20. Finn
Finn
Something is wrong with everyone I care about, and no one will tell me a damn thing.
It’s been a week. A full week since Grier last showed up to training. A week since Gemma has been anywhere near the yards. A week of me running sessions alone, pretending everything is fine while my gut screams that it’s not.
I don’t know what happened, but I can guess.
Grier and Gemma have history, the kind of history that leaves marks.
I’ve watched them dance around each other for years, her keeping him at arm’s length, him quietly devoted in a way he thinks no one notices, but I always notice when it comes to them.
Something must have finally broken, and now they’re both shadows.
I push the worry down, bury it beneath the easy grin.
“All right, you sorry lot,” I call out, twirling one of the practice swords. “Dual wielding today. Two blades, two hands, and twice the fun.”
The yard is sparse, just Hayes, Rye, and Rosie. The Davriks stopped showing up days ago, apparently, actual work was too much for their delicate noble sensibilities.
Rye is stretching near the weapons rack, but his eyes keep drifting toward the castle entrance like he’s waiting for someone.
I wish I didn’t know who. Worse, I wish I didn’t see the way Gemma looks back. Whatever’s brewing between them is dangerous…for all of us.
Hayes is already warming up, his form precise as always. His gaze keeps sliding toward Rosie.
She looks up, catches me watching, and for just a moment, those green and teal eyes hold mine.
Every time she looks at me like that, I forget why we can’t have this.
She looks away first, like she always does, and goes back to examining her blades as if they’re the most fascinating things in the world.
I realize I’m rolling a sea lavender sprig between my fingers, one I don’t even remember picking. But there it is, the stem worn soft from handling, the tiny purple blooms, the only piece of her I let myself hold. I shove it in my pocket before anyone notices.
I clear my throat. “Pair up. Hayes. You’re with Rosie. Rye, you’re with me.”
Hayes practically lights up. A knot twists in my chest, sharp and unwelcome.
This is the job, getting close to the princes, gathering information for the rebellion.
Rosie’s eyes flick to me over Hayes’s shoulder, just for a moment, and my chest loosens.
Rye ambles over, grabbing two practice swords with all the enthusiasm of a man walking to his own execution.
“You look like shit,” I tell him cheerfully.
“Thanks. Feel like it too.”
Join the club, Princeling, but instead I say, “Want to talk about it?”
“No,” he replies.
“Great. Let’s fight instead,” I say with a lightness I don’t feel.
I raise my blades, and we circle each other, but his mind is somewhere else entirely. I strike first. He parries, but barely, his left blade coming up half a heartbeat too slow.
“You’re dropping your guard,” I say.
“I know.”
“And your footwork is sloppy.”
“I know,” he says more sharply.
“And you’re clearly pining, which is adorable but also pathetic.”
“Fuck off,” he says, but it’s with the faintest whisper of amusement.
That gets a grin out of me. It’s progress at least.
“I’m serious, though,” I say, striking again. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The tortured, brooding, ‘nobody understands my pain’ look.” I duck under his swing. “Very dramatic, very princely, I’m sure the ballads will be incredible.”
“I don’t brood.”
“You’re literally brooding right now…while fighting. That takes skill.” I parry his counter. “Most people can only brood while staring out windows or sitting alone in dark rooms. You’ve somehow mastered the art of the active brood. I’m impressed, truly.”
His lip twitches, but he’s fighting it.
“And you’ve mastered the art of never shutting up. We all have our talents.”
I bark out a laugh, a real one. “There he is! Thank the tides, I was running out of material.”
I lunge while he’s still pleased with himself, twist my blade around his left arm, flick my wrist, and send both his swords clattering to the ground.
He stares at his empty hands and then at me.
“See, the difference is,” I say, spinning one of my blades lazily, “I can run my mouth and still kick your ass. You can’t even mope right.”
He’s actually grinning. That’s my only warning before the bastard straight up tackles me.
I hit the ground hard, the air punching out of my lungs, and then we’re rolling in the dirt like a couple of idiots. He gets an arm around my neck. I jam my elbow into his ribs, and suddenly we’re both laughing while trying to pin each other down.
“Yield,” he grunts, getting me in a headlock.
“Never.” I twist, hooking my leg around his, and flip us. “You yield. Say it nice and loud so everyone can hear.”
We’re both covered in dirt, grinning like fools, and somewhere behind us, I hear Hayes call out, “Should we be concerned?”
“Working on his attitude,” I shout back, tightening my grip. “It’s a process.”
Rye uses my distraction to shove me off. I land on my back, and he drops down next to me, both of us breathing hard and staring up at the sky.
“Fuck you,” I say with a laugh.
“Fuck you too, brother.” He’s laughing as he slaps my chest.
We lay there for a minute, catching our breath.
“You good?” I ask, quieter now.
“Not even a little, but thanks.”
I nod and I don’t push. Sometimes that’s all you can do.
He shoves himself up, reaching a hand down to pull me up.
Rye’s expression shifts as he looks at something behind me. I turn and see Voss standing at the edge of the yard with hands clasped behind his back, like he’s been watching us for a while.
“Training seems…light today,” he says mildly as his gaze drifts to the empty space at the yard’s edge. “Commander Grier usually oversees sessions this close to the trials,” he says matter-of-factly.
I feel Rye tense beside me, every protective instinct written across his face plain to see. I don’t give it time to grow.
“Grier had to attend to other duties today,” I say evenly.
“And the swordmaster?” Voss asks, shifting his attention fully to Rye.
Rye’s pause is too long.
“She’s assisting him,” I say.
Voss studies Rye like he’s already planning how to use what he found.
“I see,” he says at last.
He doesn’t press any further, just turns and walks away. I wish I didn’t know exactly who he was taking this to.