Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Malakai
I bit back on a roar that wanted to burst through my lips as I swiped my sword across my sparring partner’s and sent his rattling to the ground.
“Good, Malakai!” Cypherion barked from the sidelines.
His eyes had been burrowing into my back the whole time, tracking every move.
With more warriors attempting their Undertakings, he’d grown more serious about training than ever.
And with the additional sleeping tonic I’d gotten from Rina’s stores, I was more rested.
Working harder despite the fact that I fucking hated training now.
I nodded at him, bending to retrieve my opponent’s weapon.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling despite the fact that I’d beaten him.
I didn’t know him well, but I knew his name was Gerad, originally from Turren, and he’d been hovering around the palace lately. Alvaron had recruited him as a member of his trainee program. He’d appeared sharp when I’d heard him conversing with the Master of Coin, quick and resourceful.
His sparring skills were no different. We were even in the count for the day. Two wins each. One match left.
“Ready?” I asked.
He brushed his dirty blonde hair back from his face and nodded, his eyes already intent on my stance. I gripped my sword, prepared to wait for his strike first. The weapon was foreign between my hands. It wasn’t a sword I’d trained with all my life; I had no attachment to the thing at all.
There were a number of exquisite options in the vaults beneath the palace, adorned with precious gems and crafted of rare metals, forged directly from the fire of the volcano, but each was tainted by my father’s hand.
Being in this palace was hard enough, living where he lived, working where he worked…
it ripped apart pieces of my soul each day.
Using the weaponry he had deemed his most cherished was more than I could bear.
I’d stuck with the armory’s supply of practice weapons, but none were right. Nothing fit in my hand the way a personal blade would.
If I could find a weapon of my own, maybe I’d be more eager for training. Not one I shared with others, not a symbol of my previous life.
But one forged for the present me—the one who was not meant to be the Revered. The man who had no destined future ahead of him.
Still, when Gerad lunged, I tried to beat his blow.
But the sun shone above, bouncing off his blade. It dragged me back to the Engrossian raid in the Southern Pass. The moon had looked down on us in the same way, casting their scarred skin in stark relief.
Warrior Prince, they’d called me. We should have killed you.
All I heard were chains. Scraping against rock. Snapping closed around my wrists. Rattling through my head as I was slammed back into the wall. Sharp and bruising. My flesh torn open, jagged edges pressing into scarred skin. The agony it had been—it was all I knew.
I stood frozen in the training yard, but I was really back in that place.
Isolated, alone, forgotten.
Knives dragging along my skin. Blood beading vicious and unremorseful. The scratch of blades being sharpened.
All of it taunting me as their threats did. Drowning me.
My sword nearly fell from my hands.
As much of a coward as his father.
No. I may have said it out loud; I couldn’t be sure.
A burst of energy shot through me, and I pushed Gerad back.
I won’t be a coward, I swore, surging forward. I will not be my father.
Another strike.
I’m stronger than him.
Another.
I—
A blade clattered to the floor, snapping me back to the present. I blinked, realizing I stood panting over the Turrenian warrior, his freckled skin darker than the pale Engrossian tone. His light brown eyes kinder than their vengeful glares.
“Take a break.” Cyph patted Gerad on the back, coming to my side. He dropped his voice. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I grumbled, stomping toward the stairs that led back to the palace. But I didn’t want to be there either. At the last minute, I turned and stormed across the arena, out into the gardens. Cyph followed, instructing the others to continue their training circuits.
Once I was far enough away that I couldn’t hear the clashing weapons, I stopped. Rows of vibrant flowers lined the earth, herbs and vegetables stretching out across the dirt. So much life.
“Gerad is a strong fighter,” Cyph said, coming up behind me.
“Clearly,” I mumbled.
“He’s in the next group to complete the Undertaking. They’ll be done before Daminius.”
I cast a narrowed glance over my shoulder. “Good for them.”
“They’ll be in the ranks when the troops march out.”
Because war was coming. We still didn’t know when or how, but Kakias’s army was marching through neutral land in Bodymelder Territory, skirting the Seawatchers’ borders and heading toward Mystique land.
We would meet them.
Every day more warriors dove into the Spirit Volcano, and most returned. Those who were attempting the Undertaking after the last war were the most committed, the warriors who had been devastated they’d missed their chance.
A few hadn’t made it, and Cyph shouldered those losses personally, but his determination was evident in the tenacity of his training regimen.
Our numbers were creeping up. We’d have over a thousand new recruits to pair with the four thousand across the territory who’d returned from the last war.
It was nothing compared to the twenty thousand we’d been told Kakias was marching east, but if we were fierce enough fighters with strategic enough leaders, we could win.
Especially if we could take out their queen.
And with the small legions of the Soulguiders and Starsearchers plus a host of Seawatchers—it was something.
But only ascended warriors were allowed in our army.
And I would not be completing the Undertaking, despite Cypherion’s gentle prodding.
I may have been putting on a front in council meetings since Ophelia left, dragging up the dignified future Revered I was raised to be, but I didn’t know how long I could keep it up.
Every day was a battle, and I was being battered.
Still, I’d sworn to try.
“Warriors need weapons,” I said without looking at Cyph.
“We have weapons.”
“Their own weapons,” I muttered. I was worn, my bones leaden. The scarring on my mind and body from my time imprisoned was pulling, tearing me apart. No part of me was intent on completing the ritual I’d once lived for…but a weapon…
That I could handle.
Cyph gently rested a hand on my shoulder. “We can take care of that.”
“Have you had any luck with the readings?” I asked Vale as we strolled through the Ascended Quarter with Cyph, passing the tattoo parlor and leatherworkers.
“Not yet.” She swallowed, lashes fluttering. “I’m trying, though. I know I’m getting closer, but the fates seem reluctant to share what I need. I think I’ll have the answer soon.” The words came out in a rush, as if reassuring us.
I avoided looking at Cyph to gauge his reaction and ignored a woman who almost walked straight into me as she exited a gem shop, keeping my gaze intent on the Starsearcher. “I appreciate you trying. We need the information.” I clenched my hands at my side. “Ophelia needs it.”
Spirits, my stomach churned to mention her, to think about how she’d raced off into the night and left us here.
To remember the fact that she wasn’t mine to protect anymore, and I had to let her go.
Jezebel had been right—I’d done enough damage there. The best way I could make up for it was to stop trying and let time heal us both.
“I’m doing everything I can,” Vale muttered, her chin ducked. The clang of a hammer against steel rang out, and she lifted her face, light returning to her eyes.
The blacksmith’s shop was overwhelmed with work, every shelf and table covered with a menagerie of swords, spears, knives, and armor.
“What can I do for you?” A broad man stepped up to us, his short gray beard tinged black from the forge, small eyes looking over our trio. “Oh,” he sighed upon recognizing me. “Hello, Malakai.” There was no malice in his voice, but the tinge of disinterest stung.
I cleared my throat, biting my tongue. I was so fucking tired of the reactions to my reappearance into the world, but I supposed it was my own naivety for expecting otherwise.
“Malakai needs a weapon,” Cyph interjected.
The blacksmith nodded. “Right, we have plenty.” He wiped his hands on his apron and waved an arm around the shop. “All being prepared to be sent off with our army. Take your pick.”
He turned to leave, but Cyph grabbed his wrist. “He needs a weapon made specially for him. Your best work. And we need it done quickly.” The command in his voice had even me straightening my spine.
“That’ll be a rushed order. Expensive.” The blacksmith narrowed his eyes, assessing Cyph.
“That’s fine.” Cyph shifted his stance so the bag of coins at his hip jingled.
The blacksmith looked at the pouch then back at Cyph, ignoring my presence entirely. “Take a look around, tell me what you like, then we’ll talk price.” He returned to his station, picking up his hammer.
“Impressive,” Vale muttered to Cyph, breezing past him. His eyes followed her as she rounded the corner.
“I hadn’t realized you were such a strong negotiator,” I joked, walking between the aisles of swords, all different sizes with various pommel decor and cuts.
When Cypherion looked back at me and shrugged, his cheeks were flushed.
I’d bet the most expensive weapon in my father’s vault it had nothing to do with the heat in the shop.
Daggers lined the shelves, all exquisitely made. Had any been forged in the fire of the volcano? The tradition was meant to bring a warrior luck. According to legend, my spear—Ophelia’s spear—had been made that way. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat and picked up a knife, testing it.
Across Gallantia, each clan had their own superstitions when it came to forging.
Not all Mystique weapons were given the volcanic honor, but if they were, it was considered a gift of the Spirits.
It was said that blades forged of rare minerals and coated with a source of magic were the strongest of all, capable of severing the richest life forces.
I hoped to the Spirits that I would never find myself at the end of one of those sacred blades.
“Is there a certain kind of weapon you want?” Cypherion asked. He swung a sword, clearly trying not to push me too far.
Swords, spears, daggers…they all felt wrong in my hands now after years away, like I didn’t belong with them.
“I want something new.” I dragged a pair of twin knives off the shelf, but the balance didn’t feel quite right.
“You could try the needles of the Bodymelders,” Cyph suggested.
I considered, picturing the long, thin rapiers—nicknamed for their needlelike appearance—Esmond had shown us.
He claimed that a well-trained Bodymelder knew exactly where to insert one between the muscles to do the most damage with a singular, nearly indiscernible prick. They were impressive. Subtle.
That wasn’t my style.
“Maybe a scythe or hooked sword like the Soulguiders,” Vale offered, popping up at my shoulder. She moved quietly, but her voice rang through the space like a bell. The Soulguider weapons were interesting, their blades nearly a half circle and deadly in multiple ways. “I’ve always liked those.”
“Cyph uses a scythe,” I commented.
She whirled toward him, and I grinned at him over her head. “I’ve noticed.”
“Family heirloom” was all he said, throwing a broken dagger handle at me when she turned away. “What’s your weapon of choice?”
“I wasn’t taught to fight until I came to Damenal.
” She may claim to have never held a blade before, but the muscle control and instincts she demonstrated said otherwise.
“Most Starsearchers are trained with an extensive supply of weapons, though. Many tend toward three-pointed blades.” She spoke as if in a dream, voice wandering as she disappeared down the aisle.
“I’ve never seen those used,” I commented, following her.
“They’re small and quick, easy to launch at an opponent.” She picked up a small knife, no larger than her hand. “Like this, but with three blades instead of one. But not useful if you don’t have exceptional aim.”
“Malakai could use some work on his aim,” Cyph taunted.
“Fuck off.” I shoved his shoulder.
I was intrigued by the weapon, though, and made a note to see if I could find any to test.
For today, I settled on a sword. One with a moderate blade and simple detailing, crafted especially for me. No wings, no mountains, no aquamarines. Nothing like my old weapons.
The blacksmith didn’t say a word of complaint when we handed him the first half of the overpriced fee and told him we’d be back in three days.
“I’ll see you both back in the palace for dinner,” Vale said when we stepped onto the crowded street.
I’d forgotten how many residents were in Damenal now.
“I have some errands to run.” She didn’t wait for a response as she bounded down the road toward the Sacred Quarter, her light brown curls catching the sun.
When her long skirt disappeared around a turn, I muttered to Cyph distastefully, “She’s secretive.”
“I can’t figure her out,” he agreed. But from the low tone of his voice, I guessed we had different reasons for wanting to.