CHAPTER 35
THE A’KORI PALACE
Present Day
“Mi’dair’a.” Xeyvian’s deep voice rumbles in my ear, and I stretch out across his body like a well-contented cat. My eyes flutter open in the morning light as it fractures through the tall leaded glass windows, casting small rainbows around the room.
I peek up at him, catching a glimpse of his smile and ask sleepily, “What does it mean?”
His fingers glide down my arm leaving goosebumps in their wake, as he says in a voice gravelly with sleep, “Mi’dair’a is what we call the one closest to our heart.”
I smile at that, turning to nip at the tender flesh of his belly.
“I’m not sure it’s your heart I’m closest to right now, General,” I tease, laughing at the flash of fire igniting behind his eyes, my toes curling beneath the sheets as I squeeze my legs together.
Just as quickly as the heat rises in his eyes, his brow draws down into a frown, and he looks toward the door before the knock sounds from the other side. I sigh when he swings his legs over the bed and pulls on his loose linen pants before leaving me to answer it.
I don’t recognize the voice that comes from the hall, but the tone isn’t urgent.
I slide on a robe of my own and head for the closet, my plans for today still forming in my mind.
The king at the forefront of those plans.
But it’s far too early to seek an audience and spending a few hours sparring will keep my mind from the bleakness of my future.
The latch clicks when Xeyvian closes the door and he finds me knotting a dark dress below my hip, my black leathers beneath it.
“You are training with Riah this morning,” he says when he sees my leathers. It isn’t really a question, but I nod. “I’ll have Toren station extra patrols by the stables and along the border of the northern woods.”
I don’t argue. I half expect the male to issue a battalion as my escort. If it makes him feel better, I’ll agree happily. I plait my hair after checking that my feyn blades haven’t wandered from their home, sheathed tightly against my thighs.
“My friend arrived late last night,” he says, and the reason for the early morning knock at the door becomes clear. “I would like you to meet each other before the masque.”
He smooths the fabric of the dress along my arms, though there is not a single wrinkle to be found.
“Would you be agreeable to meeting her at dinner tonight?” he asks. “Awri and the others would also join us.”
When I don’t answer right away, he offers, “I could also arrange for something more casual, if you prefer.”
The male continues smoothing the lines of my dress, and though I don’t understand why he’s anxious, I try to reassure him. “Dinner is fine.”
And it will be. I smile as some of the worry falls from the lines of his face when he hears my reply.
While my mind is focused on meeting with the king, far from thoughts of formal dinners and new acquaintances, the promise of seeing familiar faces is enough to tempt me.
It eases the small amount of trepidation I suddenly feel at meeting this friend.
I raise my eyebrows at the look of annoyance blooming on his face when another knock sounds at the door and offer him a sympathetic smile when he leaves to answer it.
The general plants a quick kiss on top of my head as I pass between the male and Toren and into the hall. The echo of Xeyvian’s instructions to increase the guard follows me down the corridor as I head toward the stables.
I’m surprised when Toren catches up with me just as I exit the palace. The heavy clip of his boots quieting when he slows to keep pace beside me.
“Riesh tells me you are quite a skilled fighter,” he says, eyeing me from the side.
My back stiffens, and I glance at the male from the corner of my eye.
I am still in enemy territory, and until I have a chance to speak with the king, my reason for being here must remain hidden.
Though I like Toren, I have a feeling that, even more than the rest of them, he is likely to throw me into a cell if he ever suspects me to be the threat that I am.
“Riah tells me you were trained by a Drakai,” he says plainly.
“I was,” I admit.
“It seems strange to me that your uncle, a man with such devotions to the fea, would have a brother who is willing to hire a Drakai to teach his daughter the art of war.”
If I had known about Felias’s true loyalties to the fea, perhaps I would have spun a different tale in regard to my proficiencies. But the time for another story has passed.
“Tell me, Toren, do you have a daughter?”
“I have three,” he says, and I’m not sure why it surprises me.
Why wouldn’t he have a family?
I clear my throat and ask, “And if you yourself had been unable to teach them to fight, would you have limited their ability to defend themselves by refusing the best instructor you could find, simply because she was Drakai?”
“She?” His brow draws down.
Foc. It isn’t the worst slip I could make, but female Drakai have always been much fewer in number than the abundance of men who take up the profession. The proclamation drastically limits the possibilities of who my teacher could have been.
“I didn’t realize you thought women were incapable of teaching, Commander,” I say. It’s a small jab, meant to deflect from the current trajectory of the conversation, and I’m relieved when it does.
“I have many females train others under my command,” he says, attempting to explain himself, even as his cheeks flush a subtle shade of pink.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I say, offering Toren a curt nod, which he returns, a little of the color fading from his cheeks.
I loose a breath, trying to hide my relief when Riah comes into view.
I dip my head at Toren before veering off toward the ring.
Riah tilts her head curiously when I walk to the gate and let myself in, rather than vaulting over the fence like I normally do.
Hearing Toren issue orders to the guards stationed nearby, I glance back and my stomach knots when I see he has taken up a position close to the ring.
He leans lazily against a thick, well-used post, his eyes anywhere but on me. Despite his nonchalance, I have no doubt I am his sole focus, and if a threat should arise, the attacker will find Toren’s posture nothing but a feigned casualness.
“Maybe we can take it easy today?” I plead with Riah in little more than a whisper.
Her brows drop, and she looks like she’s ready to inspect my entire body herself when she asks, “Are you injured?”
“Just a little tired,” I say.
I am tired, but more than that, I have no interest in Toren, of all feyn, deciding to take a closer look at me the very day I’ve decided to give myself up.
It’s a miracle Riah hadn’t thrown me in a cell herself the day she broke my hand.
For my part, the building of our bond has been careless, and I’m still not sure why she never asks more questions.
“Tired?” A toothy grin spreads across her lovely face, the scar at her brow pulling at her skin when she waggles her eyebrows at me.
I can’t help but chuckle even as I try to school my features and keep the blush from my cheeks.
“Not like that,” I insist.
“What a shame,” she says, with a playful punch to my arm.
Honoring my request, she does start slow but quickly decides that I’m not as tired as I let on when I deflect each of her strikes with ease. What I intend to be a light round of simple routine strikes and deflections swiftly escalates.
It’s not long before each of us is receiving well-placed blows by the other, sweat slicking our brows. I can tell by the look on her face that she enjoys the sparring as much as I do, though she still pulls her punches, likely for fear of the general’s retribution.
We are nearing the end of our session, the warm sun nearly at its full height in the clear spring sky, when an icy tingle snakes down my spine, Toren’s voice sounding closely behind me. “May I join you in the ring?”
I lock eyes with Riah, giving her the faintest shake of my head, my eyes pleading with her to decline. Her smile says everything as she waves the commander into the ring, thoroughly ignoring me.
“Of course. I could use a break,” she says, jumping up to sit on the fence bordering the ring, looking far too pleased with herself and the unexpected turn of events.
Toren relieves himself of his leather gauntlets before rolling up his sleeves, and I huff under my breath at the male’s arrogance.
Whether he intends to offend me or not, he succeeds.
There is no reason to remove armor when sparring unless you perceive that there is no threat.
It’s a clear declaration as to how he views my abilities and I bristle, my pride taking the first blow before the round even begins.
So, I do what any idiot would do in my position and remove my gauntlets as well, adding my cuirass to the pile of discarded armor shortly after.
His lips quirk up at the edges as I happily imply that he is at a greater disadvantage in this ring.
Boldly, he removes his cuirass as well, throwing it in the pile of leather.
The guards nearby begin to gather in small clusters, and I’m reminded of the first round I’d ever done with Riah.
They try—and fail—to look nonchalant as they speak in hushed tones, every eye watching intently as the scene unfolds.
I can only assume that the scarred male before me has hundreds of years on the measly twenty I’ve been training.
But he’s lived the last twenty years in peace, tenuous as it is.
I, on the other hand, have spent nearly every waking moment of that time training for my purpose.