Chapter 33 I’ll tell you everything
I’ll tell you everything
“The Crow’s Whisper is the most elite of shows in Eiden. Tell us, dear reader, are you fortunate enough to attend?”
— Excerpt from The Castivian Chronicle
Xavian and Lady Jocelynn sat across from each other on the terrace, equally disturbed. They both sipped ale in horror as I tried for the twenty-second time to raise a sword and perform a singular slice through the air.
It was too damn heavy.
“Try the wooden pell instead, please.”
Riven had been begging for me to give up on the actual sword since attempt number four.
“No,” I hissed. The children were training with wooden pells. That would be more embarrassing than failing a hundred times.
Xavian had yet to say a word, but I could sense his disappointment. His skills were marveled at across the kingdoms, while I was only suitable for being struck by arrows.
Riven just wanted to help me. He would lift the sword for me if I would let him.
But that would defeat the purpose.
“It’s because of this vexing dress,” I insisted, gripping the hilt of the sword once more, the pointy end dragging against the grass. “And I refuse to ruin it.”
“I see.”
He didn’t see shit. I would like to see him do anything worthwhile in a gown.
I tried once more to lift the sword, but again, the weight of the bladed monstrosity dragged my arms down.
A chair screeched, and Xavian's voice barked across the training grounds. “Lift the goddamn sword!”
He had roared the command so intimidatingly that my pathetic arms found it in themselves to rise.
I cried out as I leaned into my swing. My muscles whined, but I held that sword up all the same, arms shaking.
I smiled. “I’m doing it.”
A small boy with a wooden pell ran up, laughing as he hit my sword with his, knocking it to the ground.
Mother of fucking Moons.
The brunette child giggled as he ran off with the other little gremlins. I faced the terrace, fists clenched. Xavian’s face was blazing red. He rubbed his hand over his beard and turned to Lady Jocelynn.
“I don’t like this,” I mumbled.
“You don’t have to do it,” Riven said, just loud enough for my ears.
“Then what am I supposed to do?” My response was the opposite. Brash and loud enough that it would be difficult for neighboring trainees not to overhear us.
I was tired of being useless. I hated trying to use a sword. Really hated it. I also hated watching others practice, unless it was Riven.
Even so, my helplessness was mortifying when everyone else adapted quickly, especially the children.
If there was going to be a war, then there would be swords.
If I didn’t know how to use a sword, then there would be no use for me beyond marriage, but…
was that all I would do? Was it terrible to be disappointed with that?
I wanted marriage and children, yes. But living in the shadow of my brother's accomplishments felt so… sad.
Riven picked my blade up from the ground and tossed it into a black barrel. My face fell.
“Sorry I wasted your time,” I said.
Perhaps I was better off in the Waywards, sewing and slinging ale and waiting to freeze to death, if I didn't starve first.
His eyes softened, voice still quiet. “You saved yourself more than once. You saved us. You have survived every bad day you’ve ever had, and in just the short three years I’ve known you, there have been many, but you have never failed to make it to the next.
You are not useless, Elora. You are invaluable, especially to me. ”
My eyes darted away.
What was I supposed to say to that?
“I’m going to find a Blackheart to train you,” he decided.
It hit me then who was on the training grounds. There were plenty of other Natured and Natureless.
But no Blackhearts.
Questions flooded my mind like a river, fast-moving and overwhelming.
“Why aren’t there any here now?”
Come to think of it, I hadn’t noticed very many Blackhearts at all since arriving in Castivian.
“Because they don’t want to be, I suppose. Not a single one has signed up for service. Rumor has it, they’ve been moving up north.”
Why in the hell would they be cold by choice?
Riven rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, trying to mask his frustration with silence. He wanted to help me, but had no idea how.
Lady Jocelynn had claimed to have a show. If people in Castivian enjoyed it, maybe she had influence over them. There had to be Blackhearts in the capital. If she could convince them to join the guard, we could figure out how to train ourselves properly.
“Are you two unwell?” Lady Jocelynn interrupted, her plum gown flowing elegantly as she approached.
“I’ll tell you about the Waywards for your show,” I blurted.
“Oh?” Her lips tipped.
“If it’ll convince more people to join the Brotherhood, then yes. If they know what will happen to them if we lose, maybe they’ll fight for it. Especially the Blackhearts.”
She hesitated.
Riven let out a rare chuckle. “Lady Jocelynn’s show is about petty gossip. She doesn’t touch on the subjects that actually matter.”
Her eyes darted up at him, shadows swirling around her ears and wrists. “That’s not true.”
A knot formed in my stomach at the thought of her using my experience in the Waywards as mere gossip. When living there, I never would have imagined that across the Sea of Blades, people would talk about my miserable situation for entertainment.
“Come on, Jocelynn. You and I both know what your shows truly are. Don’t play the princess for a fool.”
Her shadows shot up to her neck, rolling off her collarbones like steam.
“Riven, you know nothing about my show, especially now. You have not been here for three years. Things have changed. Princess Elora, if you tell me what message you want the capital to hear, I will prove to you the difference I can make.”
Was she trying to convince me or herself? Either way, I would not turn away an audience. The people of Castivian needed to know the truth about what transpired within the Waywards, and what freedoms had been taken from the Dark Natured.
“I’ll tell you everything I know over… afternoon tea?” I offered. We had already sat for morning tea, but it was clear Lady Jocelynn could lounge on the terrace at any hour. Thankfully, the weather was lovely, with scattered clouds drifting across a pale cerulean sky.
“Perfect.”
“I’ll have to see this show for myself.” Riven gave her no mercy, aiming skeptical eyes at her.
Lady Jocelynn’s shadows swirled out farther, threatening Riven, but he didn’t flinch. “Princess Elora needs an escort anyhow, as she has already promised to come. Don't forget to dress appropriately for the theater, Captain.”
I shifted my heated face away. Had she just set me up on a date? Surely there were other Blademen that could escort me.
“Of course, Lady Jocelynn.” Riven’s disdain for Jocelynn’s show, or maybe just the woman in general, was as clear as a Stonesender’s tears.
Their issues were not my problem. If this idea worked, we could find ways to host her show up north, too, and to the east and west. If we rallied enough of the Castivian people, Delaina wouldn’t be able to take this freedom away, nor would Saffron likely have the men to stand against us.
For those odds, I’d do whatever needed to be done, whether it be lifting a sword a thousand times, or forcing a smile for the theater.