Chapter Ninety-Six Aria
Lore’s attack had left a fairly deep gash on my arm, one that required Lyre’s assistance to wrap as the injury worked to heal itself.
Visiting her early this morning before I depart for my meeting with Myla, she keeps her lips pinched in a tight line as she tends to me.
She had already asked me several times who was responsible for the attack, and I had managed to dodge the question, much to her frustration.
Worry shines bright in her lavender eyes as she ties off the gauze and then draws me in for a hug.
“Be careful,” she whispers.
“I will.”
Her words haunt me the entire swim out of Lumen. As does the memory of the fight with Lore.
My fingers trail along the faint bruise that remains on my jaw as I exit the water beneath the cover of the cavern.
I had relished in the idea that I actually overpowered her, but with every day that has passed, I can’t help but wonder if all I’d done was prolong the inevitable instead.
If my victory was less about me fighting back and more about Lore choosing not to continue pursuing me.
A shiver works over me as I walk through the soft sand, water dripping from my curls and down my hips making goosebumps lift on my skin.
I search the sky above through the holes in the rock, listening for the sound of leathery wings.
It’s a habit now to check after our run-in with the dragon and its rider.
Climbing the large rocks that lead to the platform, my stomach dips when I find Myla already waiting.
She leans against one of the side walls, one foot crossed over the other as she twirls a small dagger in her hand.
“Hello.” I turn so that my injured arm is hidden from her view by my hair, carefully taking my bag off and setting it on the ground.
“Your tunic is over there.” She points to the opposite corner, where a cream top is laying over a large rock.
She remains silent as I slip the tunic over me, her gaze appearing lost in thought when I turn back to face her.
The rhythmic flipping of her dagger is smooth and practiced, and as she stares at an indistinct point to my left, I let myself study her.
Just like every time I lay eyes on her, I can’t help but marvel at the long elegant lines of her face.
From her slightly pointed chin to the gentle arch of her ears, everything about her is perfectly placed.
As if carved from the smoothest marble by the most talented hand.
Those long lines continue down her body, the tight fit of her clothing betraying her strength.
“It’s rude to stare,” she says, her voice flat as she slides the blade back into its sheath at her ribs.
Heat creeps up my neck to my cheeks, but I clear my throat and ask, “What are we working on today?”
Myla tilts her head, still avoiding looking at me. “We’ll continue practicing different methods of attack, both with and without the dagger you call yours.”
“Because it is mine,” I counter, taking a step towards her.
A stream of sunlight from one of the cracks above cascades over Myla, highlighting her high cheekbones and slender nose.
It makes the shadows beneath her eyes stand out in contrast. Had I ever seen Myla anything other than angry?
Frustrated? Exhaustion never crossed my mind as something she could feel, yet the more I look at her, the more she seems as if she could plop down at any moment and fall asleep.
Her eyes flick to me then, and I mentally double check that I didn’t say any of those thoughts out loud.
“It belongs to my father.”
“So you say.” In truth, I don’t believe Myla to be lying about that.
Her reaction to the dagger had been swift, hard to fake if she didn’t actually care.
But if Myla has taught me anything in our lessons, it’s that pitying her would be a mistake and showing weakness would be even worse.
She may want that dagger, but she will honor the fact that I took it from her fairly because anything else will make her look weak.
“Start warming up.” The command is given in her usual curtness, but I don’t find it as cold as I once did.
There is a strange sort of comfort in these meetings between us.
I am holding on to so many secrets below the surface of the water, it is…
nice to know that where Myla is concerned, ire will always be close at hand.
I move through warming up, surprised when she pushes away from the wall and joins me.
Where my intent is to get through them as fast as possible so we can move on to the actual lesson, Myla’s movements are calculated.
Precise. It’s less a person going through motions that they’ve done hundreds of times before and more like she’s embodying them.
Feeling what it is to be in each stance before moving on to the next.
As her muscles flex beneath her black leathers, I find myself utterly transfixed by her strength.
By the way she moves. Her presence has always pulled from me feelings of not quite jealousy but a wish that I could be looked upon with the same reverence that I was sure others gave her.
Because to look at Myla is to recognize that beauty and power can be combined in a way that is more alluring than any siren song.
Refocusing myself, I get through the rest of the warm-ups with my gaze on the ground, and then Myla instructs me to grab my dagger.
The bone hilt is cool in my hand, and I remember what she had said about this weapon.
How her father had been given it as a gift from the mage queen who put up the Spell.
That it had then been lost with her brother, a male who had been dragged into the sea by one of my kind.
It makes sense why she loathes the sirens as strongly as she does.
My mother’s tales of her experience during that time always focus on what others had done to her and what she lost as a result.
But I know that she sifts through details like one lets sand trickle between their fingers.
What actually happened to start The War of Five Kingdoms might only ever be known to those who were there, but as my mother prepares to infiltrate the Mortal Kingdom using her control over King Dolian and the magic at Rhea’s fingertips, I can’t help but wonder if we are about to learn the truths of war all over again.
“Your mind is elsewhere.” Myla’s voice cleaves through my thoughts.
“Sorry. It was a long night.” I pull my guard up in front of my body, my dagger held in my right hand.
“Have you had much experience fighting someone larger than you?” she asks as she looks over my form.
“I don’t have much experience fighting anyone at all.” Lore had been the true test of that, and I had almost failed. If not for the element of surprise on my side, I would have. Lore would have had her way with me, and I would have been—
“Aria.”
I blink and give Myla my attention again. She arches a dark brow, but I ignore her unasked question. She doesn’t care why my mind keeps wandering off other than the fact that it interrupts our lessons.
“For opponents bigger than you, you’re going to have to leverage their size against them.
I’m not sure how the dynamic will work beneath the water, but you have to force them to get closer to you, and then you need to be quick and precise with your own attacks.
” She tells me how to angle my stance and then fakes an attack at me, her movements slow as she talks through them.
I don’t want to move through these lessons in slow hypotheticals anymore.
I need real world application, and Myla is the perfect teacher for that because she won’t think like a siren.
The benefit to her teaching me is that her moves are unexpected.
They might not translate perfectly under the water, but I will take any advantage that I can.
“I want you to attack me for real,” I blurt out in the middle of Myla speaking.
She snaps her mouth closed and draws back the arm fake-swinging a dagger in my direction. “Why?”
It’s my turn to send her an arch look. “I would have thought you’d be jumping for joy at the opportunity to attack me. The magic won’t hold you at fault for injuring me if I’m the one who asked for it, right?” I turn around so that she is at my back, my heart pounding against my chest. “Attack me.”
Myla chuckles, the noise skating over my skin. “I don’t think you want that.”
“I do,” I rasp, lifting my dagger out in front of me. “I need to learn how to handle the element of surprise, or this will never work.”
Silence ticks by for a few heartbeats before she drawls, “This being?”
I open my mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a whoosh of breath when my back is pulled into Myla’s front, her dagger pointed at my throat. Fuck.
“Is this what you wanted?” she taunts, breath stirring the strands of hair by my ear. The arm not holding the blade is banded around my front, reaching over one shoulder and stretching across and down my body so her fingers press into the tunic near my hip.
I’m not fully restrained, not even without the use of my arms, but the panic of being confined still surges within me. With my chest heaving, I stand there motionless. Frozen. The heat at my back is not that of the fae trying to teach me but the siren trying to own me.
“You have to fight back, Aria,” she says, but her voice is distorted. Muffled as the past clashes with the present in my head.
Come on, Aria, you and I both know that this is what you want. That was what Lore had said to me the last time I had let her into my room. The last time I had given her access to my body without so much as a word of protest.
A sound caught between a whimper and a growl erupts from me as I bring the dagger up, attempting to slash at Myla’s arm.
But she quickly abandons her hold on me to catch my wrist, pressing her thumb into the tendon there and forcing my hand open.
The metal echoes loudly as the dagger falls to the ground, and in my panic, I send my elbow back to collide with Myla’s torso. Just as I had done with Lore.
Except I meet nothing but air.
Myla sidesteps, avoiding my hit, while keeping the tip of her blade hovering over my neck.
Unable to spin to either side to escape her grasp completely, I try the second move I can think of and lift my leg, driving my heel into her shin.
Myla laughs as she sends a kick of her own to my calf, forcing the leg to bend and sending my knee crashing into the stone below.
The anger that rises within me is potent—bitter.
Growing my talons from my fingertips, I twist into the dagger and slash at her knee, forcing Myla to either let the blade cut me or take the hit to her leg.
She chooses the latter, cursing as the dagger disappears and she jumps back.
Even with the extra move, she still manages to get a surface-level scrape, just enough to cut through the fabric of her pants.
I breathe through gritted teeth as I grab the dagger again and stand.
Myla takes one look at me and readies herself, but I’m already lunging in her direction.
There is no encouragement, no feedback, nothing at all as Myla blocks each swipe of my blade.
My song builds at the base of my throat, a scream of frustration tainted with it.
Myla’s eyes widen, and perhaps it’s the fear that I’ll use my magic on her again that quickens her movements because between one breath and the next, I’m no longer attacking her.
Faster than I can comprehend, my back is against the wall and the hand holding the dagger is pinned above my head.
I yelp at the pain that tugs on the gashes in my arm, Myla immediately stepping back.
“Did I hurt you?” she asks, and gods, I must be hallucinating because I swear I hear concern in her voice.
“No,” I say between gasps of breath, my magic still tingling as it waits for my command. I swallow it down, willing it to dissipate as I try to focus on the gray stone beneath my feet. The cool temperature in the air. Anything to ground me here.
“Someone did.” It’s spoken quietly, but there is nothing soft about the words. I tilt my head up to look at her, finding her gaze locked on my arm. “You’re bleeding.”
Looking down, I gasp at the blood seeping past the gauze, the dark blue color now staining the tunic.
Myla closes the distance between us again, and I straighten as her smoky vanilla scent invades my next inhale.
My shoulders press back against the wall as Myla reaches for the collar of the tunic. “What are—”
She pulls until the fabric rips, just enough for it to expose my shoulder and then the bandages that cover my upper arm. They’ve loosened from our training, revealing the jagged skin of the gashes between each strip.
Her chest rises with a deep inhale before her eyes snap to mine, and the look there freezes me in place. “Aria,” she says, her voice tinged with a rage I don’t quite understand. “Who did this to you?”