Chapter 2 #2
“Time to go back to the forest,” I tell him sadly. “You’ll like it, I promise.” Eugene chitters again angrily, and I sigh. “You can’t stay here forever. What if another animal gets hurt and needs the cage? Anyway, I’m sure you have family who miss you.”
The squirrel digs his tiny claws into my skin as I leave the tower and descend the many stairs to reach the front entrance hall of the manor house.
Outside, morning dew dampens my boots as I cross the sprawling rose garden that takes up nearly half the estate grounds.
At the edge of the woods, I lift Eugene gently and set him on a low branch.
He freezes there, whiskers and tail twitching.
“Go on,” I whisper, stepping away. “Don’t look at me, I don’t want to cry.”
Tears well in my eyes anyway, but I blink them away and turn to leave. When I glance back, he’s still there, watching me. My heart squeezes painfully, but I ignore it and don’t look back again as I walk back toward the manor and shoulder open the back door to the kitchen.
Four people are sitting around the long wooden dining table in complete silence.
Daemon and Alix, the new king and queen, sit close together sharing sections of a pastry.
Across from them, Daemon’s cousin, Odessa, is ignoring her own breakfast and shooting angry looks across the table at Daemon’s best friend, Kastian, from behind the curtain of her red-blonde hair.
Kas is looking pointedly anywhere but at Dessa, as if he’s unaware she exists.
Those two are always at each other’s throats.
“Who started it?” I ask by way of a morning greeting.
Both Dessa and Kastian turn to look at me, then at each other. No one says anything, and the silence in the room feels even heavier.
Alix, seeming relieved to focus on anything other than the silent argument, looks up at me and grins. “Morning, Aurelia. Nice skirt.
“Thanks.” I lean my hip against the table. “Has anyone seen Jett?”
“If he’s not still asleep, he’s probably in the stables,” Alix answers. “Why?”
“I want to practice sword fighting. I thought maybe he would help.”
Daemon furrows his brow. “Why would you want to do that?”
Alix elbows her soul-bond in the ribs. “Women can fight too.”
Daemon makes an exasperated sound. “I know that, Peaches. I meant, why would she need to? She’s got more magic than the rest of us combined, and Vernallis isn’t going to war any time soon. Not if I can help it.”
“Can’t I just want to be prepared?” I ask, thinking of what Fox said the other day about Fae with magic relying too much on their powers.
“Sure, I suppose,” Daemon says, “But why would you need Jett for that?”
“I thought he might spar with me. Unless you’re offering?”
Daemon shakes his head. “Can’t, sorry. We’ve got to inspect the new barracks over by the lake. We’ll be able to house an army of five hundred by the end of the summer.”
“Do we need that many soldiers?” Odessa asks blithely. “I wasn’t aware Vernallis was going to war.”
“We’re not,” Daemon barks. “And the soldiers will be the deterrent that keeps it that way.”
“Why don’t you ask Fox to help you?” Kastian asks me, cocking his head curiously. “Jett is a decent enough fighter, but Fox is the best there is at running an army.”
“I don’t need to be trained like a soldier. I just want to know how to defend myself.”
“Still—” Kas begins.
“Are you trying to get her killed?” Alix scoffs, interrupting Kastian. “Have you seen the soldiers Fox has been training lately? Half of them have broken limbs, and the other half just finished healing.”
“It would be different with Aurelia,” Kastian insists.
“I’m not worried I’d get hurt or anything,” I rush to say.
“Actually, that reminds me,” Daemon interjects, helpfully changing the subject. “How’s your potion coming along?”
“Good, actually!” I gush. “I think I’ve nearly perfected it. My latest batch should be ready to test by tonight.”
“Good,” Daemon says flatly. “We need it if we’re going to turn all Thorne’s old guards into a functioning army.”
“If you’re going to keep letting Fox beat the shit out of them all day long, you mean?” Odessa asks, examining her nails.
“It’s the same fucking thing,” Daemon growls. “He’s not being any harder on them than is necessary. If they’re too weak to handle training how will they handle a war?”
“I thought we weren’t going to war,” Kastian says, a hint of a smile in his voice.
“We’re not!” Daemon snaps, flexing his tattooed fingers.
Not especially interested in discussing any potential wars, I leave them to their debate and don’t say goodbye before slipping out the back door to go look for Jett. I think Daemon is right anyway. Vernallis isn’t going to war anytime soon—and my gut feelings are nearly always right.
Ienter the stables, and immediately spot Jett at the end of the long row of horse stalls, leaning against the wooden doorframe, his dark hair falling across one eye as he gestures animatedly.
He’s talking to a curvy servant girl, whose cheeks flush pink as she twirls a strand of copper hair around her finger, laughing at whatever he’s just said while she pretends to sweep the same patch of straw.
Just because I’ve lived most of my life in isolation, doesn’t mean I’m oblivious, and I feel somewhat guilty for intruding. I might have turned around and come back later, except Jett looks up at the sound of the door swinging shut behind me and raises a hand to wave. “Morning!”
I raise a hand and wave back, and now I have no choice but to barge in on their conversation.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say, walking down the aisle of stalls toward them.
Jett flashes a wide grin. “You’re not interrupting.”
The girl looks like she disagrees, and her expression is sulky as I approach them. I stop in front of them, and she immediately mutters some excuse and scampers away to continue her sweeping elsewhere.
“Sorry,” I say again. “I really didn’t mean to bother you. It’s not important or anything, I can come back later, or—”
“It’s fine,” Jett cuts me off with another grin. “So, were you sent to find me? Does Daemon need me back at the house for something?”
“No, nothing like that. I was looking for you, actually.” I clear my throat. “I was hoping you might help me practice with a sword.”
Jett’s eyebrows shoot up. “Me?” he asks, running a hand through his dark hair. “Are you sure? Why?”
I laugh. “Yes, I’m pretty sure. Alix and Odessa are no more talented with a sword than I am, so neither of them is an option.
Daemon is far too busy, I’ve never seen Kastian use a sword, and Fox…
is also busy.” I finish, slightly awkwardly.
I was going to say that Fox makes me nervous, but that sounds pathetic even in my head.
“So, I’m your last resort?” Jett jokes.
I laugh. “I suppose? You’re also the shortest of the men, which feels like an advantage in this case. I imagine it would be hard to spar with someone twice my size.”
“Oh, so I’m short and have nothing better to do? How you flatter me.”
“Not short, just the shortest,” I clarify. “And it’s not as if I have any right to talk, you’re still a foot taller than me.”
“Yeah, sure.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Why would you need to learn to fight? What changed?”
“Nothing changed,” I answer automatically, then correct myself. “I mean, nothing more than what you already know about. Everything changed when you guys all showed up here. King Thorne is dead. I can leave the estate now if I want to, I don’t have to be in hiding for the rest of my life.”
“True, but you don’t need to know how to fight just to travel.”
“I do if I’m going to travel anywhere interesting.”
Jett gives me an appraising look, then nods slowly. “Alright, you win. I think there’s some practice swords out back that the guards have been using. Come on.”
Jett leads me to a patch of flattened grass behind the stables where the morning sun hasn’t yet burned away the dew.
A weathered trunk and a pile of practice equipment are piled against the back of the building.
Jett rummages through the trunk, tossing aside leather straps and dented metal pieces before pulling out two short practice swords.
“Try this.” He tosses one of the swords to me and it lands with a thud at my feet. His ever-present grin widens. “Okay, first lesson: if someone throws something at you, try to catch it.”
I huff an amused breath, and bend to pick up the pretend sword.
It’s heavier than I expected and the wooden hilt feels rough against my palm.
I struggle to find a comfortable grip while Jett demonstrates a stance, feet planted shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent.
I wobble, but manage not to truly embarrass myself or fall over.
For the next hour, Jett directs me how to swing the blade, and we go over a few practice stances, as if fighting an invisible opponent.
“I think I get it,” I tell him, swishing my practice sword through the air like the hero of one of my books.
“Yeah, you do now, but you’re not actually fighting anyone,” Jett points out. “Let’s try something else. Hold your sword in front of you to guard your face. I promise to go easy on you.”
My eyes widen. “What are you going to do?”
“Try to hit you, obviously. I’ll go slow.”
Before I’ve even found the words to answer, Jett lunges forward, his wooden blade whistling past my ear as I stumble backward.
“Hey!” I yelp, scrambling to lift my sword. “You just said you’d go slow.”
“This is slow,” he says, driving me backward. “Try to hit me back.”
I make a few halfhearted attempts to hit him until a familiar chittering sound draws my attention toward the fence along the edge of the woods. I gasp. “Eugene!”
“No, I’m Jett, remember?” Jett grins as he swings his sword at me again.