Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Eirabella
The next morning, I arrive fifteen minutes early to the training grounds, determined not to give Rylan another reason to berate me. The air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of morning dew, and I take a deep breath, preparing for the day. And then I see him, already standing in the exact centre of the field, completely absorbed in his manoeuvres.
He’s not training; he’s commanding his Strengths like they’re an extension of his body. Fire and water swirl around him, responding to his every move with a fluidity that leaves me mesmerised. His sword cuts through the air, trailing flames that dance and twist around him like living things. With a powerful thrust, he sends a wave of water surging into the air, forming a massive, cresting wave that looms above him, and then twists into a swirling tornado a hundred feet in the air. Twirling his finger, the tornado spins faster and faster until it looks like it is defying the heavens itself, before it suddenly ignites into flames—a breathtaking, spinning, blazing top that spits embers like rain into the sky.
I take an unconscious step forward, too captivated to think, and my foot dislodges a small stone. The noise is tiny, but Rylan reacts instantly, spinning around. His concentration breaks, and the fire column wavers dangerously, cascading toward him. “Be careful!” I shout, panic lacing my voice.
Rylan’s reflexes are faster than my fear. He flicks his sword with a minute movement of his wrist, and the fiery wave dissipates into a shower of mist, leaving only a faint shimmer in the air, creating a rainbow across the entire canvas of the sky. For a brief moment, our eyes meet, and I see a flash of vulnerability, a glimpse of something raw. But it vanishes as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual stoic mask.
“Good, you’re here on time,” he says, his voice cold, as if I hadn’t just witnessed him manipulate the essences like a god.
“Actually, I’m early,” I manage, still a little breathless from the close call.
“If you’re on time, you’re late,” he replies, his tone sharp. “Let’s go.” He steps forward, pointing his sword at the centre of the field, and a small puddle of water appears. “I’ll make it easy for you today. Start by pulling that water into the air,” he instructs, his voice all business. “Then form a sphere and hold it steady in the air.”
I stare at him, incredulous. “You want me to do what? ”
“It’s a basic exercise; any child with water Strength can do it,” he says, his expression veritably bored. “Just pull the water up from the ground and shape it. You don’t need to freeze or shatter anything. Just show me you can control it.”
I swallow hard and focus, trying to summon the energy I know is there. I picture the water rising from the ground, see it in my mind’s eye, but when I attempt to pull the water up, nothing happens. The puddle remains stubbornly unmoving on the ground, as if mocking my efforts.
“Keep trying,” Rylan demands, his tone already impatient.
I try, again and again, but each attempt is met with failure. There isn’t even the tiniest whisper of magic in me, and my frustration builds with every passing second. The pressure of Rylan’s gaze feels like a weight on my shoulders, heavy and oppressive.
“You’re not focusing! I’ve seen you do much more difficult manoeuvres than this!”
Finally, I snap. “Maybe if you stop just raising your voice and actually tell me how to do it, then I’ll learn how to get it to work!” My voice shakes with the effort to keep my emotions in check, but I can’t hold back the anger any longer.
Rylan’s eyes narrow, his voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. “I can’t tell you how to do it. Everyone’s magic is different. I might as well do it for you.”
“At least you’d be doing something,” I retort, the words spilling out before I can stop them. I can’t understand why he’s being like this. Is this just his way of pushing me, or is there something else going on? Why does he have to be so cold, so distant? I know he’s capable of more—of kindness, of warmth—but you wouldn’t know it, the way he has it entrenched behind this impenetrable wall of indifference.
His expression hardens, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. “If you’re waiting for someone to hold your hand, you’re in the wrong place. This isn’t a game. This is life and death. Either you master your abilities, or you end up like every other failed Keeper—dead.”
Dear Janus,
I’ll write more later when I have a chance.
But I just wanted you to know that I’m alive and well. There is so much to tell you, which I will once I know that you, Kahlia and everyone in the village are also doing okay.
You can send correspondence back to me at this address. And no, I’m not making a joke. I’m currently staying at Aetherhold Keep in Narathia. And that’s the least surprising thing I have to tell you.
Please get word to me soon.
Take care, J. I miss you.
Xx,
E
The next few days of training with Rylan go no better than the first; in fact, if it’s possible, they’re even worse. Thankfully, at least my combat training with Chasina, while brutal, proves to be useful. As hard as it is to learn to keep my balance, maintain a straight back, align my knuckles, bend my knees, and breathe all at once, it’s still infinitely more achievable than squeezing a single drop of water out of the air.
Rylan also manages to devolve into more of an asshole by the minute. By the fifth day, the lines on his forehead are so deeply ingrained that I bet if I stuck a finger into the crevices, it would get permanently stuck. The thought almost makes me laugh as we glare at each other in the middle of the training grounds. We’re at our fifth standoff for the day, his hands on his hips as he yells at me to focus as if I hadn’t heard him the first hundred times he said it.
It doesn’t help that we’re not alone today. In the far corner of the field stands one of the castle’s resident Strength trainers, Master Tavyn, with a group of junior disciples going through some basic manoeuvres. In practised formations, they conjure small streams of water and snow patches. Basic. Huh. What I wouldn’t give to manifest just one little snowball right now, just so I can smash it into Rylan’s insufferable face.
“Are you listening to me?” Rylan shouts, as I stare wistfully over at the group, wishing I could be there with them.
I spin back to my own trainer with an eye roll. “They can hear you in all three neighbouring realms, Your Highness!”
“Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to yell if you were actually showing some actual improvement instead of simply mastering the art of failing!”
I mirror his stance, hands on hips, as I draw myself up to full height and meet him glare for glare. “And maybe I wouldn’t be failing so spectacularly if you actually tried teaching instead of barking orders like I’m nothing but an infantry soldier!” I shout back, my frustration boiling over.
We stand there, seething, the tension between us crackling like lightning in the air before a storm. I want to scream at him, to demand answers, but all I can do is glare, my hands clenched at my sides.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “You know what? This is fucking pointless. When you feel like actually trying to train me, I’ll be in the combat training room,” I hiss, turning on my heel and storming off. Let him finish his training alone if this is how he wants to spend it. I’ve had enough of his impossible demands, his cold, impassive glares, his refusal to see me as anything other than a failure .
I don’t stop stomping until I reach the combat room. Wandering over to the sparring mats, I move to an empty corner, leaning against the wall as I try to steady my fury. The room is filled with people already deep in their training. It’s immediately clear that no one here is in their first week like I am. They move with expert grace and precision, their bodies flowing through the motions with a confidence that I can’t even begin to emulate. The sound of fists hitting targets, the dull thud of bodies making contact, and the sharp, focused breaths of the trainees fill the space.
I watch two shirtless men spar in the centre of the room, their movements almost like a choreographed dance. They’re fast, their strikes and counters perfectly timed, each action a display of their obvious skill and experience. The sparring match is intense, and I can’t help but be drawn into it, momentarily distracted from my own anger.
One of the fighters, a tall man with light hair and sharp features, finally gets the upper hand, pinning his opponent to the ground with a swift, decisive move. The fight is over in an instant, and the winner stands, offering a hand to help the other up. As he does, his gaze sweeps the room and lands on me. With a confident stride, he immediately makes his way over. It’s only when he’s closer that I recognise him as one of the noblemen I’d seen in the throne room on the day I arrived. With his chiselled jaw and piercing eyes, he looks like Rylan but with darker colouring and less angular features.
“Caelum,” he introduces himself with an easy smile and a tiny tilt of his head. “Looking for a sparring partner?”
“Absolutely not. I have no idea what I’m doing, and you look like you might know too much about what you’re doing,” I admit, still seething from my encounter with Rylan.
Caelum bows, but with only mischief in his eyes. “Well, maybe I can help you become a little more knowing. ”
“Maybe you're just trying to show off?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, I don’t need to try,” he quips, his grin widening. “It just happens naturally.”
Half an hour later, we’re both breathless from laughing, sharing a joke at the expense of my clumsiness. My earlier frustration is forgotten as Caelum stands close behind me, his foot nudging mine into position. His arm is around my waist, lightly holding me as he guides me through the motions, demonstrating how to counter a frontal attack.
“You’ve got to loosen up, Eira,” Caelum instructs, his breath warm against my ear. “Relax, or you’ll never be able to outmanoeuvre anyone.”
“I’m trying, but I’m afraid my natural state is rather tree-stump-ish!” I reply with a snort.
“No exaggeration there,” a gruff voice says, and I don’t need to look over to know it’s Grellor.
“But an utterly fetching and compliant tree stump, right, Grellie?” I tease, happy to see him for the first time since we said goodbye in the castle’s courtyard.
He simply huffs. “An annoyingly chatty tree stump, if I recall correctly.”
“Well, I think Stumpy is terribly funny and charming,” Caelum adds with a wink.
“I’d be careful about someone hearing you say that,” Grellor says. “Some people are rather… territorial about their…tree stumps.”
I blink. “Huh?”
Caelum just shrugs.
“I think I… missed part of this conversation.” I reach over and pat the guard on the shoulder with a grin. “Or maybe you did, Grellie.”
He growls. “Grell or . And you’re a tree stump that someone should stop touching before someone else sees, is all I’ll say,” he says, cocking an eyebrow at Caelum before wandering off to watch another sparring match, hands hooked behind his back.
“What was that about?” I ask Caelum.
“How would I know?” he shrugs again, although his handsome face suggests otherwise. “I try not to make sense of anything that old grump says,” he replies. “Now, focus, or else I’ll have to see if tree stumps are ticklish.”
I squeal as his hand gently presses on my hip, guiding me into another fighting stance. We both dissolve into giggles when I inevitably stumble and take him down onto the mat on top of me. The lightheartedness is a welcome reprieve from the stress of the other training sessions, and for a few moments, I almost forget the earlier frustrations of the day—until the combat room door slams open with an echoing crash.
A cold, charged silence instantly falls over the room as I turn to see Rylan standing in the doorway, his eyes blazing with something barely contained. The laughter dies in my throat, and the air feels suddenly thick, oppressive. He stalks forward, his presence dark and heavy, his eyes fixed on Caelum like a predator closing in on some very small prey.
“Get. Away. From. Her,” he growls.
Caelum, unfazed, braces over me, his hands on either side of my head, and looks over at Rylan. “Oh, hello, just giving your disciple some friendly pointers.”
I almost baulk at the casual way Caelum speaks to Rylan. Who is he?
“She doesn’t need any pointers from you,” Rylan snaps, his voice colder than I’ve ever heard it.
“Oh, I’m not saying she’s not an exemplary student, but she’s got a lot to learn if she has any hope of beating Selene.”
I frown. What’s he talking about?
Rylan’s eyes narrow as he takes another threatening step toward Caelum, his fists clenching at his sides. “If she needs any help, she’ll get it from me. Or Chasina. No one else. She is my disciple.”
Caelum finally stands, making a big production of pushing his body against mine as he gets to his feet, then brushing his hands off with an eye roll. “Relax. I was just helping your tree stu—, er, I mean, pupil with balance. No harm done.” He offers me a hand up, which draws a snarl from Rylan. I don’t have a chance to accept the help before Caelum drops his hand.
Rylan’s jaw clenches as if he’s struggling to maintain some semblance of control. “I said, get away from her,” he repeats, the command laced with an edge that promises consequences if ignored.
Caelum, as if sensing the actual threat beneath the surface, finally relents. “Alright, alright,” he says, backing away with a casual shrug. “Didn’t realise she was off-limits. She just looked like she could use a friend in the combat room. Not like you’re known for your… friendliness.” He flashes a grin at me and gives me a small bow. “It was a pleasure to train with you, Eirabella.”
“Thank you, Caelum,” I say, my tone soft, trying to defuse the strange situation. “I appreciate the help.”
Caelum walks off, saying over his shoulder, “Any time. Just not when a certain killjoy is around, okay?”
Rylan glares after him until he’s gone, then his gaze snaps to me, and the storm brewing in his eyes threatens to catch fire. “Never, ever storm off in the middle of a training session again,” he orders, his voice low and dangerous.
“Oh, was that what it was?” I challenge, my own anger flaring again. “Because I didn’t see any actual training happening. It seemed more like I was target practice for your shouting.”
He blinks at my words and then reaches out his hand to help me up, but I ignore it and get to my feet unaided, which makes him grit his teeth. Good. That makes two of us pissed off.
I pivot on the mat, about to walk off when I feel his hand, hot and tight around my wrist, yanking me back.
His voice hasn’t lost any of that earlier edge when he says, “Do you have any idea what the Keeper trial will entail? What you’re going to need to endure, what you’re going to need to master?”
I throw my free hand up. “How can I, when you refuse to tell me anything?”
His cheek twitches. “You want to know? Fine. I’ll tell you. There are two trials.” He holds up two fingers. “The first trial alone is not one test, but three,” he explains. “And there are three of you who will be competing for the Keeper position. One of you will be eliminated after the first trial, and only two will go through to the final trial. The final trial will test every single aspect of your skill. And believe me when I tell you, the other two disciples are very, very good.”
His words slam into me like one of his massive waves, knocking me off my feet, off my centre. Two trials? Three tests in the first one alone? Competing against others? The weight of what he’s saying crashes down on me, and suddenly I can’t breathe. I’d barely grasped what being a Keeper meant, and now this? The pressure I felt before seems like nothing compared to the storm of anxiety brewing inside me.
And then something he said catches in my mind. “Wait. There are already two other disciples? If there were other options, why, for Morath’s sake, did you need to bring me here? Why did you tear me away from my home, my life, my friends without even giving me a choice?” My voice shakes, a mix of fear and anger bubbling up inside me. “Why am I going through all this? To fulfil some sick whim of yours?” I try to turn away from him, gripping the sides of my head in confusion.
He spins me around again, wincing when I knock his hand away. “Listen to me.” He reaches over and grabs my shoulder, squaring me to him. “I know how much you fucking hate doing that, but you need to listen to me. I brought you here, chose you , because they’re not meant to be the Aquilith. You are. Your Strength is a once in a lifetime gift. Not theirs. And I am betting not only my life, but the life of everyone in the realm.”
I want to believe him, but I can’t shake that suffocating feeling of powerlessness that’s been haunting me since the moment I woke up on his horse.
“What Strength?” I shout, ignoring that everyone is watching our spectacle. “Because it seems to me my magic has gone back into hiding.”
“That’s because you’re scared of it,” he snaps, his frustration barely contained.
“Or maybe it’s scared of you!” I fling the last word at him like a dagger, my voice shaking as I struggle to keep my emotions in check. I stare at him, trying to find answers in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me all this on the way to Narathia? And wait a whole week just to tell me now?” He doesn’t say anything, and all I can do is shake my head. “It’s just one secret after another with you, isn’t it? It’s been that way from the beginning.”
“I’m telling you what you need to know now.”
“Oh? So then tell me, what’s the big deal with Caelum offering to train with me? I would’ve thought you’d have jumped at the thought of me improving. And with you not having to do it yourself!”
He blinks, and then his eyes narrow to slits that almost completely cover his dark pupils. “You are not training with him again,” he warns .
“Why?!”
“Because you are my disciple, and I said so.”
I shake my head with a snort. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
I reach up, the frustration boiling over as I shove him in the chest. “You are so insufferable!”
He blocks my hand and twists it until his fingers are wrapped around my wrist. “I’m your mentor, and you will do what I tell you. And that includes only training with whom I approve of. And right now, that’s me. And Chasina. Don’t even think about testing me.”
I try to break free, but his grip is too strong. “Let me go,” I hiss.
“No.”
“Let me go, right now. You’re hurting me,” I demand, my voice trembling with fury.
He doesn’t release my wrist; instead, he yanks me closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as he says, “I’m the only person here you can trust won’t ever hurt you.”
My heart pounds in my chest, and for a second, I want to believe him. I stare up at those eyes that in ways, I feel like I already know better than my own, but are also the most mysterious I’ve ever seen, and desperately search for the truth. Where is he? That man who was slowly opening up to me by the fire? The one who had hurt himself to help me? Where has he gone? Rylan meets my gaze, and for a moment, I think I see him, but then he blinks, and there’s nothing but ice. I should’ve known better; if my life has taught me anything, it’s to never let my guard down.
“If that’s meant to be a promise, Your Highness , then you’ve already broken it.”
He winces, and his grip loosens as if involuntarily, and I take the opportunity to pull my arm free, taking a step back. The distance between us feels instantly insurmountable, yet I can still feel the heat of his hands on me. If he is going to reply, I won’t ever know. Just then, Master Kaelen and Chasina enter the combat room. The conflict in the atmosphere is palpable as they take in the scene, their eyes flicking between us.
“Now, if you will excuse me,” I say coldly. “I mustn’t be late for my combat lesson. They actually teach me something here.”