15. Mare #2
'Our room,' unfortunately. This was one of those sad, poor inns where single rooms were unheard of, and we barely even had a door to keep the other tenants out. A cloth hung from the frame, like a tent flap.
Two little cots sat side by side under a dark window. A tiny hearth in the corner warmed the room from freezing to unpleasantly cold.
Paragon Tiernan—Reese—leaned against the wall, staring out the window. All his glittering armor was gone. He wore a loose white undershirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Rolled up. In this cold. Like Liam did. Were men always on fire inside?
"She emerges." Golden eyes flicked over to me, burning me beneath their gaze. "I take it you fell asleep?"
"Yes," I muttered, grabbing my brush and running it through my hair. "You know, if the people here catch wind that we're sharing a room—"
"They'll faint and die, yes." Reese rolled his eyes. “But I don't feel comfortable sending you off alone when there are no locks on the . . .” He observed the privacy cloth. “Doors.”
I chuckled. "I suppose I trust you. If you were going to kill me, you'd have done it by now."
"I'd offer to sleep outside, but . . . ” He smirked. "Now that we've started training, you're my squire, and I'm no longer your bodyguard."
"Slash manservant." I looked down. "Oh, well. It was nice while it lasted."
"Two hours? That's about how long it took to get you dressed and ready to leave Kentoro." He raised an eyebrow. "I suggest you turn in. We're starting a new kind of training tomorrow morning. At first starlight."
First starlight. What a wretched term. Only soldiers woke that early.
I watched him pinch out a candle. "Parago— Reese. Are you really okay with me taking Killian's place?"
"Yes," he said, offering me a soft gaze. "I've known impressive women." A nostalgic light entered his eyes. "Two in particular."
A strange tug pulled at my heart. Discomfort swelled in my throat, and I repressed the urge to pry about these women.
Swatting the strange sensation aside, I braided my hair and crawled into bed. "I knew an impressive woman, too. If only for a day."
Reese hummed—he knew who I meant.
My mother. Myrmidon and Duchess of Tirnanog.
I heard Reese take a few steps, then the last candle winked out, plunging us into darkness.
Though the stars and moons had faded, I could see the outlines of my bed and sheets, of his across the room. My eyes traced the windowsill, mind whirling, imagining Paragon Ishii, Fort Minsawa, and what we might find there. If the monsters of the dark would attack again.
If we'd survive.
I tossed and turned for an hour, maybe two. Annoyed, I rose and quietly slipped outside.
The inn was empty, though a small fire still smoldered in the hearth. Finding the back door, I trotted down the steps into the yard.
A small stream babbled between two willow trees. Their fronds were a pleasant silver, gleaming beneath a lone torch. Leaning against one's trunk, I slid down to the dirt.
Hugging my knees to my chest, I watched the stream trickle by. No matter how I tried to scrub the scenes of raw, bloody death from my memories, they remained.
I planted my face in my knees and took a breath.
If I fought at Reese's side in Minsawa, he or Ishii would see the monsters avoiding me, doing me no harm. It wouldn't take long for them to draw conclusions about why I'd survived Galasvar.
Why hadn't they harmed me? Why had that vined horror dropped me as though attacking me had been a grave mistake?
Who was I, really?
"Can't sleep?"
I shot to my feet and reached for a sword that wasn't there. Reese approached me, sleeves rolled up like it was a pleasant summer day.
A black glove still covered one arm. I hadn't noticed in the room.
Reese flicked his wrist, and his golden rapier appeared in his grip. I blinked, wondering when he'd pulled it from his sheath.
"We might as well fit in some training," he said, standing opposite me.
"Training?" I repeated in disbelief.
He stepped closer. Heat washed over me—heat that always seemed to pulse from his skin. "I know what you're going through. All Paragons have. You don't want to talk about it; you want to forget it."
I looked down, avoiding his gaze. He was right. I didn't want to talk about it. "Alright. Let me get Cierthine."
He smirked and stepped back, taking his blessed heat with him. "Call her."
"Hm?" I glanced at his blade. "What do you mean?"
"It's exceptionally difficult to disarm a Paragon." He nodded at my empty hand. "Call her."
Furrowing my brow, I extended my dominant hand and focused on Cierthine, lying in its scabbard at my bedside.
A shimmer of violet light crackled through the air, charging it with lightning. Cierthine whooshed to life in my grip, like Solathair himself had painted it into existence.
I couldn't help it. A grin spread across my face.
Reese chuckled. He ran a finger along his golden blade. Radiant light shimmered around his fingers as he flicked them toward the sky. Tiny motes of light danced around us, illuminating the river and silver trees.
"Our weapons are charged with elements," he said. "It lessens the load on our bodies when we need to cast. Try it."
I lifted Cierthine, remembering the state I'd found Killian in. He'd overexerted himself—using too much magic overcharged the elements in our blood. They overtook us, coating our insides with ice or lightning.
He'd burned through Cierthine's power and his.
Lowering the blade, I laughed nervously. "I, um. I received an education on the principles of magic, but—"
"I thought so." Reese's face fell. "Do you at least know what your catalyst is?"
" . . . No."
"Ah." He tucked his blade under his arm.
Catalysts were prickly, sore subjects. I was fairly certain Liam had found his during our lessons, but the thief had refused to tell me.
As for myself . . . I'd never discovered it.
Catalysts were our truths, and I spent most of my days wearing a brave face and pretending to be the lady of Tirnanog—a city that no longer existed. What was the thread that linked me to my magic? I suppose it was time to find out.
Magic sounded easier than swordplay. Killian had cut a giant bird in half with it.
"Alright," I said, spreading my hands. "Help me out. Most people can't use magic, so it can't be obvious. Give me an example."
"Mm." Reese glanced away, thinking. "I had a friend who could only use magic if he was protecting something. The older he got, the more . . . creative he became about it."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you can justify a lot as 'protecting something' if you leap through several hoops of logic."
"Ah." I nodded. "Anything else?"
"Ishii is open about his," Reese said. "He carries a little jar of Muirashin soil around with him."
"What, really?"
"Yes. He does what he does for his homeland. Killian liked to tease him about it." Reese's face fell with the mention of the dead Paragon. "Look inside yourself. Find a door you don't want to open. For people who struggle to find their catalyst, it's normally hidden there."
I understood his metaphor. Flexing my hand, I stood at the edge of the stream and looked inward.
At me.
If Tirnanog had never fallen, if I'd grown up as the heir to its throne. . . what would I have wanted?
"Sleep on it, if you need to," Reese said. "And, I can leave you be, if it would be easier."
"If you leave, I'll freeze," I said, turning back to him. The wind tousled his hair and shirt. One of the buttons was loose, and it popped open, revealing more of his collarbone.
A hint of dark ink crawling up his chest caught my eye before the breeze ceased.
"Ah . . . " I pointed. "What's that?"
Tattoos were borderline criminal in Forlaith.
Only Aenir had painted their skin, long, long ago.
Shamans who spoke for the saints daubed themselves with their symbols.
The old woman who owned the bakery Liam pretended to work at bore one, though she hid it well.
I'd caught a glimpse of it only once: a pair of streaking lines down her side that represented the Saint of Wind.
Such things were outlawed now. Crass and vulgar, by all accounts.
Reese buttoned his shirt. "What was what?"
"Don't play dumb, I saw it."
"The cold must be getting to your head." He looked around, feigning innocence. "Or maybe I hit you too hard this morning."
"Oh, I'll be sure to tell everyone back home. Something new to gossip about."
"I'm leaving, and taking the warmth with me," he warned, walking away.
"Wait!" I scrambled after him.
Reese spun around, and I ran into his chest.
Saints, warmth! It pulsed from his skin into mine, like a soothing flame.
My face turned the color of fire, and I backed away.
"If you need me to . . . " Reese lowered his voice, a smirk playing at his lips. "I can push our cots closer together."
"Yes, that would—" I cleared my throat. "That would be lovely. Why didn't you do that before?"
Rolling his eyes, he motioned for me to follow.
I trotted up the porch steps and stopped.
Reese had not told me his catalyst.
"Knowing your catalyst might help," I blurted out. "Is it something personal?"
His shoulders seized up, and his fingers tensed on the doorknob.
Saint's breath. Why had I said that?
"Yes," Reese said, jaw tightening, guarded.
More than personal. It hurt for him to even dwell on it.
"If you can't sleep, look inside," he said, hand on the door. "Find out who you truly are. And remember, we wake at first starlight."
I glanced back at the stream before stepping inside. The silver fronds of the willow trees still gleamed, though Reese had dismissed his motes of sunlight.
An unseen glow seemed to shine on them, as though beckoning me to return to the darkness.
As though promising to tell me who I was.