Chapter 39 A Fighter
Wren walked onto the training grounds feeling ill-prepared to use a sword.
She was weak from fighting off demons all night.
Her eyes fell shut several times during poetry class.
She slept through lunch, and didn’t feel up to eating more than a piece of buttered bread before heading to her dueling class.
Blossom was concerned, but Wren didn’t have the energy to assuage her.
“There you are,” Kierana said as Wren approached. Kierana stood next to Cyprus, who gave Wren a shy smile as she approached. “You missed breakfast and lunch. I was beginning to worry.”
Wren mustered up a smile. “I did not sleep well.”
“I can tell,” Kierana didn’t mince words. Cyprus scowled at her in disapproval, but Wren simply laughed under her breath.
“Perhaps a bit of sparring will enliven your spirits.” Cyprus gave Wren an encouraging look.
“Unlikely, considering my distaste for weaponry,” Wren replied.
Cyprus’s surprise reverberated through Wren, while a stab of apprehension came from Kierana, who was likely reliving the night she brought up this topic.
“Good afternoon, students,” Ivanhild bellowed from the center of the field.
Wren turned her attention to the professor, as did the majority of the other students in the field.
On the other side of Ivanhild stood Finn and Castien, with Percilean close by, scribbling in a book.
Finn grinned at Wren, while Castien did not so much as nod to her.
The words she poured into her letter came back to haunt her.
She worried that she’d said too much, but there was no way to take it back.
“Today we will be going over your stance. It is important in swordfighting to have a strong, but not stiff, stance. Three of the best students will aid me in critiquing you.” Ivanhild surveyed the field. “Kierana, Cyprus, Castien. Come forward.”
Castien walked to the center of the field, chin held high.
The fog was not so thick today, but the sky still cast everything and everyone in shades of grey.
Castien was no exception. He looked statuesque with his black uniform, inky curls, and dark eyes.
There was a hardness to his expression that made him look more warrior than student.
Kierana and Cyprus walked side by side to join Ivanhild and Castien. Ivanhild instructed the three of them in tones too low for Wren to make out.
“Everyone, make a circle around the training grounds. Be at least seven paces apart, and have your swords at the ready. For those who don’t own a sword, obtain one from the weapons rack,” Ivanhild boomed after he finished talking to the three circling him.
Wren walked to the weapons rack with a handful of other students.
She did not wish to own a weapon, but she hated walking to the weapons rack for each class.
It felt shameful somehow that she was the sister of a Gifted warrior and didn’t have her own sword.
She set her school bag behind the rack with a sigh, then chose a sword at random.
Hilt in hand, Wren took a position between two other students.
She watched as Kierana, Cyprus, and Castien began moving about the circle.
They would nod to certain students, speak to others, and direct others with light touches.
Wren went into the stance she had learned in the first class when Kierana approached.
“Make sure to widen your feet so your weight is balanced,” Kierana told Wren. There was an authority to her tone that made Wren think Kierana was honored to be chosen for this task.
Wren separated her feet more. Kierana nodded in approval, her joy settling over Wren like a warm blanket, then moved on.
Was that it? Wren smiled to herself. Perhaps she was better off than she thought.
Heron would be proud. A pang of grief pulsed through her.
She wished he were here. He’d be strolling around the circle, somehow making everyone laugh while helping them become better.
Cyprus came next. He offered Wren a gentle smile. She felt a spark of nervousness come off him. He must not feel as confident as Kierana.
“Lower your shoulders and relax into the stance.” Wren followed his instructions. “Good, that will help you stay fluid in battle.”
Wren nodded and refrained from saying she didn’t plan on being in battle any time soon. Or ever. Though she supposed dealing with council politics would feel like being at war.
Castien approached. Wren dropped her gaze. She couldn’t look him in the eye after being so vulnerable in her last letter.
A short gasp escaped her as the flat of Castien’s blade pressed under her chin and lifted her face.
“Eyes up, Kalyxi,” Castien murmured. “You need to be able to meet your enemy’s gaze.”
His dark eyes were whirlpools of shadow pulling her in. She swallowed, her throat dry.
“Lift your elbow,” he continued his assessment in a low tone. She obeyed. “Good. Tighten your abdomen. Think of pulling in and up.”
Her brow furrowed, but she did as commanded. She felt the change in posture immediately, along with a strange pulse of warmth she didn’t understand.
Castien took a step back and held his sword out. “Attack me.”
Wren shook her head. “That wasn’t a part of the assignment.”
Metal clashed against metal across the field. Kierana batted away Finn’s blade with her own.
Castien raised a brow, and Wren sighed. She lunged forward, hoping to catch him off guard by not giving her agreement first. She was not successful. Castien swiped at her sword hard enough that it was ripped from her hand and clattered to the ground. Wren’s face burned as she dipped down to get it.
“Back into your stance,” Castien ordered.
Wren gritted her teeth, but did as he said.
She kept her stance wide, her shoulders down, elbow lifted, and chin up.
Her gaze locked onto Castien’s right as she drew in her core.
That odd feeling of something warm curling through her came back.
It wasn’t from him. He was stoic and unreadable as ever.
“Shift your weight onto your back foot so that you can spring forward more easily. Be sure to grip your hilt tightly. The movement should be in your wrist and arm, not hand.”
Wren nodded and settled her weight onto her back leg. She bent her knee slightly as well.
“Try again.” Castien’s voice was low and gentle. He didn’t bark commands at her, but he didn’t say more than was necessary either.
Wren pushed forward again. This time, her sword stayed in her hand, but Castien still easily pushed her back. Her arm already ached from holding the stance and taking two hits to her blade.
“I am not made for this,” Wren mumbled her thoughts aloud.
A ghost of a smile crossed Castien’s lips. She thought she felt a flicker of warm amusement, but she couldn’t be sure. She found herself second-guessing every feeling around him.
“You are what you make yourself, Lady Kalyxi. You can be a fighter if you want to be,” Castien said before walking to the next student.
Castien’s words burrowed beneath Wren’s skin. They dug down deep into her heart, where her darkest thoughts resided. The ones that said she was nothing but a broken doll with no one to love her.
A fighter. She’d been a great many things. Victim. Tainted. Broken. Lost. On her best days, she thought herself a survivor. But a fighter? She shook her head. That word didn’t fit in with the others.
“Lady Kalyxi,” Ivanhild’s voice shook Wren from her contemplation. He stood before her, arms crossed, brows raised in expectancy.
She immediately got back into position. Every critique given was applied.
“Well done,” he commended. “Your stance is much improved. You are dismissed.”
A surprised smile bloomed across Wren’s face.
“Thank you, Professor.”
Wren dipped into a curtsy, then rushed toward the weapons rack.
Other students remained even after dismissal to spar or get further instruction, but Wren decided to end on a high note.
A fighter, she mused as she picked up her school bag.
Perhaps there was some plausibility to the thought after all.
When she went to put her bag on her shoulder, Wren noticed the flap was open. She was certain she had closed it before leaving her room. Worried that something was stolen yet again, she opened the bag wide and began searching through it.
Wren flipped past familiar books and journals. It was all there–her fingertips brushed against an unfamiliar piece of parchment. Her heart stuttered at the sight of Castien’s red seal. He’d snuck a letter in her bag during class. She stifled a smile and lifted her gaze to search for him.
Wren found Castien sparring with Finn in the middle of the training grounds.
His expression was grim, his body exuding lethal grace as he and Finn danced.
Castien’s gaze landed on her. She felt his stare burn through her, but he didn’t acknowledge her in any other way.
Confusion and excitement battled for purchase within Wren.
What sort of game was he playing now?