Chapter 12
Soren was separated from Cion after breakfast, which had been a simple bowl of bland gruel.
It was almost humorous, watching the princess struggle to finish her serving of the plain, cooked grain.
Soren was, of course, used to such fare—the single advantage she had above Cion, if she could even call it that.
What am I, goat’s dung?
Soren bit back a small smile. You are only an advantage in theory right now. If I can’t make it through these weeks of training, it won’t matter that you chose me.
You will.
Thessa went silent after that, and Commander Eton approached, muscled arms crossed as he barked, “Mise. Come with me.”
Stares landed on Soren as she stood, leaving Cion and Ilav, who lingered close by. Fear pricked her hands as the commander led her away from the thick clustering of tents and towards the edge of camp. He was silent most of the way, only increasing her growing unease.
She jumped when he spoke, walking ahead of her and not bothering to look back. “I sent word to the king of you by dragonback last night. It’s the fastest way to get a message to the capital. Unfortunately, he agreed with the princess.”
The commander turned, and Soren flinched as he stepped in close, his face inches from hers now. “I don’t think scum like you is worth the extra time or resources of a personal trainer. No one is, in my opinion. But I have to follow orders.”
She met his burning gaze and said softly, “Indeed.”
Commander Eton narrowed his eyes, surveying her closely. His head tilted, and some emotion she could not decipher flickered across his harsh features. But it was fleeting, and he stepped away and barked, “Evva!”
Soren followed the commander’s eyes to the small clearing ahead. From inside a tent at the very edge of camp, a man emerged.
He was tall and broad, with pale skin, hooded brown eyes, and a gold ring piercing one of his eyebrows.
Fine hair fell in dark waves just past his sharp jawline, the strands casting shadows over his face.
He wore the same leather armor Commander Eton sported, though lacking in any of the decorum, and his muscled arms were covered in thin scars.
“The girl I spoke of,” the commander spat, gesturing back at Soren. “Girl, this is Swordmaster Vane Evva. He’s to be your trainer for the first few hours of each morning. After that, you will join the others for the rest of the day.”
Vane Evva lifted his gaze to hers. A strange awareness crept over her as he met her eyes, the back of her neck prickling. The air felt oddly still, but the spell was broken quickly as Vane said in a deep voice, “We’ll need more than a few hours a day. She’s weak.”
A furious flush crept up her cheeks, but she tamped down her emotion quickly. He wasn’t wrong, and getting angry was not going to help her at all.
“She has to mesh with the other riders,” Commander Eton said, his tone brokering no room for argument. “You can have her until the midday meal, no longer.”
Vane’s brow rose, his eyes still on her. “Fair enough.”
She fought the urge to squirm as he looked at her, standing with her arms crossed over her chest. Commander Eton turned to leave, but he paused with a final warning to her.
“I’ve trained Misean soldiers before, and the second I saw any spark of rebellion in their eyes, I killed them. You would do good to remember that, girl.”
She swallowed hard, her throat tight, but did not reply. The commander left, his footsteps fading, leaving her alone with Vane, who still stared at her. Now that the commander had gone, the curiosity in his expression flickered to something…raw.
He looked at her like it hurt.
But the trace of odd vulnerability left his face quickly as it had come. She cleared her throat, fidgeting.
“Are you going to train me?”
A soft snort escaped him. “Hm. Rather mouthy, aren’t you?”
She looked away. “I apologize.”
Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he took a step closer. “I didn’t ask for an apology, nor do I want one. You’re going to have to cut the groveling act. It won’t serve you here.”
She clenched her jaw, her brow creasing as she looked at him. Her demeanor was no act; rather, it was an attitude that had been hammered into her for years. This ‘swordmaster’ likely couldn’t even imagine what her life had been like, the hardship she had faced.
“You’re angry at me now.”
She blinked. “No.”
“And a bad liar too.”
Before thinking, she shot back, “I am an excellent liar.”
Fear flooded her as soon as she spoke the words aloud. What if he reported her? Could he take it as some act of rebellion? One word, and the commander would surely kill her.
But Vane merely shook his head, the corner of his lips twitching, as if he found her funny.
He walked away, his back to her as he picked up a sword, slim and lightweight—or at least it appeared that way, because when he handed it to her and said, “Let’s see if you have any balance,” her arm bowed from the weight.
“It’s heavy,” she said quietly. “It didn’t look like it would be.”
“Mm. It’s made of a special kind of steel.”
She chewed on her lip, examining the blade. “But wouldn’t it be more beneficial for the blade to be lightweight and easily handled? What’s the purpose of it being heavy like this?”
Vane paused before replying, and she looked back up at him. Gods, he was so much taller than her. Granted, she was short, even for a woman, but she could hardly meet his eyes without craning her neck back.
“You’re curious. Why?”
She bit back an apology, as he’d requested she do, and instead admitted, “I used to watch the princess train with her master. I was never given the opportunity to learn, of course, but it interests me.”
“What does?”
She felt foolish as she replied, “The dance.”
His expression grew sharp. “Your princess learned swordplay in a child’s pen, soft and safe, without consequence if she faltered or failed.
You do not have such luxury. We need to teach you to defend yourself quickly, which will allow little room for finesse or fear—especially fear.
You need to get used to the idea of taking a life.
Your dragon won’t always be the one to do so for you. ”
Soren felt her face drain of color. She knew this, had since Thessa chose her yesterday. But the reality, thrown carelessly in her face, was harsher than she bargained for. He was not wrong in thinking it would be difficult for her, but he was wrong to assume she had never taken a life before.
In fact, she had taken five.
“You must not speak of this, Soren. Ever.”
But Vane must have somehow seen it on her face, already unnervingly good at reading her when most could not, because his brow creased, and he said in a low voice, “You are not unfamiliar with death, are you?”
She cleared her throat softly. “I have seen it before. Most Misean slaves have.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Is all this talking helping me learn to kill?”
Vane went still before he leaned in so close, they nearly shared breath. A tremble rushed down her spine at the look in his eyes.
“You’re going to need to learn when to use that mouth of yours. Talking back to me will only get you this.”
Swiftly, before she could even register what was happening, he kicked out a foot, causing her to tumble to the ground. She flailed but went still as he pressed his weight over her limbs, the cool metal of the blade at her throat.
“Understood,” she whispered.
He searched her eyes for a long moment before shoving off her and standing again. But when she tried to move, his foot stopped her. “We need to work on your strength, soldier.”
She kept her mouth shut this time. He sat down a few feet from her and said with the ghost of a smirk, “You’re going to hate this part.”
He wasn’t wrong at all. He pushed her through a circuit of strengthening exercises, and by the time he declared they were finished, her entire body burned. But the torture continued; running laps around camp until she tasted copper in the back of her throat, and then an order to top it all off.
“After sundown, before you sleep each night, you’ll complete the circuit I just showed you.”
“The whole—”
“Yes,” he clipped out, not looking at her. “And if you want to complain, I’d be happy to add more to the routine.”
Soren lowered her gaze, but she said nothing to Vane, holding in her anger as she had done all her life.
“We’re done for today. Tomorrow, we meet at sunrise.”
He stalked away without giving her further instructions, so she wandered to the center of camp. She found Cion and Ilav there, along with a group of five others.
“Here,” Cion said as Soren sat down next to her, handing her a piece of dried jerky and a small portion of flatbread. “You missed the handouts.”
“Thank you,” Soren said quietly, biting into the bread.
Ilav snorted. “Why don’t you just let her fail? It’ll happen anyways, with or without your coddling.”
Soren ignored him, quickly scarfing down her food. Just as she had finished chugging from a skein of water, one of the other five nearby said, “So the rumors are true, then. A Vemon dragon chose a Misean slave. I hardly believed it when I heard.”
Soren sighed softly, and Ilav caught it.
“Is this all rather annoying for you?” he sneered. “All the attention? I’m sure you’re not used to that. Is it overwhelming, being the odd one out?”
“I heard her mamma found her in the river!”
“Outsider!”
The voices in her memory began to blend with Ilav’s, and an old darkness started to rise in her.
Five, she reminded herself. Five final breaths, five wailing mammas, five suspicious papas, and a warning: never let anyone see what you can do, and never tell anyone what happened.
She had not been tempted for so long to touch that corner of her soul. She had been taken from her home, separated from her family, beaten, neglected, forced to kneel and scrape and grovel…
So why now?
“Soren?”
She looked up, finding Princess Cion staring at her, brow creased. “You went quiet.”
Soren swallowed. “It’s nothing. I am simply tired from my training this morning.”
“Vane, huh?” a girl said.
She, along with the four others, all wore armor that appeared to be made of scales. Dragon scales, if Soren was a betting woman. The girl had long, dark hair done in a single braid and a nose ring. She didn’t look at Soren with venom, but with mere curiosity.
“Yes. Commander Eton assigned me to train with him.”
The girl snorted loudly. “I wish you luck. Vane is an asshole.”
“I…gathered that,” Soren said before she could stop herself. Cion glanced sidelong at her, unused to Soren speaking in such a way. Soren ignored her.
The girl laughed. “I might be able to tolerate you after all. My name is Yella.”
Soren dipped her head. “Soren.”
Yella glanced at Ilav and Cion. “If you three are done with the meal, we should begin.”
“We are,” Cion replied.
Soren could feel the princess’ eyes on her.
Yella jumped to her feet. “Good.” She gestured behind her to the others.
“The five of us are Aren’s newest riders, from two seasons ago.
The rule is that the newest train the newest, so for the next moon cycle, you’ll be with us for half your days.
After that, the real fun begins. Come—the dragons are waiting in the field. ”
She and the other four began walking, and Soren, Cion, and Ilav followed. All Soren wanted to do was lay down and sleep after her training session with Vane, but she couldn’t afford to show weakness here, not ever.
“So, what’s with the hair?” Yella asked as they walked.
Soren bit her cheek. “Just a birth defect, I was told.”
“Not an omen?”
“Not at all.”
The practiced lie slipped easily off her tongue.