FORTY-FIVE
ARTIST WARRIOR
The importance of play, leisure, and discovery should not be underestimated. They nourish the creative mind, strengthening our magics and deepening our connection to it. For warriors especially, such pursuits cultivate adaptability, the ability to see new paths where others see only obstacles.
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
Once we leave the training hall, Rowena takes my arm, turning me to face her.
“Well, Spiritborn, you have fire.”
She smiles warmly as she brushes a few loose strands of hair away from my face. Sweat has plastered them to my forehead, escaping the braid sometime during the fight.
Her gaze travels over me, assessing.
Now that the adrenaline is fading, I can feel the soreness settling in. Every place Ardyn managed to hit me is beginning to ache, bruises already forming beneath my skin. The inside of my cheek, however, is nearly healed.
Rowena’s fingers brush my cheekbone, hovering over the cut there.
“You’ve got a nasty one.”
I flinch when she gets too close. She exhales and shakes her head.
“But you’re already healing. You’ll be sore tomorrow, but your body seems determined to fix itself.”
Then she sighs, long and full of resigned amusement. “What the fuck am I going to tell Thane? I was supposed to be looking out for you this afternoon.”
She shakes her head, laughing despite herself. Before I can answer, Lyra steps in for me.
“You’re going to tell him that Amara kicked that evil hag’s ass.” Lyra folds her arms, tilting her head as though this is the most obvious thing in the world. “And you’re going to tell him that, thank the gods, he’s finally making better choices about partners.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Seriously, Rowena. It’s not that complicated.”
I laugh, and immediately regret it as pain flares through my ribs.
“Ow. Shit.” I press a hand to my side, still grinning. “Laughing hurts. I’m going to go soak before one of you says something else funny.”
My friends leave me at Thane’s door.
Our door.
Our quarters.
As I close it behind me, I can still hear them in the corridor, laughing and talking over one another as they replay the fight move by move.
I strip down in the bathing chambers and lift a hand toward the basin. With a flick of my fingers, my power stirs and water begins pouring into the tub.
As I wait, my gaze drifts to the mirror. Bruises have already begun to darken across my skin, spreading over my ribs, legs, and cheek in shades of purple and blue. Some of the lighter ones are already fading at the edges, yellow replacing the deeper colors as my body begins repairing the damage.
I’ve grown used to it since my body healed itself during the ballroom attack. I always hurt immediately after training or a fight, but within a few hours, sometimes less, the worst of it is gone. By the next day, I’m usually left with little more than lingering fatigue.
I trace a fingertip over a bruise near my side, feeling the ache buried beneath it. I’ll give Ardyn one thing—she has power behind that fist.
I uncork a few small vials, letting drops of oil slip into the steaming water. Lavender for the soreness in my muscles. Rosemary to help the bruises fade. A touch of eucalyptus to clear my mind.
The scents rise with the steam as I step into the bath and sink beneath the heat. I ease deeper into the water, letting the warmth ease some of the ache from my body. For the first time since stepping into that ring, I exhale fully.
I just fought Thane’s ex.
The thought alone should send a flare of emotion through me. Anger. Jealousy. Satisfaction. Instead, I just feel light. Centered. And, perhaps for the first time since meeting her, completely unthreatened.
I roll my shoulders, wincing as the bruises protest, but there’s no bitterness beneath the pain. No lingering doubt. Ardyn wanted to prove something today. Maybe to me. Maybe to the people watching. Maybe to herself.
And gods, maybe a part of me needed to prove something too.
That I belong here. That the months of training, the sacrifices, and the endless struggle were worth something. That no matter how many rumors or challenges are thrown my way, no one can take away what I’ve earned.
The water shifts around me as I let my head rest against the smooth stone rim of the bath. I sigh and lower my shields, knowing I am about to get a scolding from my dragon.
The moment the wall of air vanishes, a pulse of worry floods the bond, sharp and immediate.
“What happened?” Calryx’s voice is threaded with concern. “I sensed heightened emotions from you. Are you alright?”
Her presence coils around mine, protective and insistent.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I assure her. “Just had to take care of something that was long overdue—Ardyn.”
I send her the memories through the bond. The fight. The challenge. The bruises forming even as I fought back. Calryx is silent for a moment as she sorts through them.
Then comes a satisfied hum. “Hmph. I never doubted you.”
Pride rolls through the bond, rich and certain.
“It’s about time someone reminded that entitled little hatchling that you are not prey. You didn’t just beat her, Virelya. You made her underestimate you. That is a mistake she won’t make again.”
But then the feeling in the bond shifts. The pride remains, but annoyance slips in beside it.
“Next time, you will not block me when you are in a heightened state. I will not tolerate that.”
I grin.
“Yes, mother hen,” I tease.
A roar of outrage blasts through the bond. I wince.
“Okay! Okay!” I laugh. “I hear you!”
Then the connection quiets, the flare of Calryx’s frustration settling into a familiar warmth, like embers glowing low after the fire has burned itself out.
A smile tugs at my lips and I sink deeper into the water, letting the scent of lavender and rosemary drift around me while the heat eases some of the ache from my body.
I am sore and battered, but my mind feels clear in a way it hasn’t for a long time.
I thought I would feel guilt or doubt after the fight. Instead, I feel at peace. As though I wasn’t just fighting Ardyn. As though I was fighting every fear and insecurity she spent the afternoon throwing back at me.
And I won.
Ardyn can hold on to her resentment if she wants. I know who I am, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel the need to prove it to anyone.
I breathe in the scent of the oils and close my eyes. It is just me and my magics.
The thought surprises me.
I have never really explored my power simply to understand it or to see what it can do when I am not fighting, surviving, shielding, or preparing for whatever crisis comes next.
It has always been a tool, a weapon, and a means to an end rather than something I explored simply because it belonged to me.
But now, I lift a hand from the water and watch tiny droplets bead on my fingertips. I breathe in, and on instinct, I reach for the water Element. The droplets shudder before rising from my skin, floating weightlessly above my hand.
A delighted laugh escapes me.
I twist my fingers carefully and the tiny spheres spiral through the air before merging into a single glistening orb that hovers above my palm. It’s delicate and effortless, not a shield or a weapon, but simply water responding to me because I asked it to.
Curious, I flick my wrist, sending the orb upward. At the same time, I shift my focus, a whisper of wind magics threading through my thoughts. A faint breeze stirs through the bath chamber, catching the water and spinning it into a soft, weightless ribbon in the air.
I grin.
For once, there is no urgency. No battle stance or training drills. I close my eyes and feel the Elements stir beneath my skin.
A flicker of fire dances at my fingertips, warm and controlled. A pulse of earth answers beneath the bath, the faintest vibration humming through the stone. Wind brushes against my damp skin, stirring my hair as though greeting an old friend.
They are all there. All part of me. For so long, I have treated them like tools to be mastered. Now it feels like we are dancing.
Dissolving into laughter, I twirl my fingers, watching as the wind spins the water into shifting, shimmering shapes. A dragon. A blooming flower. A swirl of mist. None of them serves a purpose. I’m creating them simply because I can.
I lift my hand again, letting the water droplets hover above my palm, but this time I grin as an idea sparks.
With a flick of my wrist, the water gathers into a tiny fish.
It twists through the air, suspended on an invisible current of wind magics, its tail flicking back and forth as though it is swimming.
I giggle, delighted by the impossibility of it, only for another thought to slip into my mind.
I summon a spark of fire, no larger than a candle flame, and carefully guide it into the fish’s belly.
The tiny creature glows from within, shimmering with warmth and light as it darts through the chamber.
The flame should extinguish the water or the water should smother the flame.
Instead, they exist together because I want them to.
My wonder deepens.
With another motion of my hand, the fish bursts apart into glowing droplets that spin lazily around me. I breathe in, letting the Elements hum beneath my skin, eager and waiting for whatever’s next.
The bathwater rises in long ribbons, curling through the air before unfolding into delicate flowers. Their petals shift and reform with every movement, never settling into a single shape before splashing gently back into the bath.
A playful breeze stirs through the chamber, tugging loose strands of hair across my face. I send it rushing upward, and the steam catches immediately, swirling into soft clouds that drift around me.
Another spark of fire leaps to life in my palm. This time, I push it through the mist, turning the clouds into a storm of glowing embers that float through the air like fireflies.
A firefly storm.
I twirl my hand, and the embers dance around me, weaving through the air in lazy spirals. I’ve never done this before. Never just . . . played.