55. Ostara
On the morning of Ostara, Lyra stood in the center of the training ground, facing the man-shaped target made of wood and straw ten yards away.
Maelys crouched down beside her and grasped a handful of dirt before letting it slip from her fingers back to the ground. The wind blew some of it at an angle as it slipped from her hand.
The dagger Lyra gripped in her fingertips was surprisingly warm, probably because of the number of times she had thrown it already.
“Breathe …” Maelys ordered as Lyra’s breath came out in quick pants.
“I’m trying,” Lyra growled back.
“No—you’re panting. Breathe.”
Lyra’s eyes slid closed, and she inhaled. The tension left her shoulders, and her arms relaxed.
“Picture your target and only your target. Don’t let those animals distract you,” Maelys ordered.
And they were distracting. Dust and Oak squared off with their fists wrapped in a thick fabric, but that did nothing to muffle the sound of them pummeling each other.
Ridge and Otto battled with wooden swords. The thwacking sound of wood on wood echoed around the space. And Wilder—Wilder stayed perched on the stone wall of the fence, surveying everyone and everything around them. It wasn’t the others that distracted her.
No, it was the glare from the male she missed.
Wilder snorted at what Maelys had said, and Lyra flicked her attention to him. He returned her stare with a scowl. The scent of the purple flowers wrapped around her and softened the usual dirt and grass aroma.
Wind whipped a strand of dark hair across Wilder’s face, and a cloud floated across the sun, casting the ground in momentary shadow. It hadn’t been the same between them since the disastrous ruin of their truce.
Lyra still couldn’t stomach the feelings she shoved down every morning. She missed him—exceedingly so. And he did everything in his power to piss her off.
“Focus, Lyra,” Maelys said, drawing Lyra’s attention back to the target. “Pull back and throw it.”
They had switched to smaller weapons because of Lyra’s lack of muscle. Lyra was comfortable with daggers as she had used one in Atlantis, but she still was not accustomed to her legs, no matter how often Maelys made her use them.
Lyra huffed a breath and slung the dagger at the target. The hilt slapped against the wood target’s midsection before it clattered to the ground.
“Are you pinching the tip when you throw?” Maelys asked, shaking her head and rising to retrieve her thrown blade.
“I think so,” Lyra replied.
“She’s not,” Wilder called from the fence. He wrapped his arms around one knee while the other leg dangled.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion!”
Ridge peered over at them, trying to gauge if they were quarreling or teasing. When Wilder started chuckling, Ridge focused back on the battle at hand.
Lyra stood with her hands on her hips and glared at Wilder.
“Are you going to help or continue with the unusual staring?”
Wilder rolled his eyes and hopped off the fence. With long strides, he walked towards Lyra, and her mouth dried up.
Such calculated steps, like a predator about to pounce.
It reminded her of him chasing her around the willow, and again at the seaside cottage. It made her throat burn with all the words she swallowed down.
He reached for her hand and turned it palm up to the sky. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, while his other hand touched her fingertips.
She had to strain to keep from trembling at his touch.
“Your fingers are damp,” he murmured.
“It’s hot,” Lyra replied, annoyed with his less-than-astute observation.
Wilder shook his head. “I’m trying to say your grip is slipping because your fingers are damp.” He reached down, grabbed a handful of dirt, and rubbed it on her fingers.
“Try it again,” he ordered, jutting his chin towards the target. “Square your feet and throw on your exhale—not your inhale.”
Maelys rolled her eyes and handed Lyra the blade.
“Do what he says—but ignore him,” she added, crossing her arms over her chest.
Lyra slid her feet further apart and inhaled, gripping the blade with her dry but dirty fingers. She sent the blade flying on her exhale.
The dagger sank into the target, at what would be a person’s knee.
Her eyes brightened upon hearing the blade slide into the wood.
“I did it!” she squealed, clapping her hands.
Maelys whooped and hollered with her, and the two females jumped up and down, hugging each other.
“No need to thank me. I only instructed you how to do it,” Wilder said, crossing his arms over his leather-clad chest.
Maelys reached out an arm and shoved him. He didn’t move an inch and glared at the dirty handprint she'd left on his training leathers.
“Imagine how much further along she would be if you would deign to help without being asked,” Maelys said with a malicious grin.
“Yeah!” Lyra said, whipping her head between the two of them.
Wilder turned on a heel and stalked back to his favorite seat on the stone fence. “I’m not getting involved. Work on her magic now.”
“For someone who doesn’t want to get involved, you sure are bossy,” Maelys replied.
He didn’t answer and hopped back on the fence with feline grace.
“Alright, let’s try some magic. I have an idea for today—Ridge!”
Ridge and Otto halted their assault on each other.
“Did you tell her the plan?” Ridge asked, cracking his knuckles. The leather tunic he wore was two sizes too small and showed off a broad strip of muscled abs.
Lyra didn’t like the sound of that.
“What’s the plan?” Otto asked with a smile, as if he didn’t already know.
His long white hair was tied out of his face, and several new beads were tied around the ends. Lyra couldn’t tell what was carved onto them, but they looked geometric.
Maelys nodded at Ridge, who focused on the dirt in front of them. A green stalk burst from the ground, and the flower bud at the center stayed green as if it was about to bloom, but not quite.
“Tell it to bloom,” Maelys said to Lyra.
Lyra’s mouth dropped open, and an unintelligible spluttering came out.
“You can do it. It’s a plant, not a person, or a living creature. It’s just a plant.”
Ridge frowned at Maelys. “I mean, it is alive—”
“Shhh!” Maelys snapped. “We need Lyra to try. She’ll be too scared if she thinks she’ll hurt someone. You can make the plant grow back, can’t you?”
Ridge nodded with enthusiasm. “Oh! Yes, yes, I can. Tell it to bloom. You got this.”
The magic wouldn’t budge, and it hadn’t since she had returned from their tour.
“I can’t,” Lyra whispered, closing her eyes.
She had tried. Desperately tried to wield it, but of course, now that she wanted to use it, she couldn’t.
Something had broken inside of her, and whatever it was had broken her magic as well.
“I know you’re scared, but you made a bargain with the king. You have to,” Maelys whispered.
She could feel them shift around her, could feel the weight of Wilder’s stare on her face, could hear Dust and Oak stop to watch.
“I know, but I can’t,” she choked out. Tears dripped down her face, and the cool wetness startled her enough that her eyes opened.
“Don’t push her,” Otto said. “She needs to feel ready. And she’s not.”
Maelys sighed and looked skyward. “Well, that’s all I have for you today, then.”
Lyra nodded, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth.
“Let’s join the festivities,” Ridge said, slinging an arm around Maelys. “I’m ready to eat.”
He patted his abdomen, the muscles visible through the leather.
His eagerness brought a smile to Maelys’ lips.
“We have to get ready, and then we’ll meet you guys at the ball,” Maelys said, slipping out of his reach and grabbing Lyra’s hand. “Don’t wait for us. We’ll find you!”
Maelys pulled Lyra off the grounds and past Wilder, who watched on with a disgruntled expression. Lyra frowned in return and hadn’t a clue what was about to happen.
“What do we wear to this?”
“Daisy is getting everything ready for you,” Maelys replied.
“Okay … but you didn’t answer the question.”
Maelys’ smile turned feral. “Just wait and see!”
A gown of ocean waves was hung beside the windows of Lyra’s room. Swirls of pearls were stitched to resemble sea foam on the nearly black navy skirts, and the bodice appeared to be the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean. It was enchanting.
“Do you like it?” Daisy asked, twisting her hands in front of her.
Lyra stroked a saltwater pearl and stared with awe at the straps of silk that would hang off her shoulders.
“No.”
Daisy and Maelys gasped.
“I love it,” Lyra finished, turning towards them with a beaming smile. “It’s perfect! Thank you both so much.”
The joy she felt was familiar—like the feeling she had with Wilder during the tour. It was sweet but also bitter. Lyra knew it wouldn’t last and that she would leave all of this behind.
Daisy clutched her chest, and the ruffles of her servant’s dress fluttered with the movement.
“That was not nice.”
Maelys gripped her arm and nodded. “I didn’t care for it either.”
Lyra frowned. Wilder would have thought it was humorous.
“I was merely teasing. Of course, I love it. It’s gorgeous.”
Daisy stepped towards her and placed her hands on her hips.
“You need to bathe, and I still need to do your hair and makeup, so let’s get to it, or you’re going to be late.”
“What are you wearing?” Lyra asked Maelys.
“I had something made, too. I’m going to get ready, and I’ll be back to escort you,” Maelys replied over her shoulder as she sauntered out the door. “Good luck.”
Lyra didn’t know if it had been for her or Daisy.
Hours later, when she had been scrubbed, plucked, and pinned within an inch of her life, she knew it had been for her. Daisy helped her step into the gown and then cinched it up tight around her waist.
The sleeves were off her shoulders, making her neck look longer and her breasts larger.
“You are a goddess,” Daisy muttered, stepping back to admire her work.
Lyra couldn’t help but spin, and when she did, a smile stretched her lips wide.
“I feel like one, too.”