought I’d be envious of Nora’s brutal afternoon training sessions with Verin, but here I am.
By the third day, I can’t take the monotony. An hour before dawn, I pull on my leather trousers and lace up my boots. Then I lean over my sister’s bed and deliberate between waking her gently or giving her a good shake.
She chooses that moment to snore right in my face, so I go with the latter.
Nora wakes with a start, sitting up so abruptly that she almost smacks me in the face. I have to shove her back down so I don’t end up with a concussion. She thrashes against my grip.
“Nora!” I whisper fiercely. “Clouds above! It’s just me!”
As soon as she hears my voice, she stops fighting. She blinks sleepy eyes up at me. “Why are you on top of me?” she demands— and she’s not quiet about it at all. “What’s wrong—”
I slap a hand over her mouth and regret this entirely.
“If you wake Sinna,” I whisper through clenched teeth, “we’ll never be able to do anything at all.”
She breathes behind my hand for a moment, her eyes wide awake now. I let her go.
“What are we doing?” she finally says.
“Get your gear. Let’s go spar.”
Her eyebrows shoot way up, and her eyes skip down my form, taking in my clothes. “You want to spar ?” she whispers. “Now?” “Yes.”
“With me ?” she squeaks.
She sounds so excited that I regret not doing this sooner. “Sure,” I whisper. “Hurry. We can probably get an hour.”
She hurries.
It’s so early that the hallways are nearly deserted, only a few random guards standing at their posts, their green- and- black livery matching the heraldry occasionally marking a doorway.
The gold- and- red colors of Emberfall are nowhere to be seen any longer: no soldiers, no guards, no banners, nothing.
Even Noah, the queen’s doctor and Lord Jacob’s husband, is gone.
I hadn’t realized how many Emberish people were always in the palace until they weren’t.
The training arena is deserted, too, which feels unusual, though it’s probably not.
Without the need to share the space with other units, early morning drills are probably less necessary.
When Nora and I arrive, we discover that the exterior doors to the fields are still bolted closed, and none of the lanterns or torches are lit.
“Oh,” Nora breathes. “Maybe it’s too early.”
“No,” I say, because I’ve learned that no one will mind our presence here. Soldiers can— and do— train at all hours of the day. “I don’t have a key to open the doors to the fields, but we can light the torches.”
In the shadows, I see her eyes widen, but I gesture for her to follow me.
I have flint on my belt, and I strike it at the low torch I’ve seen soldiers and servants use to light the others.
As the sparks glow and die in the dim, early morning air, I’m struck by a memory: Lord Tycho standing in my barn, setting a strand of hay on fire with his magic.
The same magic that flows through my veins.
For an instant, I want to try it myself. I’ve only ever used magic for healing: first on my own wounds, then on Alek, after he was attacked by scravers.
I glance at Nora, wondering how she’d react if she knew.
King Grey’s magic started the fire that killed our father.
The king was defending himself and his family, but it was still magic, and still a fire.
What would my sister do if she knew I could summon the same power?
How would she react? Would she be afraid?
Maybe. She watched Lord Tycho heal Jax’s hand, and she seemed more fascinated than wary. And she certainly had no qualms about the king and his abilities or we wouldn’t be here at all.
But that’s very different from discovering the same magic in her sister. I remember the burn of betrayal in Alek’s gaze when he realized I’d used magic to save him.
I imagine seeing it in Nora’s eyes, and that makes me strike the flint extra hard. But just as I do it, sparks of magic flicker in my veins.
The torch catches, flaring so brightly that I give a little yip and drop the flint. Nora shrieks and leaps back like I set her on fire.
“Hush!” I snap at her, though I’m more peeved at myself.
I walk a lap of the arena, lighting the torches I can reach.
By the time I’m done, Nora is in the center, spinning in arcs with her training blade.
I stop for a moment to watch her, because I keep forgetting that she’s no longer a little girl.
At some point a young woman slipped in to take her place.
She goes still, her eyebrows knitting together. “What on earth are you staring at?” she demands.
Well, she might not be a little girl, but she’s clearly still a little sister. “You.” I draw my sword and step into the arena.
During my drills with the recruits, Lord Jacob was always relentless in his training, emphasizing that any opponent could take you by surprise, and to never underestimate anyone.
One day he had an old man with a rheumy cough and a pronounced limp come lumbering onto the fields, and he asked our group who would want to fight him first. They all laughed.
No one was laughing fifteen minutes later, when the man disarmed each and every one of us.
It was a good lesson, and I’m glad I had it.
Because otherwise I would have faced my sister as if I were indulging a toddler who begged me to watch her twirl.
But Nora attacks like I’m an invading soldier who just threatened everything she holds dear.
She’s so quick, so precise, and so vicious that I backpedal a dozen steps before I remember to block.
“Clouds above,” I pant when we break apart, circling.
“Oh, Cally- cal,” she says lightly. “You don’t have to let me win. Come on. Fight.” She swings her blade again.
I nearly choke on my breath. Let her win. She’s hilarious. As if I’m not fighting for my life here. Nora is easily as good as the recruits I spar with— and she only started learning a few months ago!
We break apart again, and we’re both panting, sweat gleaming on our faces. But Nora’s expression is full of glee, as if this is the most fun she’ll have all day. I might be missing the drills and exertion, but it’s clear that somewhere along the line, my little sister began to live for this.
As soon as I have the thought, I lower my blade.
Nora frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say. “You’re growing up.”
She makes a horrific face, sticking her tongue out sideways.
It’s so unexpected that I burst out laughing, and she giggles. “With such elegance and maturity,” I add.
She pushes damp hair off her forehead. “I’ve been working hard,” she says. “Do you think Mama would be proud?”
The question hits me like the broad side of a blade, and the sudden swell of emotion nearly takes my breath away. I think of our mother often when I’m training. I don’t know why it never occurred to me, but I had no idea Nora was doing the same thing.
I have to clear my throat. I’m surprised to discover that my eyes feel hot. “Yeah, Nor. I do.”
Then I drop my blade in the dirt and stride forward to hug her.
She hugs me back for the longest time. I still can’t believe how tall she’s gotten. For so long she was just my baby sister who would ramble for hours about whatever random thought entered her head. Now it’s like being hugged by a peer. I don’t want it to end.
Then she says, “You’re not supposed to drop the blades in the arena, you know. It makes them go dull. Also, do you think we’re early enough to get hot sweetcakes when we’re done?”
I giggle, then kiss her on the cheek. “There’s my annoying little sister.”
“She’s right, you know,” says a male voice from behind me. “You shouldn’t drop your sword.”
I recognize that voice. Every drop of blood in my veins turns to ice. Alek.
He continues, “You never know when you might need it.”
I turn slowly, as if trapped in quicksand. But it’s Nora, behind me, who says, “Don’t worry, my lord. I still have mine.”
I just thought of her as a peer, but now I want to tuck her away and keep her safe.
Instead, she moves up beside me, sword braced in front of her.
Alek’s eyebrows go up. He’s dressed for battle, not polite conversation. He folds his arms, and it reveals the carved muscles of his biceps, evidence of the training he endures. His expression is unfriendly, and his eyes lock on Nora. “Are you going to pull my hair again, little cat ?”
He’s referring to the last time he and Nora saw each other. Nora attacked him like a wildcat, pulling his hair and screeching in his face. Verin had to pull her off him.
I step in front of Nora, blocking her. “Get out of here, Alek.”