13. Syrus #2
I respect her implied order and go, slipping from her mind. At least tonight I got a little bit more—even if that more was harsh words and anger. It will have to keep me satisfied for now. Until tomorrow.
Leah
I hate to say it, but Syrus might be right. Not about lying to me or still insisting on withholding the truth.
But things have changed lately. My wings are coming in now, and in a few months, anyone who looks at me will see a child of Aradis. Meanwhile, Syrus remains a whole realm away, separated by an impassable aether.
Is it so important to me to know the whys? It’s not like there’s any going back now, so it shouldn’t matter to me. And maybe, if I start accepting that, I’ll have some peace.
But the other thing I think Syrus was right about—and he’d hate this, which almost makes admitting it worthwhile—is that Rowan has a thing for me. There’s only so many times a guy can offer to partner with you or join you for extra training before a girl starts asking herself if something’s up.
Which is what I’m doing as we spar out on the training fields for the third time this week.
“Once your wings have properly grown in, you’ll be unstoppable,” Rowan says, wiping a hand over his flushed forehead.
“Yeah?” I reply, grinning as I swing Swiftwing round, letting the sword’s magical adjustments guide the motion so the blade moves smooth and sure. “Reckon I could give you a run for your money?”
He pulls a face. “Okay, maybe not totally unstoppable.”
When I laugh, his eyes light up, pleased with himself. I’m definitely not imagining it—this torch he’s carrying for me. But I’m also not sure how I feel about it either.
Rowan is undeniably attractive, and charming too. Even some of the cadets sit up and take notice when he passes them by. I should be right there with them, except something is missing.
There’s no draw. Nothing pulls me to him.
No hunger or need. Even in my early days with Syrus, I knew I wanted him.
It pissed me off to no end, but my desire wouldn’t be denied.
It lurked there, just as the Lord of Malice often would, under the surface, waiting for the moment it could flare up and consume me.
And yes, I could blame the possession bond, but that would be too easy.
He got under my skin even when he wasn’t possessing me, and I liked it. Too much.
Goddess, I’m fucked up. There’s a genuine possibility that being with Syrus has fundamentally broken my ability to have a normal relationship.
Maybe now I can’t be satisfied unless I’m hopelessly intertwined with someone, so tangled up in mind and body that the lines between me and him start to blur.
Everything else feels like cold, empty absence.
Because where else am I going to feel that same intensity and passion—every delicious, burning flame of it, searing me from the inside out?
“Want to go again?”
I look up into Rowan’s handsome, friendly face, and feel…nothing.
Yep, definitely broken.
“Maybe we can take a break?” I say, shifting my shoulders with only a slightly exaggerated grimace. “These growing pains are kicking my ass.”
“I can show you some stretches if you like?” he says. “My brother Roryn taught them to me, and they really helped me when my wings were coming in.”
“Um, sure, thanks,” I say, and then immediately regret it when I realize this entails me watching Rowan contort his body into various positions while we’re both sweaty and breathless.
I quickly search for safe topics of conversation to fill the awkward silences and remember that I’m meant to be information gathering.
“So, Roryn and Rowan, huh? Is that a family tradition? The Rs?”
“Yes,” he smiles, leaning back and linking his arms together.
I follow suit, trying to keep my groan to a minimum as the movement pops something satisfying in my shoulder just near the base of one of my wing ridges.
“My younger sister is Ralery, just to keep things confusing. Do you have siblings? On your, um, human side, I mean?”
“A half sister,” I say, switching the stretch to the other side and switching the focus back on Rowan as I do so. “So your brother’s in the Brigade?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I know we’re not supposed to know too much about the trials. But he must have given you some pointers, right?”
I half expect Rowan to clam up, suspicion clouding his expression, but he smiles sheepishly.
“Well, they change a bit every season, so it’s not like he could hand all the answers to me even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t!” he jumped to assure me. “But…he might sometimes drop a hint or two.”
“Makes sense. I’ve heard other fledglings basically say the same thing about their families.” It’s not a total lie. Garion did it for me, after all. “So, did Roryn ever mention anything about the oracle?”
Rowan shakes his head. “Now twist, yeah, like that. It’ll open up your trapezius. Um…the oracle? No, I don’t think he knows much about it. Or if he does, he can’t say.”
“What do you mean? What is it, anyway?” I ask, figuring from his reaction that it’s safe to push a little.
“It’s like this ancient force—connected to the ancestors. So maybe a kind of channel to the Everlight?”
“You don’t seem so sure,” I tease.
He flushes, perhaps not used to falling short of people’s expectations.
“Well, that’s the point. It’s managed to stay so mysterious all these millennia because if you meet with the oracle, it can sort of get inside you and make sure that you can’t share anything it doesn’t want you to.”
“And when might someone meet with it?” I ask, needing more context.
“The seraphim are the only ones allowed to consult with it regularly,” he says. “But there are whispers that it’s been used for the trials in the past.”
I nod. “That’s what I’ve heard too.” As we finish up our stretches, I offer Rowan a hint of my own as a show of faith, seeing as he’s been so open with me. “In fact, I’ve heard a rumor it’ll be involved in this season’s trials too.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Wow, thanks.” He thinks for a moment. “I mean, I don’t think it’s so terrible if we know that. It’s not like it’s something we can really prepare for either way,” he rationalizes.
“Agreed,” I say, a little glumly. I was hoping I could prepare for it, but apparently not. At least there’s a little comfort in knowing no one around here will be any more prepared than me.
“Do you feel better?” Rowan asks brightly. “Want to keep sparring?”
“Ancestors, you really don’t let up, do you?” I laugh. “Aren’t you tired?”
He shrugs. “Yes, but that’s what great warriors do—push through the tiredness out to the other side.”
“All right, we’ll go once more,” I say. The stretches have only reminded me that if my wings don’t come in soon, I’ll need every other skillset I can master to survive the trials.
“So all your family live in Aphelion?” I ask as we start to circle around each other, waiting for the other to strike.
“Yeah, apart from those in the Brigade, which is quite a few of us actually. Roryn’s stationed in Luminis right now.” Rowan drives forward, but I manage to dodge him, catching his blade as I go. “What about you? Do you miss Strata?”
I realize it’s one of the first times anyone in Aradis has asked me about where I come from. And maybe that’s for the best. If I don’t think about it, I can’t wonder about the answer to that question.
Rowan takes advantage of my distraction to catch me off guard, and I barely manage to block his next strike in time.
“It’s complicated,” I say as we go back to circling.
Homesickness won’t help me fit in here in Aradis.
I need to be focused on making a new home for myself somewhere I can actually afford to stay.
Sure, I’m desperate to see Evie again, and Hodges, and walk along the Sideris as the setting sun hits the water and sets the city walls ablaze with golden light.
But all that can come later, after I’ve survived the trials, after I’ve proven myself and earned a home in the only realm that has a place for a half-breed like me.
“How are things in Aphelion, anyway?” I ask, trying to go on the offensive for a change, darting forward. To my satisfaction, Rowan takes a quick step back. “My grandfather told me about the problems there.”
The offensive doesn’t last long. Rowan frowns and lunges, forcing me to block a particularly aggressive strike.
“Sorry,” I say, a little breathless. “Should I not have asked?”
“No,” he sighs, pulling up his sword for a moment, giving me a moment’s reprieve. “It’s just that everyone either wants to interrogate me about it all the time or would rather pretend it’s not happening at all.”
“Yeah,” I say, lowering my own sword. “My grandfather said something about people burying their heads in the sand.”