chapter twenty-two
I KEEP ONLY HALF AN eye on the two Accepted sparring.
The sun has just risen above the western horizon, and the steel gleams as the morning light floods the courtyard.
Seniia is not present this morning, and neither is Fie.
Although I’d love nothing more than to be happy for my friend, there is only room for one thought.
I will die.
I will die.
I will die.
The words repeat themselves over and over. Astēr will consume my soul to get more powerful. He’ll defeat Casimir and save Reā, and I . . . I will die because of it.
To think I ever found him attractive . . . He’s been toying with me all along, hasn’t he? Distracting me. And he succeeded.
I set my jaw. My stupidity—my naivety—ends here.
Is that all humans are to them? Livestock their gods can feed on to get more powerful? How many others like me are there? And are there others like Llyr, chosen to raise innocent humans as food for the gods? Seems the minister wasn’t so far off the mark after all.
I can only assume that the reason they haven’t killed me already is that my soul shards will be useless to them if I’m dead. Another moon cycle. That’s all I have before the shards are ready. Before he takes them. Before I die.
Suppressing the need to run toward Anam’gate this very moment, I turn my attention back toward Vilder, who sits next to me. He’s staring at me as if he’s expecting an answer.
“Did you say something?”
“I said they”—he nods toward the Accepted sparring—“are all moving slow this morning.”
I glance in their direction. Calix, our sparring teacher, runs a hand through his sweat-soaked hair; his face is etched with an exasperated expression I can’t blame him for.
Most of them were up until the early morning celebrating Lo’Ana, and it shows.
The only ones given the day off are the newly bonded Initiated.
The rest of us still had to rise and shine at dawn.
“What do you know about Anam’gate?” I ask. Feigning interest in the next couple to enter the ring, I avoid looking directly at him.
“Anam’gate?” I can feel his gaze lingering on my face for a long time. “Why? Are you planning a pilgrimage?”
I shrug, attempting to appear casual. “I heard some of the third-year elēn talking about it, and it made me curious.” The lie flows smoothly off my lips. Wearing a brace all those years made me a master in twisting words. To be able to outright lie is nothing compared to that.
“Well, it’s north,” he says. “Almost as far north as you can get without a ship. It’s part of the mountain range that separates Chì from the northeastern peninsula of Shir.
At the very center of it. It’s easy to recognize with the way its tall peak is split into two, as if it were hit by a strike of lightning. ”
I feel a nervous flutter in my stomach. That’s exactly as it was shown to me in the vision the dark-eyed lady shared.
He shifts his attention back toward the Accepted sparing, and even though I’m positive he holds a lot more information, he remains quiet.
“Watch out, Ina!” Calix warns a moment too late, right before Reü’s dagger slices through Ina’s hand.
I wince at the blood gushing from her hand as Reü pulls his dagger back out.
“Be more careful, will you?” Calix shakes his head. “We can heal, but we cannot regrow limbs.”
Ignoring both Ina and Calix, Reü turns and leaves the sparring ground.
“Seems you forgot to apologize, M’Garan,” Vilder calls after him.
“Fuck off, Aken.”
“Hey,” I say, placing a hand on his thigh. “We’ve talked about this. Be kind.”
Vilder grunts. “He’s making it so hard.”
True as that may be, I still feel bad for Reü.
Maybe if his uncle were a little more approving .
. . I lean back on the bench. Let him be, La?na.
He’s one of them, remember? I study Vilder through lowered lashes.
So is he. Where would his loyalty be if he knew the truth? Would he choose Reā over me?
“So, how far is it to the north of Chì? If it’s common to go there for a pilgrimage, I mean.” I give myself a mental kick. Great job at not sounding suspicious at all.
“It’s above the stormwall, meaning it’s impossible to arrive by boat.
” Vilder drags a hand through his messy strawberry-blond hair.
“A moon, perhaps a little less. My guess would be fifty days, if you ride at an average speed. As little as three weeks if you ride hard.” He gives me an incredulous stare.
“You don’t really mean to go there, do you? ”
I look away, unable to meet his gaze, knowing full well I’m doing the one thing I resent everyone else for: keeping secrets.
“Vilder, La?na,” Calix calls. “You are next. Weapon of choice?”
Vilder raises his brows. “Daggers?”
I nod. Although I have a remarkable talent with the daggers—Calix has said so himself—I have no idea how to handle a sword or a quarter staff.
Calix hands us a set of daggers each, and Vilder and I turn to face each other. He’s at least two heads taller than me, but I give him a cocky smile nonetheless. “Ready to have your ass whupped?”
He graces me with one of his rare smiles, showing off his dimples. “We’ll see.”
Vilder’s eyes fill with determination as he lunges forward, his long limbs giving him a clear advantage, but I manage to dodge his attack.
“Care to tell me the real reason you are asking about Anam’gate?” he says as we circle each other.
I pretend I’m considering telling him something, then surprise him by spinning forward and swiping his feet out from underneath him. My muscles coil, and I’m ready to jump him, but he does a back roll and is on his feet before I’ve had time to blink. He’s so fast.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he says.
Soon, beads of sweat are trickling down my neck, mingling with the dirt and thin layer of dust now covering me. Vilder’s strength and size give him a clear advantage—not to mention his ridiculous reflexes—but somehow, I manage to deflect most of his attacks with agility and precision.
It’s similar to dancing. It flows easily. Effortlessly. And I enjoy it. To actually get to move and be free, to be allowed to wield a weapon—it sends a thrill through my body.
I wipe the sweat dripping down my forehead and lock eyes with Vilder, who serves me a cocky smirk. He’s definitively on the offensive today, yet I know he’s going easy on me. No one beats Vilder.
I cough as I inhale a handful of the dust swirling in the wake of our battle dance. And although it causes only a fraction of hesitation, it’s all he needs. With lightning speed, Vilder lunges, his dagger grazing my arm, drawing blood.
“Yes!” He pumps his fist in the air, a triumphant shout escaping his lips. “I won.”
Why he’s so happy beating me, I don’t know. I’m sure he could finish me before I’ve even blinked if he so wished.
We stare at each other, chests heaving, sweat dripping from our brows. The sparring has given me a welcome respite from my churning thoughts, and I grin back at him.
Making my way to one of the white stone benches surrounding the sparring ground, I collapse onto it.
“Heal her,” Calix says to Vilder with a nod toward me, and Vilder walks over to kneel next to me.
His brow furrows in concentration. The healing doesn’t come as naturally for him as it does Seniia, but it’s part of his training nonetheless. His thumb glides across the wound, and it disappears.
“You’ve gotten so much better,” I say, smiling at him.
He says nothing, but from his small smile, I can tell he’s pleased with his progress.
“The ones on pilgrimage to Anam’gate follow the soul star of Mah,” he says without looking at me. “She’s the first soul star to rise in the sky every night.” He lifts his gaze, his eyes, a deep shade of russet, locking with mine. “You know, just in case you were wondering.”
I drink from the waterskin, then hand it to him. “You won’t try to stop me?”
He shakes his head. “No. I know firsthand what it feels like to have your free will taken from you.”
I chew on the piece of bread I brought for breakfast, studying his face. I’ve noticed it before, the way he understands me in a way most others don’t. I’ve suspected there's a reason, but he's never told me why. Somehow, I cannot even begin to imagine anyone being capable of holding Vilder captive.
“What happened?”
His shoulders slump, his body deflating as if he wants to disappear.
I place a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to share. I understand.”
“I was born in Arià, the westernmost floating island of the Western Plains. It’s a sacred island, and only the most skilled singers are allowed to reside there.
” His eyes remains focused on a spot on the ground.
“This is also where you will find the Temple of Truth.” His sigh, long and heavy, speaks volumes.
This is not the Vilder I know. How much pain does he carry below the surface, hidden beneath the practiced calm of his features? I wait for him to change the topic, but to my surprise, he starts sharing.