Chapter 18
Elara
There was a graveyard of arrows on one end of the long makeshift training room.
Several lay on the floor, with a few sticking out of unfortunate pieces of furniture.
Elara winced as another of her shots missed the mark, adding to the count when it skittered to the floor a few feet away.
Her ears burned with embarrassment. The hay-and-canvas target was a mere fraction of a distance away from her compared to the shots Caelan had made in the tournament, yet she couldn’t even get one of her arrows to the target twenty strides away.
Her knuckles turned white around her bow.
“I don’t think this one’s for me,” she finally conceded. The pair had been testing out different weapons each week, trying to find a suitable fit.
Caelan shook his golden head and strolled over to her. “Take your stance.”
“Caelan, really, I don’t—”
“Take your stance.” His eyes bored into hers.
“Fine,” she huffed, placing her feet hip distance apart and drawing an arrow back.
“Wider,” he said, nudging her front foot forward. She held her tongue and glared at the target, which was also mocking her.
He inched closer behind her, placing a hand on her stomach. “Engage your core.”
Heat bloomed under his palm, causing her already-warm cheeks to flare hotter.
“Good. Elbow down.” His fingers brushed her arm, guiding her elbow down and sending a ripple of goose bumps across her flesh.
“Now use your mouth,” he whispered, his breath hot on her neck, his cheek nearly touching hers.
“Excuse me?” She pulled away, but he held her firmly in place, one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder. Her heart fluttered.
“Touch your cheek. Use your mouth as an anchor,” he said, voice thick with amusement.
Elara rolled her eyes.
He wrapped his hand around her grip on the bow. “Relax, Princess. Now, inhale. Exhale. Release.”
Thwack. The arrow hit the outermost ring of the target.
I did it!
Caelan stepped back, grinning at her. “How did that feel?”
“Incredible,” she breathed, heart still racing from his closeness.
Caelan held out his hand, and Elara passed him the bow, their fingers brushing and sending a now-familiar jolt up her arm.
She shook her head. “I still think we should keep trying other weapons.” She sighed.
The days were growing shorter and colder, the winter solstice—and their wedding—creeping closer.
Her progress was agonizingly slow, and she was no closer to controlling her magic or securing her family.
“You did well enough with the short sword. We can continue to focus on that, along with hand-to-hand combat. That will give you enough to defend yourself in a pinch if needed.” He leaned against the window, the leaded glass groaning.
“What does any of this have to do with controlling my essence affinity?” Elara asked.
“It’s about discipline, Princess. A powerful body begets a powerful mind. Still, it wouldn’t hurt for you to keep researching the Serathi, to see if you can dig up anything that might be useful.”
Elara scoffed. “What do you think I do all day when we’re not training? I’m sure Silas and Felix are tired of lurking in the library at this point.”
Caelan grinned. “Keep looking. We’ll keep practicing.”
Elara folded her arms across her chest. “How old were you?” she asked.
Caelan raised his eyebrows in question.
She cleared her throat. “How old were you when you realized you were a Moiren?” She’d wondered about the origin of his power, never having seen its like—even at the tournament, since they’d missed the Thal'Moira and Thal’Embra.
“Ah,” he said. “Just a lad, probably around six or seven. My mother was giving me a bath when I made miniature waves for my toy sailboat.” His eyes warmed at the sweet memory, then he looked down at his hands, picking at his fingernails.
Elara’s heart clenched, but she nodded, changing the subject back to her initial question “How long before you could control it?”
A line formed between his eyebrows. “A few years. My father was strict in my training, so I had to learn quickly.” He rubbed his hands together absentmindedly.
“We don’t have years,” she said. She needed to control it—to conceal it from Lord Stormrider and the rest of the court.
“I know. But you’re an adult, you’re smart. You’re catching on quickly.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.” She sighed.
Caelan titled his head, considering her. “Give me your hand.”
Elara held out her hand, palm up. He curled his fingers around her wrist and pulled her a step closer to him. Taking a small knife in his other fist, he made a deep cut on her palm. She hissed in pain but resisted the urge to tug her arm out of his grasp.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “Now, essence is a natural part of your being. Close your eyes, picture it as something solid that you can hold on to.”
“Like another arm?” she asked.
“No, like the physical manifestation of a memory. Something that represents who you are to your core. It’s a part of your soul, as much as a part of your body.”
Elara closed her eyes tight and took a deep breath, visualizing some of her happiest moments: gardening in springtime with Thalia, the blooms bursting in their full color; baking with her mother, both of them covered in flour; reading her favorite book for the first time in her father’s office, curled up at his feet under his desk.
Nothing stuck.
“It’s not working,” she grumbled.
“Give it time. It’s not as easy as it sounds—”
“Wait! There,” she breathed.
In her mind’s eye, she was lying in a meadow, the sunshine soft on her skin, the grass tickling the backs of her arms and neck as she watched fluffy clouds roll by. A raven flew above her, casting a shadow across her eyes.
“I know you,” she whispered.
As if responding to her presence, the raven landed with a soft thud, its head cocked, a low croak escaping its throat.
“Elara!” Caelan’s hands were on her shoulders, shaking her roughly.
Her eyes flew open as the vision fell away. Caelan inspected her face, cupping her clammy cheek with his palm. Worry flickered in his eyes.
“What happened? Are you all right?” he asked.
Elara looked down at her hand. The flesh had already melded itself back together, staunching the blood, the only reminder of her injury a dull ache that soon faded to nothing.
“It didn’t work,” she whispered, deflated.
“What didn’t work?”
“I found a memory—at least, I think it was a memory. Let’s try again,” she said.
“No, Elara,” he said gently. “That’s enough for today.”
He said her name with such intimacy, it startled her into submission. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard her name on his lips, but the way he said it—slow and deliberate—made her heart race.
Elara scowled and wiped her bloody palm on her trousers, ignoring her rapid pulse. “Ursa had an interesting idea,” she said. “We should test the limits of my healing.”
Caelan frowned. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, what types of injuries are the most common in combat?”
He blanched. “No.”
“But—” she protested.
“How about this: have dinner with me, and I’ll consider it.” He folded his arms across his chest, a smirk playing on his lips.
Dinner? Elara paused, considering his request. Does this mean that he’s falling for me?
Caelan ran a hand through his hair, the confident gleam in his eyes fading.
“It’s fine if you don’t want—”
“No, I do,” she said. “I’ll have dinner with you. If you promise to really think about testing my limits.”
“You’ve got a deal, Princess.” He grinned.