Chapter 13 - A Summer for Every Winter
Callan
Her words echoed through my mind, over and over again, tearing a hole into the carefully crafted shield I’d wrapped myself in for as long as I could remember.
“...every winter needs a summer...”
She was right, but every time I thought of summer—instead of the lush green of the trees and grasses that used to grow across Telrain—I thought of her. She smelled like lilacs and sun-warmed honey. The fervor in her words filled my chest with hope and sorrow, fighting for dominance.
Why? Why couldn’t I get this woman out of my head?
I stood in the center of my room, my hands squeezing my hair until my scalp hurt. Everything in my soul screamed at me to not take her to Dyga. It was dangerous for a human, as they weren’t allowed at the royal palace. I’d only just found an imbuing mage. I couldn’t take this risk.
But without my mother’s help removing her shackles, she would never be able to use her magic.
The last time I’d been to Dyga, I’d been sent away and told not to return until I was called home. My father would never call for me. He was terrified of how powerful my magic had become. He was right to fear me.
I squeezed my eyes closed at the memory of the elfling, Callan, dueling my father.
I wasn’t more than twelve years old, still significantly shorter than the king.
Pushed to the edge of exhaustion, I was hunched over with my hands braced on my knees as I panted.
He was testing me as he did every few months.
Forcing me to duel him with real swords and no armor.
I’d lost. Again.
The sharp pain of a blade slashing across my back sent me sprawling onto the cold stone of the training hall.
I reached for my sword, but it slipped from my fingers, desperation squeezing my ribs in an iron fist. The pulse of fear through my blood was as hot and real as I remembered.
He wouldn't kill me, but he would make me wish I was dead.
“Useless idiot. You know better. Never let your guard down,” Father spat, lifting my chin with the tip of his blade, letting the steel slice into my jaw. “On your fucking feet.”
I scrambled to get up, grabbing my sword and fighting against the searing agony, trying to ignore the hot blood running down the center of my back and soaking into the waist of my pants.
My head swam as I lifted my blade into a defensive stance.
I’d been training for hours—first with the royal guard, then with Delride, the weapon’s master.
My body was spent, my arms shaking from exhaustion, and now I’d need healing intervention.
I swayed on my feet, my father rolling his eyes, before I lost my balance completely.
The sword slipped from my grip as I collapsed, making the most horrendous clattering sound that echoed off the frigid stone walls.
Rolling onto my back, I savored the soothing chill of the floor against the wound, still oozing with blood.
There was a moment I didn’t care if I lived or died, as long as this torture ended.
I’d never be what he wanted me to be. I’d never be good enough or strong enough or brutal enough.
“Fucking pathetic.” Father stood over me, his head blocking the light from the chandelier overhead and leaving the curve of his face in silhouette.
I couldn’t make out the details of his expression, but it was probably better that way.
I’d only see disappointment, like every other time he looked at me.
The sting of his blade along my collarbone made me wince.
“I’ll have Delride push you harder tomorrow.” His voice was stained with disgust. Utter, devastating disgust that his only son could be such a disappointment.
I tried to breathe, but my lungs felt tight, every breath more and more shallow as the tip of my father’s blade carved deeper.
A pathetic whimper escaped me as flesh and muscle were sliced open, the metal sinking into the softness of my neck as it traveled along the bone.
He took a step back, instant relief flooding through me as his blade slid from my flesh.
He laughed, the edges of the sound grating against my heartbeat as it pounded in my ears.
“You’ll never be more than a worthless sack of shit.”
He walked away, and I watched him go, left to bleed out on the floor of the training hall. But I knew the truth. He’d have someone sent in to help me. As much as he hated me—wished I’d been someone else entirely—I was still his son. I was the crowned prince.
I was a worthless sack of royal shit.
I blinked away the memory, a shadow of the pain from my father’s sword lingering along my collar bone. After that day, I’d redoubled my efforts. I had vowed I would not be defeated by my father again.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed the anger away, focusing instead on Wrenora’s words.
“Our world cannot exist without them both.”
But she was wrong. The world could exist petrified in winter, but the people in it could not.