Chapter 43
The training ground beneath the plateau where the castle sits is daunting, to say the least. Around me are the constant clangs of swords and occasional shouts of pain.
It’s a mild, overcast day, but the cool breeze that blows through my hair every now and then is much appreciated.
My eyes constantly wander, my attention being pulled toward the far west where the supposed Veil between worlds resides.
Where the Veilguards train to defend Erleya against Otherworldly attack.
I see no evidence of such Veilguards.
There are, however, other Zenith trainees.
Each of us has a silver pin on our chest to identify our power.
Mine is a cross within a circle, the old symbol for earth.
The symbol’s also affiliated with a few gods—knowledge that I don’t care to brush up on.
I find myself in a small group with various Wielders.
A willowy girl with three swirls on her chest denoting the water element, a white-haired young man with a lightning bolt on his chest, and a Flamewielder, a triquetra on his chest. Unsurprisingly, there are no other Terraforgers.
I’m an oddity even among other Wielders. I should be used to it; I was an oddity within my own family even apart from my powers. I wonder how many of the others have had similar experiences. The other two trainees in our group are Grounders, and the willowy girl is from a noble family like mine.
My stomach flips as I try to imagine what life is like for my family back home.
What has become of Arionna? Is she with Gruffud now that I am out of the frame?
What about Mother? I try to force my focus back to the Zenith and Royal Brigade members nearby.
I’ve never actually been trained to Wield by anyone.
It was something I figured out all on my own.
All eyes are on me when I pull myself out of my wandering thoughts. Our trainer, a Zenith member clad in the typical midnight blue with black trimming on the uniform, stares into my soul. “Am I boring you, Pendry?” he asks.
Pendry. The name seems so unfitting, but so does fa Eurig. “No, sir,” I respond, my cheeks heating.
I rein in my focus and absorb all the training I can.
My Wielding capabilities are surprisingly stronger than the others.
Perhaps because I have used it in sneaky ways over the years.
Still, the training session drags on for hours, with a quick break for repast. By the time we’re finally released to our rooms, the sun is beginning to sink.
My entire body aches, for once, not from the curse of my Cleanse but from actual physical exertion. It feels … not unpleasant. It makes sense. I find myself almost blissfully tired as I return to my room.
I start peeling off my disgusting training gear, leaving a trail on the floor as I rush toward the bathing chamber.
But as I dip a cloth into the basin of too-cold water and scrub dirt from my face and arms, I’m struck with the sinking realization that this is my life now.
Not as Gwyneth fa Eurig, the highborn noble.
Not as Gwyneth Pendry, the wife of Gruffud. But as Gwyneth … the Zenith member?
Who am I?
I nearly lose my footing—as if someone has kicked me behind the knees—as the overwhelming desire to get away from Mainland and head northeast tugs at me.
That damn tree resurfaces in my mind, and I mentally blot it out like throwing black paint over a finished portrait.
I don’t have time for such dreams; I need to focus on training so I can gain Rheon’s trust. So I can hopefully find Father and somehow get Neris out of here.
Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, I finish cleaning up. The water in the basin is a nauseating murky brown by the time I’m finished.
In silence, I get dressed and soon I’m rushing through the corridors, heading toward the infirmary.
As I push the door open, my eyes immediately fall on Neris.
She’s sitting up in bed, slightly hunched over in a loose-fitting white nightgown.
Her gaze snaps to me, and a smile lights up her significantly less bruised face.
Vaughn glances up from Neris’s bedside, a bowl in hand, but before I can further assess the situation, I’m running toward Neris.
I halt at her bedside, unsure of what to do with myself.
Vaughn places the bowl on the small table beside the bed. “I’ll let you two talk,” he says with a smile.
I nod appreciatively as he saunters off. I meet Neris’s tired emerald eyes as I sink down to my knees at her bedside. “Neris …” My voice comes out as a mere whisper. “You imbecile.”
Her laughter sounds almost fractured—like she’s forgotten how to laugh. It’s more likely that it simply hurts too much.
“Guilty,” she says, shakily lifting a hand.
I reach out to take her hand, giving it the gentlest of squeezes as I hold back tears.
“Don’t look at me like that, Winnie. I’m fine.”
“You’re—” My voice catches, and I inhale deeply before clearing my throat. “This is my fault.”
“Did you shove me into Gruffud? Did you force me to attack him?”
“No, but—”
“But what? There was nothing you could’ve done. Gruffud is a prick. He’s always been a prick. No one can change him. He would’ve slaughtered you to save his own ass.”
“I could’ve handled him myself. I wouldn’t have let him slaughter me.” Except he had been close to at least throttling me until unconscious.
Neris studies me somberly. Then she sighs gently and says, “It feels like my back is one giant wound. It’s healed now, miraculously. But I’ve been told it’ll scar.” A playful glint appears in her eyes. “Maybe it’ll make me look like a force to be reckoned with.”
“Only if you walk around topless,” I say, swiping away a stray tear.
Neris gives that odd little laugh again, and it physically hurts me.
I ignore the tug from within me that resurfaces and force my mind away from the searing heat of a flaming axe swinging through darkness. The image comes unbidden far too easily for my liking, and I’m sick of it.
Blinking, I find Neris staring at me as if I’ve been in my mind for far longer than I’ve realized.
“Care to share?” Neris asks, her brow cocked.
“Just exhausted. Training.”
Her jaw drops. “Training? Like a soldier?”
“As a Zenith member.” My heart hiccups uncomfortably.
“Oh, Winnie,” she says with what looks like pity in her eyes. How can she pity me from where she sits?
I stand, craving silence now that I see Neris is on the mend. “You should get some rest, Neris. It’s so nice to see you awake again. Keep healing, alright?”
“Winnie, wait. Are you sure—” She stops talking abruptly and glances around, checking if Vaughn is listening. She doesn’t say much else; she only stares at me with that calculating look.
“I’m fine. I’m working on things.” I can’t say much else aloud.
Neris nods very slightly. “I’ve been told that as soon as I’m mended, I can reside in a guest room here. At least temporarily. Is this because of your new role?”
“Perhaps,” I say with a forced smile, walking backward to the door. At least that’s one good thing that’s come from this arrangement.
The night brings feverish sweats and more agony than I think I can survive. Come morning, the inside of my cheek has been gnawed raw, my lip is swollen and split from holding back screams, and my throat is burning from retching for hours. The pain has subsided, but my body is drained of energy.
I’m noticeably shaking by the time I make it to the infirmary.
Neris is asleep when I ask Vaughn for a few small doses of valbane to keep in my bedchamber.
He hesitates at first, but then obliges when I explain the severity of my pain episodes.
He gives me a draft of replenishing herbal tea and tells me to get some rest. As much as I want to look for Father and find out more information about this organization, I drag myself back to bed and sleep for the rest of the day.
Days of training go by, but I never return to the infirmary to visit Neris.
It’s too painful to see her in a place where I might as well have personally escorted her.
I don’t have much freedom in the castle as a trainee, but whenever I move through the hallways between the dining room and the training yard, I hope to catch a glimpse of my father.
I stare desperately at every guard. I strain my senses to hopefully hear his name uttered.
But no such thing happens and the pit in my stomach grows deeper with grief.
By the end of the week, I find myself preparing for my first mission.
I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror.
The deep brown of my skin seems dulled, the waves in my ash brown hair limper than ever.
I ache almost constantly, the nightly flareups from the aftereffects of the Cleanse barely manageable even with high doses of valbane.
Nights are hellish, and mornings are muddled with overwhelming exhaustion.
I cannot tell if this version of my life is better than the last—it feels equally miserable at times, but more bearable at others.
The leather armor over the midnight blue uniform and black cloak should look out of place on my body.
But somehow, it feels more like me than the dresses I’ve worn my whole life.
I don’t have time to dissect that sentiment because, as I stare in the mirror, red eyes appear behind me, peering out from beneath a black hood.
I jump, but I don’t cower. This time, I’m tired—of having no answers, of being in pain, of missing Neris and Father. “Who are you?” I ask aloud.
The eyes blink once, twice, then an ethereal voice fills my mind: I am the Forge. I am Fury. My patience grows thin.
“What do you want from me?”
I want you to assist the Heirs of Dusk and Embers. I want you to smite the oppressors.
“Who are the oppressors?”