Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Eirabella
Dear Janus,
Today I learned that we were richer living in our little one bedroom cottages in Larilea than we could ever have imagined.
That we were blessed to live such a simple life, where the hardest decision was whether we were going to have roasted squash or beets for dinner (the answer is squash, always squash, and don’t you ever forget that, beet-lover!)
My heart aches for all the evils of the world…and how there is no escaping them.
But despite that, I hope you never stop dreaming big. With your whole giant beautiful heart. Never stop Kahlia from wanting more, for wanting to have it all. Life might be harder one step closer to the stars, but godsdammit if it’s not exhilarating. And if anyone could achieve anything, it would be you, Janus .
I had a small mishap (let’s just call it that for now) last week, but I’m feeling better for now. Also I learned a new code this week. You wouldn’t believe who taught it to me even if I told you, which I will, one day. One day when I see you again.
As much as I hurt for the evils and terrible things in the world, right now, my heart aches even more not knowing how you are.
Write me back soon, J. Trust me, you’re going to want to know who taught me the new code.
Ever missing you,
E
When we resume our training a few mornings after I move to his quarters, Rylan starts our session by eyeing me for a few seconds, hands on his hips, before he says, “I’m only agreeing to this training session today because you’re not always going to have the luxury of fighting when your magic is at its full capacity. There will be times when you’re drained, when you need to know how to conserve your energy. This is a good opportunity to learn some techniques for when you need to be cognizant of your magic consumption.” He pauses, his gaze hardening as he adds, “Because I don’t want what happened to you to ever, ever happen again.” His jaw tightens. “Do you hear me?”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. He seemed a little withdrawn for a few days after our argument, after I saw him in the corridor with the beaten prisoner, like something heavy was weighing on him, but it seems he’s put that aside now to teach me. I was thankful for the time apart, needing it to reconcile the person I saw in that hallway with the Rylan I think I know—the light and dark sides of him. They all make him him. And I’m the one who wanted to know him; I should give him the safe space to be everything he is around me. If I’m to decide how I feel about him, I can’t pick and choose what it is that I know and like about him. But in this moment, his concern touches me, and I’m determined to prove that I’m capable, that I can handle whatever challenges come my way.
“I understand,” I reply, keeping my voice steady. “I’m ready.”
He studies me for a moment longer, then nods. “Alright, let’s begin.”
Rylan starts by teaching me how to use my magic in short, controlled bursts rather than all at once. He shows me how to channel just enough energy to create a small shield or a quick blast of water to push an opponent back without draining myself completely. To use a technique he calls layering. It’s a delicate balance—using just enough magic to defend myself, but not so much that I deplete my reserves too quickly. He teaches me a list of manoeuvres that take less magic and when to use them.
“It’s all strategic. It’s not always the right thing to come out at full strength if you don’t need to. Think of it like rationing supplies on a long journey,” he says as we circle each other. “You don’t want to use up everything too early. You need to make what you have last.”
“I see,” I say, concentrating as I try to follow his advice. “What happens if you run out of supplies before you reach your destination?”
“Then you get creative; improvise with what you have, use the resources around you.”
“ ‘Get creative?’ ” I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “I didn’t know you had a creative side, Rylan. I thought you were all rules and seriousness and ‘it’s my job.’ ”
He chuckles, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down my spine, and I inwardly smile. I’m glad the awkwardness of the last few days has thawed. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Eira.”
“Not for lack of trying!” I retort, turning the puddle under his feet into ice. He momentarily slips, glares at me, then snaps his fingers and it dissolves into a fine mist, leaving behind nothing but dry grass. I can’t help but admire his skill. “Alright then, tell me something I don’t know about you.”
“Something about me, huh?” He gives me a playful look, twirling his staff with ease. “Alright, how about this? If you can land a hit on me, I’ll answer any question you ask. But if you can’t… then I get to ask you something. And you have to answer honestly.”
I laugh, the sound ringing out in the quiet training field. “Deal. But expect me to go extra hard on you, Your Highness.”
“Oh, Eirabella, you act as if I don’t know that your goal is always to make it very, very hard,” he teases, his grin widening.
My cheeks redden at the suggestiveness in his words, but I’m not going to let him have the upper hand. “I would say that with that kind of cock iness, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that you’re the only one who’s going to get wet today,” I say, aiming a stream of water at his head, one that he easily dodges.
“Oh, you’re going to have to do better than that.”
I sober, remembering my battle with Selene and how she so easily overpowered me. “I just don’t see how there’s any way I can beat Selene in a Strength combat.”
His gaze softens, and he lowers his staff and instead rolls up the sleeve of his all the way past the cuff on his forearm and up over his shoulder. He reveals the intricate tattoo winding around his bicep. I try to ignore the toned shape of his arms, the corded muscle formed by a lifetime of honing his weapon, his body, and instead focus on the line of black ink. I’ve seen it before, when his arm was wrapped around me as we’d lain in bed at the inn, but never up close like this. The script is unfamiliar, jagged and beautiful.
“I had this inked when my grandfather passed away. It’s Kaldoran,” he says, reading the confusion on my face. His voice drops to a murmur as he reads the words aloud, “Thros Virendis, Soltar; Thros Elandor, Kareth; Thros Valinthar, Valoris.” He smiles before he takes a breath. “It means, from discipline, strength; from wisdom, power; from heart, courage .”
I slowly repeat the words, feeling them fill me with meaning. “What’s the difference between strength and power?”
A hint of a smile tugs at his lips, and he looks past me, as if seeing something far beyond the walls of water. “Strength is the force you use to move the universe. Power is knowing when and how to use it to move the universe.” He pokes me with the end of his staff. “You haven’t had the years of rigorous training that the other disciples have. That’s the disciple. But you have something they don’t—your life, your experiences, that wicked mind of yours. Draw from those. You’ll build the strength over time. But it’s your ability to draw from the world around you that makes you so special, makes you the more powerful. That’s part of the creativity I was talking about.”
I sigh and knock away the end of his staff with mine. “So philosophical today, Your Highness. I hope you’ll wax just as poetic when I beat you and you have to answer my question.”
We continue sparring, the banter flowing easily between us. But despite my determination and using the new techniques Rylan taught me, I can feel my energy quickly waning. The exertion from both the physical and magical training is starting to take its toll after my recent burnout, and my movements become slower, less precise. He dodges each of my attacks with an infuriating, cocky smirk, as if he’s already won.
Think, Eira, think.
Brute force clearly isn’t working, and he knows all of my usual moves—he’d taught them to me, after all. I need something different—something unexpected.
And then it comes to me, remembering a time when I’d been playing with my father in the snow.
I stop attacking him directly, instead taking a moment to focus on the air around us. It’s humid, the remnants of my earlier water magic lingering in the air. I summon it, drawing in the moisture to use less of my dwindling magic reserves and subtly whisk it into a mist.
Rylan notices the change but doesn’t react yet. I keep focusing on the air, slowly turning the mist thicker. It wraps around us like a dense white fog, obscuring his view and mine. He tries to keep his eyes on me, but the veil grows heavier, making it harder to see.
“Trying to hide from me, disciple?” His voice sounds amused, but I can tell he’s getting cautious.
“Not hiding,” I reply, keeping my voice calm. “Just something to set the mood.”
Through the fog, I see him cautiously take a step forward, the mist curling around him like a cocoon, and that’s when I strike. I send out a silent, almost invisible stream of water through the mist, aiming not for his body, but his feet. He doesn’t see it, doesn’t know it’s coming, and by the time the water snakes around his boots, it’s too late.
With a flick of my wrist, the water freezes around his feet, locking him in place. Before he can free himself, I send out as strong a jet of water as I can conjure, hitting him square in the chest, knocking him backward .
I wave my hand, clearing the mist, revealing Rylan sprawled on the ground, his armour wet, and grinning.
“Well, would you look at that,” he says, laughing good-naturedly, “I definitely didn’t see that coming.”
I smirk down at him, breathing hard but triumphant. “That’s because you weren’t watching closely enough.”
I hold out my hand, and he grasps it as he gets to his feet. Once he’s upright, he tugs on my hand, pulling me in close and whispering against my ear, “Oh, I don’t think that anyone could ever accuse me of not watching you closely enough.” His voice drops to a timbre that is rough and smooth against my core both at once. “And if you were actually coming, let there be no doubt, there’s not a chance my eyes would be anywhere but locked on yours. Watching every needy little flicker in your eyes, the way your lips would part, the way your body would tense and then…melt…”
A delicious tingle spreads over every inch of my skin, as if he were tracing it with his fingertips. The things his voice and his words do to me. I scoff and push on his chest playfully, needing to put some space between us. What has gotten into him today? Sure, there’s always been an undercurrent of… flirtatiousness to our interactions, but to say some of the things outright that he’s said today? I’m not quite sure how to take them.
Rylan smirks, as if sensing his effect on me, and lowers his staff. “Okay, that’s enough for today,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“But—” I start to protest, but the exhaustion in my limbs and the heaviness in my chest stop me. He’s right—I’m tired, and pushing myself further won’t do me any good. It’s a reminder of how far I still have to go.
He must see the disappointment in my eyes because he squeezes my hand before letting it go. “Come on,” he says, his voice softening, “let’s take a walk. Don’t forget it’s just as important to cool down from your training and workouts as it is to warm up. Your magic is—”
“A muscle,” I mimic him, playfully. But then I gift him a smile, grateful for the uncharacteristic and seemingly endless patience during my burnout recovery, and follow him out of the training grounds.
As we walk side by side, the sun’s warmth gradually dries the remnants of our water battle from our skin. Rylan leads me patiently through our breathing exercises, his calm voice steadying my pulse. Our hands brush occasionally, sending sparks up my arm each time. I wonder if he feels it too, or if he even notices. After a while, though, he pulls his hand back, shoving it into the pocket of his leather training pants. The warmth of his presence feels a little further away, leaving me unsure of what to make of it.
Once he’s satisfied that I’m sufficiently cooled down, he bumps against me with his shoulder.
“So, I think you’re owed an answer to a question, if you can think of one,” he says, with a wink.
I glance up at him, trying to shake off the lingering sparks. “I think you know I have plenty of questions,” I tease as he leads us up a narrow stone staircase that spirals around one of the towers. “But let’s start with something simple.”
Rylan raises a brow, waiting.
“Do you often think about the current state of the kingdom? What do you want to change, to improve?” I ask.
His expression shifts, growing more thoughtful, more serious. “It’s all I think about,” he admits quietly. “And there’s so much that needs fixing. The borders need strengthening, trade routes need to be improved. The distribution of the Strength offerings. I don’t… well, I don’t know that they’re being used effectively. They are such a generous offering from the pe ople that they should be used to their maximum value, to benefit everyone. And there are entire villages far from the capital that don’t have the resources they need. No one in this realm, under this rule, should ever be going hungry. I can’t envision a greater injustice, and yet, it still occurs.” He sounds haunted by that fact. “The people have to be taken care of, no matter how far they are from us. They’re no less important. Not to me.” His jaw tightens. “But I’m not the king.”
Well, it doesn't sound like King Halford’s son is a fan of his. Aside from that comment, I admire the weight of Rylan’s words, the care and thought in them. “How do you even manage all that? How do you prioritise everything that needs to be done?”
“I suppose it’s all about balance,” he says with a heavy sigh, as if he’s just imparted the secrets of the entire universe to me. “Which sounds easy, but is probably the hardest thing to achieve. You can’t focus on one thing and neglect another. Everything is connected—if the people aren’t happy, have their needs fulfilled, then it doesn’t matter how strong our borders are. But if trade fails, then everyone along the chain suffers.”
I nod, appreciating the concise way he explains it, feeling admiration bloom in my chest. He’s not just a prince in name; he’s proven time and again to be strong, skilled, intelligent, and he obviously genuinely cares about the kingdom and its people. “You’re really dedicated to it all, aren’t you?”
He shrugs, though there’s pride in his voice when he says, “It’s my duty. But more than that, it’s something I want to do right. I want to leave the kingdom better than I found it.”
“If you had to choose, would you pick being the crown prince, or Celestaris?”
He stops climbing for a moment and stares at me, something like wonder in his eyes. “No one’s…ever asked me that before. ”
“You’re welcome,” I giggle. “I have more difficult questions if you’re ready.”
He makes a face. “I much rather what I had in mind when I said you’d make it hard on me,” he growls.
“The day’s still young, my prince. Depending on your answer, you might like what else I have in my mind,” I tease him, feeling a little thrill. “So, what’s the answer?”
He presses his hand to my back, urging me up the steps again. “Growing up, I always wanted to be Celestaris. My aptitude for magic was always special, even as a child. And I thought that that was how I was going to make a difference. But as I’ve matured, I realise I was born to the responsibilities of crown prince, and one day, king. I didn’t pick that. It’s a privilege that the stars destined for me. It is my obligation, my birthright, no, duty, to learn everything I can so that one day I can be the best king this kingdom has ever had. And I can’t treat that lightly.”
I can’t help but smile at the conviction of his answer. “You’re also a natural teacher. You know, once you get over the shouting phase. Maybe you should add teaching to being prince and Master Keeper.”
He laughs, the sound warm and rich, velvety smooth. I want to bathe in it, wrap myself in it, feel it directly on my skin.
“Oddly flattering coming from my only pupil. A pupil that needed a little shouting to get her to listen, by the way. Unfortunately, I think I may have enough roles as it is.”
We reach the top of the stairs, stepping out onto a hidden balcony that overlooks the entire capital. The view takes my breath away—the city sprawls beneath us, a labyrinth of streets and buildings, bathed in the golden light of the warm sun.
“Wow,” I sigh, completely awed.
“I come here when I need to clear my head,” Rylan says, leaning against the stone railing, watching me. “It’s one of the few places where no one knows to find me. Or knows better than to come looking for me.”
I step closer to the edge, taking in the breathtaking sight. “It’s utterly beautiful,” I murmur. “Wow…” I sigh again.
He watches me with an intensity that makes my heart race. “I’m glad you like it. I, er, hoped you would, Eirabella.”
I try to embed the way he says my name into my brain, knowing I’ll be replaying it when I lay awake in bed tonight, thinking about the day. Then he breaks the silence by clearing his throat and gesturing to a small picnic laid out behind us. “I also thought you might be hungry after training.”
My heart warms at the sight—sandwiches, pastries, fruit, and a bottle of wine with two glasses. And of course, a giant bowl of ice cream.
“You thought right,” I say, my voice softer than I intend.
“You’ve been through a lot. The sustenance will help you make a full recovery. I asked Doran and Brienne what your favourite foods were. Hopefully there’s something here you like to eat.”
It’s thoughtful, personal, and I feel a rush of emotion that catches me off guard. “I don’t see any banana pudding,” I joke.
“There was. I threw it over the side of the roof,” he shoots back, dryly.
I laugh as he picks up a folded blanket and lays it out on the ground before gesturing for me to sit down. Shyly, I take the wine glass he pours me. It’s stronger than I expect, and I giggle, the tension in my body almost immediately easing as the alcohol seemingly loosens my tongue. “Why, Your Highness, is this how you treat all the ladies of the court? Wooing them with your stunning views and rooftop picnics?”
Rylan lets out a scoff as he picks up a leek tart and pops it into his mouth. “Hardly. You’re the only person I’ve ever brought up here. ”
His confession takes me by surprise, which I mask by leaning in slightly, teasing. “Are you saying I’m special?”
“Yes.” His gaze darkens, his eyes locking on mine in a way that makes my breath catch. “Do you doubt it?” he asks, his voice low and sincere. His gaze flickers down to my lips, and I can’t help but run my tongue along them, feeling self-conscious, heat between us building, my heart pounding in my chest. But then, just as quickly, he blinks and pulls back, clearing his throat as if shaking off the moment. He pours himself a glass of wine, avoiding my gaze.
I laugh softly into my wine glass, trying to ignore the way my pulse is still racing. “Alright, then. I have another question, since I’ve had some wine now.”
He glances at me warily. “Go ahead.”
I pause, then ask the question that’s been on my mind since I woke up in his arms in the inn. “How did you get that scar on your neck?”
Rylan stiffens, his jaw tightening, his hand reflexively coming up to run along the imperfect skin of his neck. For a moment, I think he won’t answer, but then he lets out a slow breath. “It was... an accident,” he says, his voice strained. “When I was a teenager. There was a fire.” I sit up, watching him closely. His eyes turn hazy, distant, as if he’s reliving the memory. “I was reckless. There was an accident, and someone died. A very close friend. She was seventeen at the time, I was nineteen. Her, er, her name was Val.”
Val.
Valora.
It all makes sense now. The longing in his voice when he’d whispered it in his sleep, the cold exterior, the tortured look in his eyes when he drops the mask. The weight of his words hits me like a punch straight to the exact centre of my solar plexus, winding me. What a tragedy at such a formative age.
“I’m so sorry, Rylan.” He just stares out ahead, over his city. Lost in thought. I give him a few moments before I reach over and squeeze his hand. “It’s not your fault,” I say, although I know nothing about it.
“But it was. The fire, the accident, her death. It was all my fault.”
I frown, taking in his words. “But… your Strength is fire.”
He shakes his head, his gaze lowering. “My main one, yes. But I didn’t have full control of my magic back then. I was cocky. Dangerously so. We were all reckless with our Strengths at that age, always taking risks, always trying to show off, and show each other up. Me and Mathis, especially, but also Caelum and even Val and…” his voice trails off. “Anyway, things got out of hand one day, and I couldn’t control it.” Instinctively, I reach out, my fingers brushing the scar on his neck, and he doesn’t pull away, just shivers, closing his eyes. “I couldn’t save her, Eira.” His voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “I was there. I should’ve protected her, should’ve stopped it all before it even started. But I was a fucking arrogant fool. And it cost my friend her life.”
My heart aches at the pain in his voice, the guilt he’s carried for so long. No wonder he’s always so intent on protecting everyone around him. “Why didn’t you have it healed? Falon told me she could erase scars.”
His eyes flicker open, and the shame in them tears at my heart. “I kept it to remind me. Of what I can never let happen again. I can never again become complacent, lose control. It’s the difference between life and death.”
The raw emotion in his voice shakes me, and I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I don’t know what to say, so I simply sit there, my hand resting on his, the silence between us heavy with shared pain .
After a long moment, I speak. “Rylan… mistakes happen. You don’t have to keep paying for it for the rest of your life.”
His hand tightens around mine, his expression softening as he looks at me with something deeper than words. “But I do. Some things, some mistakes, they should stay with you forever. Mistakes you should never be allowed to forget, never be allowed to be forgiven for. Because the person who can grant you that forgiveness isn’t here to give it.”