Chapter 23 Practice Makes Perfect
PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
ELYRIA
Elyria was pissed.
Angry beyond belief, actually.
It started out as shock. Seeing Raefe standing in that hallway had felt like being doused with glacial water.
It looked so normal at first glance. His being there, with his companion, this Sephone Tempus—Elyria snorted as she recalled the name—and conversing with Kit and Dentarius and Thraigg and Nox like he wasn’t the monster who’d branded himself across Elyria’s legs.
But that shock quickly morphed into something else, something raw and ragged and dangerous. There had been no containing her shadows, no reeling in the dark fury that spilled from her.
She hadn’t been entirely in control at first, she knew this. Her shadows reacted instinctively, like swallowing the light from the hallway might provide Elyria some sort of comfort in the face of the realization he was there.
It did, though it wasn’t nearly as comforting as the feeling of bone crunching beneath her fist as she shattered his nose, of course.
But even the satisfaction that came from that had faded quickly, leaving nothing but the cold embrace of realization in its wake.
They were the fabled final members of the Arcanian delegation?
This was who they had been waiting for? Who the party had put their plans on hold for?
Why? Why was he here? Why had King Lachlandris permitted this?
Or perhaps the better question was how? How had Master Tartanis convinced the king of this? Had his power truly become that great?
Elyria knew that his influence had been growing over the years and decades—throughout Coralith and beyond. But the idea that he wielded such prestige that he had gotten the king to grant a miscreant like Raefe a title and the honor of representing the entire fucking kingdom? It was insanity.
The thought had rage surging anew inside Elyria, her shadows boiling over, coalescing in her hands, forming a sharp point, a cool hard handle.
She glanced at the twin throwing daggers now in her hands, spinning in place and hurling them into one of the practice dummies lining the far wall of the training room.
The weapon sank into the straw-stuffed torso with a satisfying thump.
Elyria scratched at the top of her thigh as she gave her handiwork an approving nod, her scars itching beneath her leather breeches.
She had been somewhat mollified to see that Raefe had not escaped their encounter in The Sweltering Pig completely without repercussion.
She had warned him that Tartanis would not appreciate her being too roughed up, after all. He’d chosen to mark her anyway.
They never listen, she thought, releasing a wistful sigh, another shadowdagger solidifying against her palm in the same breath. She released it with a flourish, striking the dummy inches above where its imaginary crotch might’ve been, were it more anatomically accurate.
Sadly, the action did little to soothe her now. Just as the sight of Raefe’s mangled ear, the pointed tip of it torn off, had only provided another temporary pacification of her anger.
Knowing that Master Tartanis had sent this man after her in the first place, that she now had to face him—work with him?
—as if nothing had ever occurred had Elyria’s shadows slithering over her skin like agitated serpents.
She’d holed herself away all day for fear of what she might say or do should she come across Raefe, or even Sephone, again.
So, it was just as well that when Kit and Nox had finally caught up to Elyria after their little introductory meeting, the latter had convinced her to while away another day training her shadows and embracing her solitude.
She could do that. Could use this time to perfect her sparrows, could continue attempting—and failing—to shadowstep. It was better than the alternative.
And she certainly wasn’t hiding from anyone else.
Certainly wasn’t still thinking about a heated kiss in a crowded tavern.
Wasn’t thinking about the way her shadows kept reaching toward Cedric like they wanted to blanket every inch of him.
Certainly did not feel a tug in her chest right at that very moment.
Elyria hadn’t seen the knight since she’d flown out of that stars-damned tavern, leaving him behind with a sour taste on her tongue. It had barely been a full day since, but it felt longer. Felt like a Chasm had cracked open between them the moment she broke their kiss.
She really was a coward.
Holding a ball of shadow between her palms, Elyria shook her head, forcing her focus to sharpen before moving to sit in the center of the room.
This was it. This was the one; she could feel it.
It was going to work this time. She closed her eyes and began working the shadow in her hands, shaping it.
Then, she reached into herself, searching for the beat of her wild magic, the humming melody of life that dwelled inside her, inside all living things. She reached and—
Bang.
The sound of wood smacking against stone echoed through the room. Elyria’s eyes flew open, and she shot to her feet, whirling toward the sound. Then, just as quickly, she balked at the sight of none other than Cedric fucking Thorne standing at the entrance.
“What the fuck?” she exclaimed, her shadows melting away.
Of course he was here. He shifted his weight, perfectly framed in the open doorway. It took several heartbeats of awkward silence for Elyria’s mind to catch up to what her eyes were seeing.
She’d expected to find him in his knightly garb, or perhaps the typical black-on-black attire he seemed to prefer when he was out of his armor.
But no, Cedric was not wearing either. Instead, he had donned a pair of loose gray pants, a drawstring tied in front the only thing keeping them up above his hips.
And that was it.
No doublet. No tunic.
Nothing but gleaming, sweat-slicked skin over taut muscle, his token hanging against his bare chest, which rose and fell as though he had just run across the entire palace to get here.
Elyria smacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, suddenly desperate for a glass of water.
Or perhaps something stronger.
“What are you doing here?” Their voices wove together as Elyria and Cedric spoke at the same time.
She glared at him. The corners of his mouth twitched.
“Is something funny?” she asked, daggers forming in her eyes.
“No, of course not,” he said, though she could hear the smile behind his words as his voice cut across her ears, clear and low.
That ever-present, ever-annoying pang in Elyria’s chest trilled at the sound, tugging her toward its source.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, finally stepping into the room.
“What have you been up to on the penultimate day before your big mission begins?” she asked, pointedly refusing to answer the question, her tone sharp.
She hoped it might mask the sadness threatening to creep into her words at the thought of his departure.
Hoped he couldn’t tell how much she abhorred the very thought, as her eyes roved down his chest, his abdomen, his—
She cleared her throat. “You never answered my question. What are you doing here?”
Cedric arched a brow, as if to say, You’re one to talk. “Nox told me to meet them here. I finally took your advice,” he said lightly. “I’m to undergo some last-minute magic lessons before departing.”
“Very last-minute, is it?” She shook her head, bringing a hand to her chest. “A man who listens. Will wonders never cease?”
He chuckled, though the sound quickly faded, thick silence resuming between them once more.
Elyria swallowed, her eyes darting to the doorway. Trying her best to keep her voice even, she said, “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
But before she could brush past Cedric, his hand gently caught her wrist. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been doing no such thing.” She scoffed. “We just saw each other at The Keg.”
“Thanks to your guard friend, I suspect, not due to your own intentions. And what about the rest of the week? The entire time you’ve been here?
” He loosened his grip, turning her hand over in his, running the pad of his finger over the blue veins streaking through the pale skin on the underside of her wrist.
Her traitorous heart stuttered. “I’ve been perfectly agreeable in adhering to your king’s wishes to—”
“You know that isn’t what I meant. I’ve been looking for you. I’ve wanted to talk to you, wanted to—”
She inhaled sharply but didn’t pull away. “Well, you found me, didn’t you?”
“Only because Nox showed me precisely where to look.”
“You still found me.”
Cedric paused, a beat of silence thrumming between them. “What are we doing, Elyria?”
“I’m leaving,” she said quickly, nodding at the door—though her body refused to move. Her wrist stayed captured in his hand, his fingers still brushing her skin in delicate, maddening circles.
“Now that your compatriots have arrived, we’re both leaving, aren’t we?” Cedric said, voice soft. Sad?
His words set her teeth on edge, that dark fire flickering back to life inside her. “Compatriots,” she repeated, the word sizzling off her tongue. Anger flared sharp and bitter in her chest. Good. Anger was easier than this aching gravity that pulled her toward him with every breath.
She finally withdrew her hand from his, and she hated how the loss of his touch felt like a sting, even though she’d been the one to break contact. She hated that he didn’t try to stop her again. She hated herself for wanting him to.
She busied both hands with smoothing down the front of her blouse before saying, “It may still be a few days, but yes, as soon as your king gives the word, I’ll happily be on my way.
And given just how imminent your own departure is, allow me to give you the chance to get the tutelage you so desperately need. I’m sure Nox will be here shortly.”