Chapter 6 #2
The voice rasped through the branches, a chorus of whispers scraping against my bones. The shadows seemed to pulse, drawing me towards them.
“Lyra?” Riven’s voice sliced through the trance.
“It’s nothing,” I said quickly, shaking my head and forcing my body back into motion. We had fallen behind. But the voices followed, threading through my skull, impossible to shake.
“You sure?” Riven pressed, eyes narrowing as if he could see straight through my lie.
I gave him a tight-lipped smile and ran faster.
He chuckled from behind, keeping pace with infuriating ease.
By the time they called us to halt, my muscles were trembling so violently I could barely stand.
We jogged towards the group of initiates who looked like they may have stopped running a while ago.
I doubled over, hands on my knees, thankful that they hadn’t fed us breakfast before training because I was sure it would be spilled in the snow by now.
Riven nudged his shoulder against mine, his body heat pressing into me. His grey eyes bore into mine, holding me captive for a moment.
“You did well for a princess,” he said, his half smile causing a dimple in his cheek.
“I guess I’m used to running,” I murmured, tilting my head up to look at him. I hadn’t realised how tall he was. Or the rust-coloured flecks bursting around his iris, like a hint of golden sunlight through storm clouds.
“Arm yourselves!” Captain Bronwyn’s voice startled me, and my eyes broke from Riven’s as a stack of swords got dumped into the snow in front of us.
My fingers felt numb as I picked one up, nearly dropping it. It was heavier than it looked, the cold metal biting into my palms.
Lieutenants and corporals bled into the pits from the viewing benches, joining their squads.
Orin paced in front of our squad, Bohdi standing behind him with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Hold your swords in an attack position,” Orin commanded. I almost laughed; I had no idea what that was. I glanced around and the others held their swords with two hands, braced in front of them with a wide stance, ready to strike at moment’s notice. Clearly, they had done this before.
I struggled to mimic the stance. The sword wobbled as my balance threatened to give way.
Hadley seemed to be having difficulty as well, the tip of her sword dipping towards the ground. Her hands slipped and her sword dropped into the snow with a wet thud.
Bohdi walked over, picking up her sword and placing it in her hands with a warm smile.
“Let’s try that again,” he told her gently. She nodded and followed his directions.
“This is not a toy,” Orin said, voice low and cold. “It’s not for show. When your Sanctum burns out, your weapon is the only thing between you and death.”
He walked down the line, assessing grips and stances, stopping short when he reached me. His jaw flexed, a sigh escaping him as if he’d expected no less than to see me struggling.
“Your grip is too tight,” he muttered.
He nudged my boot with his, forcing my stance to open. The heat of his body pressed into my back as he walked behind me. Large hands closed over mine, prying my white-knuckled grip loose before adjusting my hold on the hilt.
His familiar scent of leather and steel washed over me, rich and steady, tugging me back to memories of being in his arms.
It was a smell I had missed for seven years, though so much had changed since then. I was not quite the fragile princess Orin had left behind.
“Keep your shoulders down,” he murmured, voice rougher now.
“That’s it.” He was close enough that his breath stirred the hair at my temple.
A flush crept up my neck. When he finally stepped away, the place where his hands had been felt cold.
My stance felt steadier somehow, the sword no longer so heavy in my palms.
He walked in front of me, assessing me before nodding in approval. He continued walking down the rest of the line.
“Riven and Roman,” he called, voice rising just enough to carry, “you two have the strongest stances. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Roman stepped forward first, rolling his shoulders.
His dark skin gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat despite the cold, and the muscles in his arms flexed as he gripped his sword.
A thin, eager smile curved his lips, and there was something unsettling in the way his eyes glittered, like he was hoping this would be more than a drill.
Riven sauntered to meet him, grey eyes bright with mischief. A lock of wavy brown hair fell across his forehead as he tilted his head, assessing Roman like he was trying to gauge his skill. He spun the blunted blade once in his palm, casually as if he were about to toss it aside.
“Try not to cry when you lose,” Riven said lightly, his grin sharp.
Roman only bared his teeth in a humourless smile and lunged. Their swords met with a metallic clash that rang in my ears, and I let my own sword drop to my side.
Roman drove forward, each strike heavy and precise, forcing Riven to retreat step by step across the packed snow. But Riven’s grin never wavered. He moved with an easy, fluid grace, letting each of Roman’s attacks glance off his blade as though he’d been born with a sword in his hand.
Roman grunted, pivoting into a downward strike meant to end it, but Riven twisted aside at the last instant. His blade flashed up. There was a blur of movement, Roman’s sword spun from his grip, clattering across the ground.
Riven ducked and swooped his leg under Roman’s, who landed flat on his back with a grunt.
Riven stood over him, not even breathless. He tapped Roman’s chest lightly with the tip of his sword, smirk curling his mouth.
Roman’s jaw clenched as he glared up at him, but Riven just offered a mocking bow before sauntering back to stand beside the others. As though he hadn’t just humiliated one of the strongest in the group.
“Clearly you both have experience with swords. Where have you trained?” Orin asked.
“I have been in the Southern Army since I was sixteen,” Roman answered with a slight Southern drawl, standing and straightening his uniform.
I raised my eyebrows. The Northern and Southern Kingdoms both had armies who fought between each other over food and land.
Something my marriage was meant to fix. The one thing both Armies had in common was their resentment for the Iron Guard for never intervening in their squabbles.
Never picking a side. No, the only thing the Iron Guard did was protect the Mortal Kingdom from the Fae.
Orin raised his eyebrows at Riven, expecting an answer.
“I’m just naturally talented at everything,” Riven almost purred, clearly trying to get under Orin’s skin.
“I’m sure you will still learn a thing or two,” Orin replied, tension on his face.
“Doubtful. I could probably teach you some things,” Riven drawled.
Orin stepped closer to him, the toes of their boots almost touching. Riven looked down at him with a smirk.
“Laps. Now!” Orin yelled.
“Don’t get your panties in a knot,” Riven drawled.
“My legs could use another stretch anyway.” He winked, then turned and broke into a run.
With how quickly he moved through the trodden snow, it was obvious he had been holding back when he ran with me.
I watched him disappear around the barracks, his pace effortlessly controlled.
Too controlled. My thoughts slipped to the showers.
To the silver mark I had seen nestled against his muscular torso.
Not exactly the same as mine. But close enough to leave a hollow feeling in my chest that I could not explain.
Apart from his absurd confidence and cockiness, he hadn’t once seemed unhinged.
Unlike me. If we were anything alike, then it was clear he knew how to control it. How to keep it leashed.