Chapter 26
The princess of Malarye had been right.
The training rings really were something.
The priests and priestesses, still in those long white robes, moved with such fluid motions that it looked more like dancing than combat.
There was a synchronicity between opponents, the barbs of their curved blades hooking together as the swords clashed.
The training was conducted in silence, only the shifting of bare feet in sand and the clash of steel indicated there was anything happening at all.
Arla stood at the side of the ring, resting her elbows on wooden rails that had been worn smooth – perhaps by observers that couldn’t keep their hands still, either.
‘They practise for eight hours a day and spend another four in the temples. It is the way of our army,’ Hyacinth said softly from her place beside Arla.
The princess’s fingers drummed restlessly against the rails, as if she knew too well the feel of the cutlass in her palm and longed to stand in the sand, too.
Arla had the overwhelming urge to want to duel with her.
The men and women in the training rings continued as though she wasn’t watching, as if a foreign assassin stood with their princess at the side of the ring every day.
The snap of a bowstring didn’t so much as stir their concentration as they moved through complex drills that made Arla’s muscles ache just watching.
She loved the weapon, and had often wished she had spent more time training with a bow than her sword.
There was a subtle elegance to it that suited her perfectly and made her fingers twitch.
The arrows soaring overhead did nothing to ease her restlessness.
She turned slowly, as if the lack of speed would prevent an arrow being shot straight through her heart.
There was a single line of archers, their eyes pinned firmly on the targets buried into the rockface beyond the training rings.
Thirty of them fired at once, the whistle of arrows followed by the solid thud was the only signal that every single arrow had met its mark.
Crea was amongst them, her pearl cape reflecting the sun so Arla had to squint to make out the head priestess’s face in the line-up.
‘Impressive,’ she murmured.
The royal guard in Hadalyn had trained ruthlessly, often working through drills for hours on end to make sure they were fit enough to march should anyone ever threaten the borders of Hadalyn again.
But gods, it had never been as well organised as this.
Each member of this … army had a job to do, as though they were a vital cog in a larger machine.
Hadalyn had never used their archers separately from their groundsmen; they required every soldier to be proficient in using both a bow and a sword.
But in Malarye, they treated each soldier as an individual and adapted their ranks accordingly.
Hadalyn could learn something from this.
Flambriar certainly would.
The thought of her new kingdom and her people wrenched something deep in her stomach, almost tugging her forwards. An ancient tug to go to them, go to them, go to them—
‘Control it. That urge will grow until you are incapable of being away from them if you do not learn to tamp it down.’
Ah. She’d wondered when her dragon would make a reappearance.
‘I’m still angry with you for keeping secrets.’
Thara huffed through the bond. ‘That is a human emotion, Dragonhart. Always the strongest.’
Hyacinth’s hand was a gentle tug at Arla’s elbow again, and it made her realise how much Arla had changed.
Three months ago, she might have cut the girl’s throat for daring to lay a hand on her, but that was before she had begun to unlearn the ruthlessness Cyrus had coaxed out of her. That had been before she had felt the primal need to protect her people.
Hyacinth could touch her. It was fine.
The princess, however, seemed to read whatever was in Arla’s eyes – danger, perhaps? – and pulled her hand away slowly, as if Arla might bite her if she moved too fast.
‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have,’ Hyacinth said, her voice suddenly lower than before. ‘The touch of another is not always a welcome thing. I have known it too; I will keep my hands to myself.’
Curiosity was tart on Arla’s tongue. ‘I’m sorry you’ve known unwelcome hands. Might I suggest cutting them off next time?’
The princess raised her eyes to meet Arla’s gaze, laughter spilling over her lips and brightening the beauty of her face. ‘I find the throat to be a more effective deterrent.’
This time it was Arla who couldn’t contain her laughter. Gods, she was beginning to like the princess too much and too quickly.
‘Your troops are well trained, and they wear the disguise of priests well, too.’
‘Oh, they are not disguises,’ Hyacinth said. ‘They really are priests. They worship the gods devotedly. They train only to keep our borders safe. We have known peace for almost five hundred years. We intend to keep it that way.’
A hollow feeling opened up in the bottom of Arla’s stomach.
She wished such a peace for Flambriar too, though she had a feeling war would be unavoidable if she couldn’t stop whatever Elrod was doing.
Malarye would not be an easy ally, if one at all.
And if she had set the prophecy into motion by coming here…
If she was on a countdown to uniting the kingdoms…
Would Malarye be on her side or against her?
Nothing felt different. Surely if a prophecy had been triggered, she would feel something change inside her?
‘What about the rest of your people?’ Arla asked as Hyacinth began to stroll between the rows of training rings, careful not to drift too close to where the archers fired wave after wave of arrows at their targets in the cliff.
‘They are perhaps the most important thing in my life.’ Hyacinth paused, and when Arla looked at her Arla could see there was an oath inked there. She would protect her people at all costs and with her life. Arla felt the same way.
‘Since my birth, they have blessed me with a kindness I cannot possibly deserve. They helped my mother raise me when the winters were harsh and she was occupied with court duties. My people raised me as their own. I intend to return the honour when I am queen.’
There were shadows in the princess’s eyes, haunted, dark things that hid secrets they could plague only her with. Arla longed to know what they were. What secrets was Malarye hiding and why had their queen killed its king. Had those unkind hands Hyacinth had spoken of belonged to him?
‘Where are they … your people, I mean?’ Arla asked, stepping into place beside Hyacinth as they continued their perusal of the training grounds.
‘Beyond the forest. We wanted them safe, landlocked in the middle of the queendom should our borders ever come under attack. They will start to drift over here when the sun begins to set. The temples are lively places at night, and you’ve arrived just in time for a wedding.’
She didn’t have time for weddings. She needed answers. She needed to know what Malarye wanted because she had not been invited here to make small talk.
She’d spent too many hours achieving nothing already. Enough was enough.
‘Hyacinth—’
‘Ah, here we are,’ the princess interrupted. ‘We so hope you allow us to watch you train. Your skill is spoken of even here, Dragonhart, and it would be beneficial to our army to see new ways of combat.
Beneficial indeed! So they could learn her skills – and her weak points – in order to work out how to take her down should it ever come to that.
‘You don’t believe that. Stop sulking.’
She choked on the laugh in her throat. No. No one could ever hope to master the way she moved. The years of practice had made her unpredictable and entirely wild when it came to wielding a blade. No one would be able to learn her tells; she doubted she truly knew them herself.
She rolled her shoulders, her blood already calling for the violence, her mind aching to slip into that calm space where nothing and no one could touch her.
It had been both a blessing and a curse when Cyrus had sent her on jobs for days at a time.
She had come back filthy and bloodstained and entirely feral.
It had taken him and Perry too many hours to haul her back out of that place in her own head.
Now she wished to feel it again.
‘Am I to have an opponent or would you like me to cut myself down?’ she said smartly, stepping into the ring and unsheathing the sword at her side.
It was a short blade, not one she would wish to carry into battle, but it would be fine for the purposes of this demonstration.
Especially if she were to go against those curved blades.
But Hyacinth was looking at her, head tilted, a wary expression on her face.
Thara chuckled through the bond.
‘It was a joke, Your Highness. I will duel whomever you see fit.’
The princess’s eyes softened, her lovely smile returning as she tapped the shoulder of a priest beside her. ‘Laurence will be your opponent.’
‘No. I will.’ A thunderous voice reached them from the far side of the training ground. It was Crea, and she marched towards them, her bow discarded.
Arla’s own grin widened. She could think of no better opponent to knock on their ass than the woman who had ordered her dragon be impaled with arrows.
‘Crea, that really isn’t necessary. Laurence will be—’
‘No bother, Your Highness. I’d be more than happy to duel the infamous King’s Assassin,’ Crea said, striding into the ring.
Hyacinth looked between the priestess and Arla, the control she’d wielded only moments ago already lost to a strong-willed woman dressed in white. The princess looked tiny now, her beauty not enough to command those beneath her. Crea knew it too.
‘You know,’ Arla said, the blade in her hand a familiar friend, ‘where I come from, I’d have had your head for disrespecting a member of the royal bloodline.’