Chapter 10 A Place Denied #2
Thessia circled her like a predator assessing a new addition to the pride. “I expected someone taller. But there’s a stillness in you I recognize.” She tilted her head, and for a moment her shadow danced just like Kailorien’s when he lied.
“You’ve seen things. Haven’t you?”
Auryn looked up at her, steady. “Things?”
“Battle. Combat. Maybe death.”
“I do have such memories.” Auryn stepped toward Thessia, and standing on her tip toes, she reached for one of her braids.
The Lioness didn’t back away. Her violet eyes burned into Auryn even as she twirled a braid around her finger. Something caught her eye. A delicate violet ribbon threaded through the braid—too fine for a warrior, too carefully tied for a woman radiating such chaos.
“You’re brave, touching me without permission.” Thessia grinned.
Auryn glanced at her and tilted her head. “You wanted me to,” she answered.
A pause.
Suddenly, Thessia’s eyes widened. She caught Auryn’s hand in her own, her grip firm but not painful. She looked Auryn up and down, as though seeing her for the first time.
“By the Gods,” she said. “You’re a woman.”
She stood up straighter, and Auryn thought she saw the tips of her ears darken to a faint pink.
“Thought you were a child from your narrow shoulders,” Thessia said. Not intentionally disrespectful, just surprised.
“You would ask a child if they’ve seen death?” Auryn asked. Then nodded. “I do suppose, in this world, it is commonplace.”
Thessia looked at Resh. Saw something that made her stiffen. When she turned back to Auryn, her eyes were hard. “You’re his then?”
Auryn frowned. Thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “I am my own.”
Then, unexpectedly, Thessia smiled. “Now this is a twist, isn’t it?” She clapped her hands once. “But I grow bored with this chatter. Someone bring me bloodwine before I die of this mood.”
The spell broke. The men chuckled again; the tension draining into the churn of movement and banter. But Kailorien hadn’t moved a muscle. Still staring at Auryn. Still holding the bowl.
A young man sprinted toward them. He stopped right in front of Auryn, hands on his knees, breath coming in gasps.
“Paulin,” she nodded. “Are you all right?”
“Lady Sokar,” he huffed. “It’s the horses. They’re agitated again.”
She smiled. “The gray with dapples?”
He nodded.
“I will come. How is Astenos?”
Paulin stared at her, confused. “Well as ever.”
“Then I shall bring them songs.” She turned and walked toward the stables, imagining how she would stroke the horses and their soft coats. How Astenos would nuzzle into her side in search of treats.
Behind her, Thessia’s voice rang out: “Is she barefoot?”
She didn’t hear the smile in Resh’s voice as he replied, “Always.”
Caring for the horses helped the day pass quickly.
Just as she finished brushing the last of the beasts, a Reskala ducked into the tetheryard and asked for her help with a ward at the perimeter.
It was on this walk that a sound caught her attention; the clang of steel against steel ringing sharp enough to make Auryn flinch.
Curious, she made her way to the source and saw a circle of warriors gathered in the grass around a pair of combatants. She edged closer with the others, drawn to the sparks flying from the fight.
At the center of the ring, Thessia fought her Second, Talia. For a woman so tall and broad, Thessia moved with a grace that mocked her size. Each swing of her glaive cut through the air with lethal precision, the massive head glinting as though weightless in her hands.
Auryn’s breath caught at the sight—so much raw power, yet nothing wasted.
The Lioness wielded a massive glaive taller than she was, yet she moved as if it were nothing more than a willow switch.
One blow crashed into Talia’s shield, the younger woman stumbling to one knee, but Thessia was already pivoting, hair whipping, arms steady.
Auryn’s breath caught. This wasn’t the brutality she’d seen in Reskala drills—no wasted fury, no cruelty. Thessia fought like a lioness: power coiled into control, years of battle distilled into motion.
Talia met her blow for blow, blade flashing, shield lifted high. She was fierce, relentless, but every strike seemed only to feed her Commander’s rhythm. Thessia flowed around her, each counter effortless, each pivot certain.
Talia was a force to be reckoned with as well. Both women faced off without visible restraint—Talia jumping in with her blade, Thessia avoiding and countering with bone-crushing blows.
Then—impact. The glaive crashed into Talia’s shield with a crack that rang like thunder. The younger woman staggered to one knee, breath leaving her in a gasp, but she still smiled through the strain.
“You’ll break it!” she called, half laughing.
“You should’ve replaced it moons ago,” Thessia grunted, circling. Her voice was rough, but not unkind. “Sentiment doesn’t stop varkhounds.”
Laughter rippled through the ring, some mocking, some amused. Talia only straightened her shoulders and lifted the battered shield again, eyes shining with undimmed loyalty.
Another strike fell. The shield split down the center with a sound like bone giving way.
The jeers sharpened.
Talia lowered the broken thing, smiling still, though her eyes betrayed the sting. “It has sentimental value,” she muttered.
Thessia shouldered her weapon, resting the other on her hip. She shook her head in disbelief.
Auryn stepped forward.
Silence fell. Dozens of eyes followed her, heavy as stones, but she ignored them all.
Talia looked at her as she approached. Without waiting for permission, Auryn placed her palm against the shield.
She called to the metal, let its pain course through her body, coaxed it into conversation, asked it to remember what it was like to be whole.
Threads of silver stirred beneath her skin.
The metal drank the light as if starved for its miracle.
One by one the cracks sealed, molten edges fusing, until the shield gleamed whole in Talia’s arms.
Gasps erupted around the ring. Awe. Unease. Both at once. Auryn lowered her hand, pulse steady despite the storm of words and voices.
“You mended it,” Talia breathed.
“It wants to fight with you,” Auryn said. “It wasn’t ready to be discarded.”
Talia touched the surface where cracks had been just a moment ago, then looked at Auryn. Awed. Stunned.
Thessia’s glaive dipped. Not in hostility—but in interest. Those sharp violet eyes held Auryn’s like a predator catching the scent of something fascinating.
“Where’s your focus stone?” Thessia asked.
Auryn tilted her head. “What is that?”
“You know.” Thessia made a circle with her hands, like cradling a sphere. “The conduit that lets you cast.”
“Why would I need such a thing?” Auryn brushed her fingers across the shield one last time. “I will, and so I do.”
The murmurs swelled again—fear, awe, doubt.
“I’ve never seen a weapon like that,” Auryn said, examining Thessia’s glaive.
One end had a double serrated blade while the other functioned as a spear. The haft was ivory; bone fused with metal and etched with different symbols.
“Family heirloom,” Thessia said. “I’d let you see it, but something tells me you’d topple over from the weight.”
Auryn raised a brow, gauging the words. Not an insult. More of a tease to coax a response.
“Each of us has our own strength,” Auryn said.
“Well put,” Thessia nodded. “I don’t conjure silver light and mend shields without a forge.”
Auryn smiled, and Thessia grinned back, slow and dangerous. Something in her chest unknotted, lighter than it had been in days, as though a truth deeper than words had passed between them.
The Riftwardens gathered in the command ring at dusk, their Dowsing Rods flickering with captured light. The company stood hushed around them, listening as predictions were made.
“They’ll come through soon,” one of the Wardens said. “The tear will open within days. We should stay here—better to be braced than caught in motion.”
Auryn shifted, her pulse racing. The wind carried a song sharp enough to cut her lungs, like silver threads pulled taut. “It isn’t fixed,” she said. “The rift leans east. If we stay to the high ground, it will open ahead of us—not on us.”
The circle stilled. A few eyes turned toward her, measuring.
One of the Wardens gave a thin, forced smile. “The Sokar hears songs in the wind now? With respect, the Doctrine teaches us to rely on Riftcraft, not…charms and whispers.”
The jeer rippled outward, sharp as broken glass. Some scoffed. Others murmured uneasily.
Resh’s voice cut through. “Clarify,” he ordered, turning to Auryn. “What do you mean?”
She swallowed, her gaze rising to the bruised sky.
“There is never clarity in the way the sky tears open,” she said, steady despite the weight of so many stares.
“Rods of crystal may sense the coming of it, but not this…not this tear.” Her voice softened as she struggled to explain her reasoning.
How could she describe the sound of Ennea’s heartbeat?
The way the wind whispered to her? The way the world itself hummed beneath her feet?
“It shifts,” she said. “Moves. It will not come when or where you wish.”
Silence pressed.
The Riftwarden bristled, his mouth opening with a sharp retort—only to snap shut when Thessia’s voice rolled over the gathering like thunder.
“This isn’t some court in Maradryn,” she said, her tone edged with warning. “It’s a company. Every voice has been asked, and every voice will be heard. Riftwarden—when the Sokar speaks, you’ll remember your place and hold your tongue until she’s done.”
The crowd hushed, eyes swinging toward her.
The Warden’s jaw tightened, but he bowed his head, silence biting where arrogance had been.