Chapter 1 #2
I had learned early how men looked at me, how their attention lingered. If I interfered, it wouldn’t soften them. It would shift their focus. Toward me. Toward Elion. I would have to risk everything.
We left the square behind. Our home sat just beyond it, tucked into a narrow street that curved away from the noise and lantern light.
The stone buildings pressed close together, their upper floors nearly touching, casting long ribbons of shadow even during the day.
By night, the street felt private and hidden, exactly the way Elion liked it.
He locked the door behind us with more force than necessary, the slam echoing through the narrow space before fading. Then he turned, fixing me with a stare that had cowed blacksmiths, merchants, and men twice his size into silence.
I met it without flinching, my back straight, refusing to yield. We’d had this argument many times before.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said evenly. “You have to learn restraint. Appearances matter—especially if you intend to become a Bondward. You can’t intervene in situations like that.”
His expression hardened. “It’s my job to keep you safe. Even if it makes you angry.”
“Yes, well,” I said, toeing off my boots, “I’ve managed twenty-one years without being devoured by a saber, sold to the Praetor, or married off to some other fool who thinks bathing is optional.” I glanced at him. “I think I’m doing quite well.”
His jaw tightened. “That isn’t something to joke about.”
“Then maybe don’t treat me like I’m fragile enough to break. You had the power to step in. They would’ve listened.”
I met his gaze. “You did nothing.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You think I have that kind of power. I don’t.”
“You don’t even try.”
His hand dropped. “Because trying would cost me everything. If the Imperator learns I interfered with his legionnaires, I become a liability. And liabilities don’t get warnings—they disappear.”
Silence stretched between us.
“I won’t risk that,” he said. “Not when it leaves you alone.”
I folded my arms. “And what about that family? That boy?”
His eyes flickered—just for a moment. “That isn’t a fight you can win.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t.”
The admission stole some of the heat from me.
But not all of it. I set aside my cloak and drew in a slow breath.
The main room was warm, lit by softly glowing sconces.
Shelves crowded the walls—scrolls, vials, dried herbs, instruments worn to a dull gleam.
The scent of crushed mint and antiseptic root settled into my lungs like a balm.
This place had been my sanctuary since childhood.
Somewhere along the way, it became my cage.
“You can’t keep me locked away forever,” I whispered.
“I can try.”
“That isn’t living.”
“No. But it’s surviving.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “I want more than that. I want a life that’s mine. Not one decided by the Imperator. Not one spent hiding behind you. I only have four years before they send me to the Ludaryn—and that’s the rest of my life.”
“You think I don’t know that?” His voice rose, then checked itself. “You think I don’t see it every time you look at those gates like they’re something to conquer?”
“Then stop holding me back.”
“I’m keeping you alive.”
“And I’m suffocating!”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. He went still. A flicker of regret ran through me, but I didn’t take it back.
“You’re more like my brother every day,” he said. The words struck deep and I looked away.
“I am careful,” I whispered.
“You’re not,” he said. “You’re fearless. And that gets people killed.”
“Maybe,” I shot back. “But at least it means I’m actually living. I’m not nearly as na?ve as you think.”
His gaze held mine, something conflicted moving behind it.
“One day,” he said, “you’ll meet someone who doesn’t fall for your games. Someone who sees straight through you.”
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face as if trying to smooth away the moment. For just an instant, he looked years older. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its edge. “You remember the Temple of Lunarion.” His fingers lifted to the silver piercing at his brow.
My fingers rose instinctively, brushing my own ring nestled near my helix, the metal cool beneath my touch. “Yes, I was four.”
“You were very brave.”
Every child in Valystria endured the ritual at four; the temple doors closed, and the Imperator decided your worth. Iron for the poor, the desperate, the forgotten. Silver for those the city required. Gold for those it served.
“I didn’t sleep for three nights beforehand,” he admitted.
I glanced at him. “You were afraid they would give me iron.”
“I was afraid they’d waste your potential.”
I remembered waking with my ear red and aching. They handed me a small bronze mirror, and my heart climbed into my throat when I saw the silver piercing through my ear. When they told me I would become a Bondward, I knew what it meant.
A cage.
“I was so proud of you,” he continued. “You didn’t shed a single tear before the ritual.
When I came to find you afterward, you were gone.
I searched all through Caelora. You ran into the Lornwild of all places.
” He exhaled. “Even then, I should have known—you were all fire and defiance. I couldn’t keep hold of you, not even as a child. ”
I swallowed. “I was scared you’d be disappointed I wasn’t gold.”
“I never was,” he said. “I promised your parents that I would take care of you. Treat you like my own daughter. You never had to strive for perfection. I just wanted you safe. You can’t imagine the panic of thinking I’d lost you.
Your fire brings warmth to everyone around you. You are my heart, Tina.”
He lowered his gaze. Guilt shadowed his expression, but why? He’d always kept me safe. To me, he was my father in every way that mattered.
I stepped forward and rested my forehead against his shoulder, drawing strength from the familiar solidity of him. “I’m sorry… I love you.”
He embraced me, pressing me close to his chest, almost suffocating. Then, as he always did when he didn’t know what to say, he began jumping around with me. I laughed, suddenly carefree, feeling like a child again. After a moment, he straightened, any trace of guilt gone.
“That’s enough of the past. Tonight, you will resume your studies.”
Tomorrow morning, I was to know the entire roster of Caelora’s Saber Warriors and their sabers—their strengths, their weaknesses.
“You’ll enter the Ludaryn to work under the finest Lanista Valystria has to offer. The warriors there are nothing without their saber,” he said. “Bondwards come and go—but the saber must live. We keep them alive. No matter the injury.”
I met his eyes. “You were the best Bondward Caelora had ever seen. It was your passion. And you gave it up for me.”
“You were alone, and I made a promise,” he replied. “There was never a choice. I still instruct the younger Bondwards, and raising you has given me more meaning than work ever could. You should be proud to become a Bondward. You’re a natural.”
“I am proud. I just wish things were different. I need more freedom… I want you to trust that I’m ready to stand on my own.”
He studied me for a long moment, weighing risks I couldn’t see.
“Alright... I’ll try, but within limits.”
Hope rose so quickly it startled me.
“Tomorrow I have to inspect the health of a couple of young sabers at the training grounds. You will join me, and I will assign the smaller sabers to you. But you must remain within my sight.”
Usually, I was only allowed to join him in secret after nightfall. He wanted me hidden, though I didn’t know why. To me, the sabers were the most dangerous beasts there—but he didn’t think so.
I nearly bounced on my feet. “Thank you! I won’t let you down!”
He shook his head with an indulgent smile. “Just stay away from the whipmaster. He isn’t known to be kind to strangers.”
“Yes, Uncle,” I said, careful not to sound too eager.
He hesitated, then nodded. “Tomorrow, Tina.”
That promise—small and hard-won—felt like something opening.
Like the first breath of freedom.