Chapter 9 #3
So I say something safe. “Valen told me you’re wielding all four elements with control now. That they’re answering to you.”
She lets out a laugh. Loud. Sudden. A guffaw followed by a snort. Her eyes widen in horror as she slaps a hand over her mouth.
And to my own surprise, warmth blooms in my chest. I smile.
“I wouldn’t say ‘with control,’” she says, dropping her hand, her voice still laced with laughter. “But at least I know how to summon them. I’m far from ‘control.’”
She looks ahead, gaze tracking the uneven path.
We walk aimlessly through the outpost grounds—stone-lined corridors giving way to moss-softened courtyards, archways swallowed by ivy, training fields still dark with morning dew. A low breeze rustles through the treetops, carrying the scent of ash and pine.
She looks back at me.
And I’m caught.
Her eyes—deep brown, like the bark of the old oak by the lake. Like the worn leather of Xaroth’s saddle. Like chocolate cake, the kind my mother used to make on my birthday until—
I blink hard to shake the thought loose.
“I think, sometimes, my emotions get the best of me,” she says softly. She glances away. “I’m still having a hard time after losing my parents.”
Her voice tightens on the last word. The pain surfaces, sharp and fast—and then it’s gone again, shoved down with practiced effort.
I want to reach out. Just to touch her arm. Let her know I understand. That I know loss, too. But I keep my hands in my pockets.
She stares down at her boots as we walk. “I think that sometimes, it’s hard for me to be with the elements. To move with them the way Valen says to. Because I’m still so . . . ”
She doesn’t finish. But I know. I know what she means.
Then she looks up at me again.
And I’m struck—again—by the depth of her eyes. The knowing in them. The richness. That light I saw only flickering yesterday? It’s now burning a little brighter.
“I think I’m going to get better at it,” she says. “The wielding. The emotions, too.”
She smiles. And this time—it reaches her eyes.
Something shifts in me at the sight of it. That smile does something I wasn’t ready for. And I find myself making a quiet vow, but one I intend to keep.
I’ll do better. Not just as her trainer preparing her for war. I’ll talk to her more. Check in. Make sure she’s okay.
Maybe I can be more than her shield. Maybe I can be her friend.
AMARA
Today is another relentless training day. We’re on the outdoor sparring field, and even though it’s only spring, the sun feels brutal—like it’s trying to burn the resolve out of my bones. Sweat clings to my skin, and every inch of me aches.
Finally, Thane calls for a break. He nods toward the nearby trees. My whole body sighs in relief at the idea of cool shade and even cooler water.
We walk to the edge of the field and sink onto the bench, settling beneath the canopy. The leaves above shift in lazy currents, and the only sound between us is the wind and the slosh of water as I lift my jug.
Then Thane speaks. “What was it like where you grew up?”
The question catches me off guard. My fingers pause around the jug’s curve. I glance at him—but he’s staring ahead, calm, like he’s not the Warlord who’s been pushing me to the brink for weeks.
It feels strange to be sitting here, just two people, having a casual conversation. I don’t think we’ve ever had a casual conversation before.
Still, I answer.
“Quiet,” I say after a moment. “Small village, far from any real city. Just farmland, cypress trees, cliffs.” I huff a short breath. “I spent more time climbing them than I did at home, to be honest.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Of course you did.”
I shrug. “I was a menace.”
This time, the smile comes clearer. “Some things don’t change.”
I roll my eyes—but my heart does something annoying. It flutters. Like an idiot.
Then he asks, “Your parents—what were they like?”
For a second, I want to deflect or joke, pretend he didn’t just touch the rawest part of me.
Why does he care?
But he doesn’t push. He just sits beside me, still as ever, the space between us filled only by the rustle of leaves overhead and the distant sound of steel clashing from soldiers training.
I haven’t talked about my parents since they died, other than with Lyra. So I let out a slow breath, and the words start to roll off my tongue.
“My father was a farmer,” I say finally. “He grew wheat, barley, and whatever else would survive the seasons.”
He was steady, quiet, always working, always focused on the land. And just like that, the memory unfurls—unexpectedly soothing.
“I’d talk his ear off while he worked. He never told me to shut up. Just nodded, like he was listening, even if he wasn’t.”
Thane hums. A soft, thoughtful sound. “And your mother?”
The ache comes first—sharp and hollow—before the warmth can rise behind it. Bittersweet doesn’t even begin to touch it.
“She was . . . everything,” I say, the words easier now, but no less full. “Bright. Fierce. The kind of woman who never backed down from an argument and always had the last word. I learned early that it was better to just agree with her.”
Thane exhales through his nose, almost a laugh. “That explains a lot.”
I nudge him with my elbow. “Shut up.”
His smirk grows. “Go on.”
I shake my head, but keep going. Because talking about my parents this way makes it feel like they’re still alive.
“She taught me how to fight,” I say quietly. “Not with weapons. Just—how to be sharp. How to use my voice the same way warriors use swords.” My smile fades into something softer. Sadder. “She believed in being heard.”
Wind shifts through the trees, brushing past us like breath.
Thane is quiet for a long moment, then says, “She sounds like someone I would’ve liked.”
I glance at him. And something unfamiliar settles in my chest. Because it’s the way he says it—not like he’s just making conversation. Like he actually means it.
I swallow. My voice is quieter this time. “Yeah. I think she would’ve liked you, too.”
Something shifts in his eyes, like he’s turning the thought over. Letting it land.
Birds chirp nearby, their song cutting through the stillness—a small, bright sound in the heavy quiet between us. A welcome distraction from the presence of the man beside me who—against all logic—has decided to talk.
“Do you have siblings?”
I glance at him, surprised, but he’s not looking at me. His eyes are skyward, watching the clouds drift by lazily.
“No,” I say finally. “I’m an only child.”
Thane nods, like my answer helped him understand something about me that he didn’t before.
I smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “But Lyra, well, she’s always felt like a sister,” I say.
Thane looks at me, eyes softening. “Lyra’s a fiercely loyal friend to you.”
I nod. “She is.”
His gaze flicks towards the sparring rings beyond ours, then back to me. “How did you two meet?”
I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips. “We didn’t meet—we’ve always known each other. We grew up together, same village, same fields, same endless days of finding trouble and pretending we weren’t going to get caught.”
His brow lifts slightly. “Not hard to imagine for you two.”
I snort. “I was the reckless one back then. She was always the one dragging me out of whatever mess I got us into. I’d convince her to do something stupid, she’d roll her eyes and go along with it—and then when it all fell apart, she’d be the one to talk us out of trouble.”
Thane chuckles softly.
“She’s always been this way,” I murmur. “Loud. Quick. Impossible to intimidate.” I take a breath. Then quieter—“I used to think she was fearless. But I know better now. She’s just afraid of losing the people she loves.”
Thane’s silence stretches, long and thoughtful. Then he says, “I see why she stayed.”
I glance at him, brow raised. “Oh? And why’s that?”
His eyes flick to mine. “Because you would have done the same.”
And something about the way he says it—so sure and certain—makes my chest tighten.
We sit in silence for a while, the kind that doesn’t need filling. But then, a particular memory comes to mind.
“There was this boy in our village.”
Thane eyes slide to me, waiting.
“We were kids—seven, maybe eight. He was older, bigger. Thought it was funny to pick on the younger kids, and for some reason, he had it out for me.” I shake my head.
The memory blooms sharper than I expect.
“One day, he took one of my mother’s bracelets.
A simple thing, nothing expensive—but it was hers.
He dangled it in front of me, laughing, daring me to take it back.
” I remember the way my tiny fists clenched, the way my face burned with humiliation, anger, helplessness.
“And just as I was about to do something stupid, Lyra showed up.”
Thane raises a brow. “What did she do?”
I grin. “She beat the shit out of him.”
That gets a reaction. His lips part slightly, like he’s holding back a laugh, only the corners of his mouth twitch.
He’s losing the battle.
“She was smaller than him. Smaller than me, even. But she didn’t care. Tackled him to the ground. Punched him in the face until he cried.”
Thane blinks, then smiles. “Remind me not to get on her bad side.”
“Oh, you’re already on it,” I say, grinning. “She’s just being polite.”
That earns a real laugh—quiet, low, but real. And gods, it does something to me.
Something warm. Something dangerous.
I try to rein in that feeling, shaking my head.
“She made him apologize and give the bracelet back. Then, just to make sure he learned his lesson, she kicked him in the shin and told him if he ever looked at me wrong again, she’d bury him in the wheat fields.”
Thane hums, his gaze drifting toward the sparring yard where Lyra is training with the newer recruits. “I believe that.”
I exhale, letting the old warmth of the memory settle in my chest. “She’s been like that ever since. If someone crosses me, they cross her. And if I needed her . . . ” I pause. “She was there.”