Chapter 14
Elara
The first of the leaves had turned golden, red, and brown while they waited for Caelan’s ankle to heal.
Elara had endured weeks of maddening isolation.
Aside from Iris—who prattled on about the tournament—Felix and Silas were her only company.
She’d taken to meandering the familiar halls of the palace, noting the clever hiding places and entrances to her tunnels should she ever need them.
On the rare occasions she saw Caelan, they uttered few words.
He sulked, unable to do much of anything other than attend the council meetings with Lord Stormrider.
Elara shuddered, recalling the way Caelan looked at his father as they left the tournament arena.
Maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult to turn him against his father after all.
While she couldn’t yet forgive Caelan for his part in their engagement, nor his terrible behavior toward her, she was grateful to have access to a potential ally.
Today was the day Elara and Caelan would shove their differences aside and work together.
She met Caelan in a shadowy, seldom-used room of the palace, a place she knew well but rarely visited.
The worn mats and faded banners of the training hall whispered stories of her family’s military legacy, making it more a symbol than a place of active practice.
Many noble families had similar rooms in their manors or country houses, but few families used them for exercise anymore—at least not in Valoria.
Caelan’s training experience suggested Veilkeep operated differently.
Curiosity about his home and his travels prickled at the back of her mind.
Focus, she told herself.
The faded walls hosted cracks that snaked their way out of several corners as the plaster started to give.
Layers of dust covered the already-gritty stone floor.
Piles of assorted weaponry and fitness gear—along with other miscellaneous objects sent here to disappear—leaned against tall windows.
She and Caelan would train in a glorified storage closet, which suited her just fine.
Caelan had pulled some strings to dismiss her guards, allowing the two of them to have complete privacy for the first time.
Those savage butterflies were back to assaulting her stomach.
As she explored the room, pausing now and then to sweep away a cobweb with her arm, she watched Caelan digging through the equipment.
He wore a loose shirt, the thin fabric clinging to his back, revealing the definition of his muscles beneath—along with some strange dark markings.
His slim trousers, hugging his legs as he moved, stretched taut as he lifted and tossed various objects out of his way.
Heat crept up Elara’s neck as she realized she was similarly attired.
If Caelan made her mouth water dressed like that, what was he going to think of her?
Although her skin was well concealed, her riding trousers clung to her legs and bottom.
The blue silk shirt she wore over her most comfortable corset was almost translucent—and would become more so as she started to sweat.
Hopefully it wouldn’t stick to her chest too much.
Elara’s father had always praised her appearance above her character, and over the years, Elara had watched the queen use her looks to her advantage, styling herself and transforming into whoever she needed to be to get what she wanted.
Today, in her simple shirt and fitted pants, Elara would begin forging herself into a weapon, like the one Caelan now held.
Caelan had stopped plundering the piles, having found a wooden staff tipped with a blunted spearhead. He tossed it to her, a warm smile on his face as she caught it with a confident grip.
“Remember, this is simply a tool. As you well know, when you have no weapons, it is imperative that you become the weapon. Especially without an offensive magical talent . . .”
He trailed off, staring at her. His gaze traveled from the top of her head to her worn leather boots, then back up again before he finally returned to his riffling. Elara’s neck and ears warmed under his scrutiny.
“You look . . . strong,” he said after clearing his throat. Caelan’s cheeks were a little flushed too. “I wasn’t expecting you to be in such great shape,” he admitted.
“Well, I may not be a fighter yet, but I like to stay active. Horseback riding, gardening, dancing—”
“Dancing?” he asked, tilting his head to one side, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Elara nodded, slamming the butt of the spear into the floor and placing her other hand on her hip. “Just you wait,” she said. “You’ve never been to a royal ball before.”
Caelan laughed at that, tilting his head back. “Anything else?”
She thought, pursing her lips. “This might sound absurd, but I think that my essence affinity isn’t just healing me, but making me stronger than I was before, somehow.”
“You didn’t seem that tough when we first met,” he teased. She scowled at him in warning.
“I didn’t have my ability then,” she quipped back. “After that night, I was exhausted. But by morning, my muscles had already recovered. And not only were they healed, but noticeably strengthened.”
“That makes sense,” he mused. “People think the way we train the body is in the breaking-it-down part. It’s actually the rebuilding—the healing—that strengthens us, as you experienced. Though I’d wager that it happens faster for you.”
“Does that mean I’ll be able to learn to fight faster?” she asked, voice hopeful. Learning to fight meant that she could defend herself, that she’d never have to experience the humiliation of the invasion again.
“That has more to do with your mental discipline than anything else. But, with me as your instructor, maybe so.” He winked at her. “Let’s begin!”
Caelan reached out, his fingers brushing against Elara’s as he took back the spear.
He summoned water to his palm and shaped it into a whip.
The ribbon of water snapped forward with a deafening crack, cleanly slicing the spearhead off of its handle.
Dismissing the whip into a fine mist, he passed the staff back to her.
Elara blinked. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.
His hands on her shoulders, he guided her to the edge of the room before placing himself at its opposite end.
“We will start with training your body how to move, balance, and block. Then we will try out different weapons until we find you a good fit. It doesn’t hurt for you to have experience with a variety of them.
Controlling your body is the first step to controlling your essence affinity. ”
Caelan stalked toward her—closer and closer, each movement smooth and lethal, but measured for her sake. Elara’s heart raced, and adrenaline surged through her veins. She squared her shoulders, disinclined to let him see how much his presence impacted her body.
A confident smile played on his lips, and Elara licked her own, remembering the taste of their first kiss. She shook her head to rid herself of the unwelcome distraction.
“Ow!” she cried. Caelan’s sword connected with her forearm as she failed to avoid his first strike. Thankfully, his weapon was made of wood and not steel. Her hand opened of its own volition, and her staff clattered to the ground.
Caelan lowered his wooden practice sword with infuriating calm. “You’re supposed to block before it hits you, Princess.”
She glared at him, rubbing her tender flesh. “I’ll remember that next time you try to break my arm.”
“That was me going easy on you. If I were trying, you’d be on your back.” His eyes gleamed.
Elara shook her head, frowning. “Again,” she said, falling into what she hoped would be a better defensive stance.
Caelan assessed her. “Legs wider. Good, now bend your knees a little. Firm grip—both hands. Ready?”
Elara nodded, her cheeks flaming.
“Go!”
The work proved painstaking for Elara. Though fit, her body ached with the unaccustomed exertion, muscles screaming in protest with each movement. Slow and stiff, she winced with each blow of Caelan’s wooden practice sword, the impact jarring her bones.
“Come on, Princess! You can do better than that!” Caelan swatted her bottom with his sword as she failed to block his attack again.
The sting paled in comparison to the burning of her ears.
She clenched her jaw to keep a retort from slipping off her tongue.
It appeared that, while he was making an effort to avoid hurting her, he was immensely enjoying mocking her every chance he got.
Their last match left Elara on the ground, tailbone smarting. Eyes brimming with hot tears of frustration, she watched him, waiting for another teasing comment. Instead, he crouched down in front of her. He ran a hand through his golden curls, already damp with sweat, and his gaze softened.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do. But your instincts aren’t half bad. Here.” Caelan held out a calloused hand.
Elara hesitated, then took it, allowing him to help her up.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing to her staff.
With a nod, she offered it to him. Instead of taking the weapon, his fingers wrapped around hers and pushed the staff in toward her chest.
“Follow me. When I move, you move.”
With his hands warm and sure over hers, he pulled them through a flowing series of stances, her body mirroring his.
“Better.” He grinned, releasing her.
His golden eyes met hers as he brushed her long braid off her shoulder, the unexpected caress sending a shiver down her spine.
Each touch brought Elara closer to her goal—and chipped away at her resolve.
I need him to like me. To trust me. To help me.
She also needed to remember that he was the enemy. A means to an end.
After a few hours, Elara collapsed gratefully against a stack of rough-hewn wooden crates, the splintery wood digging into her flesh beneath her clothes.
As she reclined, catching her breath, the dust from the crates stuck to her sweaty garments and the bare skin of her forearms. Caelan slid into place next to her, an arm’s length away.
The musky scent of Caelan’s sweat was stronger than her own odor, but not unpleasant, with its peppery cedar base.
Her heart pounded against her ribs from exertion and his closeness.
“That welt on your arm.” Caelan picked up her hand and examined her forearm. “It’s already almost gone!”
Elara nodded. “It happens so fast. You’ve seen how cuts knit together almost instantly and now this. Is using magic always so exhausting?”
“Your power pulls from your essence. It’s a limited reserve, but you can do more magic with less energy over time, with practice.”
“I bet I’ll sleep well tonight.” She laughed half-heartedly, then frowned.
Nightmares had plagued her sleep for the last several nights.
There were the ones about her family lying face down in a gutter somewhere or clawing their own eyes out as Lady Seraphine tortured them.
Or the worst one: black tendrils of smoke snaking around her body, crawling up her neck and into her nose, her mouth, her eyes. Suffocating her. Blinding her.
Elara pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins. Caelan scooted over to her until his hip was touching hers and placed a hand on her shoulder.
A crack had materialized in her armor against him. She would be a fool to let her guard down with him—for him—but after weeks of solitude, she couldn’t help herself.
“This is so hard,” she said. “I never asked for any of this. How can I feel so powerful and so helpless at the same time?” She curled further into herself, becoming a tight little ball.
“You can do this.” He gave her a crooked smile, more genuine than all the fake ones and false flattery from before. “You’re very brave, you know. For doing this for your family.”
A faint flush colored his already-ruddy cheeks, but she couldn’t tell if it was from exertion or not. They sat together like that until their breathing had slowed.
“Will I see you again before the festival?” She didn’t want to delay her progress any further.
A smirk tugged at his lips. “Can’t get enough of me already?”
She rolled her eyes, eliciting a deep chuckle.
“We’ll meet here again tomorrow. I’ll prioritize our training as best I can. I have other duties to attend to—now that Ursa isn’t scolding me for walking. Until then, Princess.” He rose and offered her a grand bow.
Elara stood too, fighting a grin. “Until then, watermage.”