Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Thom has always described channeling like a river, where you’re the one directing the flow. But what happens when you ARE the river? What happens if the power doesn’t WANT to be directed?
— From the journal of Violet Andrever
The next morning, I risked a repeat of the previous day and showed up in the kitchen once more. I knew my training was to start today, but didn’t know much more than that. Whatever that inevitably entailed, I needed food.
“Your highness,” one of the kitchen maids squeaked as she saw me, dropping a curtsy.
“Please,” I said, my voice pained, “I’m just Lexa. And there’s no need for that,” I hurriedly added as more servants curtsied.
The hectic motion of the room ceased abruptly. Shit, that wasn’t my intention.
“This is all new to me,” I said softly. “Two days ago, I was just like you all. I know nothing of my place here. Or how anything works. This feels familiar to me. If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d just like some food. It was never my intention to interrupt your day, yesterday or this morning.”
The same matronly woman from yesterday bustled over. “If it’s breakfast you’re looking for, then you have come to the right place. Sit, Princess, please.”
“Lexa,” I insisted.
Her face twisted with amusement. “And I am Granya.”
“Thank you, Granya.”
With that, the elaborate dance of the morning rush resumed.
When one person slid open an oven door and removed a dish, someone else would have a new one ready to go.
The sounds of chopping, the sizzle of bacon, and the clanging of whisks against bowls filled the air.
A plate of food slid in front of me, and they went out of their way to ignore me. Perfect.
“We do serve a full breakfast in the Great Hall every morning,” Granya informed me. “Most courtiers choose to eat there. Or have trays brought to their rooms.”
“I’d rather eat here, if my presence isn’t too much of a distraction.”
She snorted. “They’ll get used to it. Don’t let that stop you from visiting us if you want.”
I dug into my food, the pancakes fluffy and light, seasoned with cinnamon.
And I just let myself be, imagining I was back home, that at any moment, Nana would turn around and ask me a question before I headed out to training with Cormac.
A wave of homesickness washed over me and the pancake turned to ash in my mouth.
I felt his presence behind me before I saw him. Griff. He smiled, and a strange flutter started in my stomach, only increasing as he took a seat next to me, his knee briefly knocking against mine.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Hi.”
He leaned over me, and I tried not to think too hard about his scent—wind-swept, salty and crisp, as I imagined the ocean smelled.
His arm brushed me as he snagged a piece of bacon, and I snapped back to swat at his hand.
He chuckled and moved faster than me, bacon firmly in his grasp.
What was with these boys and stealing my breakfast?
I scowled at him. “Get your own.”
One side of his mouth turned up, and without him so much as looking at the kitchen staff, a plate of food appeared before him, piled high with bacon and eggs. I swiped one of his pieces of bacon. He raised an eyebrow. I raised mine in return, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
“I was hoping to show you the training yard today.”
With my looming thoughts of the prophecy and the Veil that had consumed me last night, I knew I needed to stay in fighting shape. And since I had surpassed Cormac several seasons ago, I was excited to see what I could learn here.
When we were done eating, I followed Griff through several different passageways, where we went up and down stairs several times.
Nothing in this behemoth of a castle was level, and there seemed to be no way to travel from one location to another without traversing a number of stairs. No wonder everyone here was so fit.
“I understand you’ve had experience with the sword,” Griff commented as we walked.
How in Erde’s name did he know that? “Yes, ever since I was little. Cormac trained me.”
“The blacksmith?”
I nodded.
As the halls became busier, his hand found its way to the small of my back, curving into it, keeping me next to him and guiding me in the right direction.
I shivered as he touched me, feeling that strange jolt go through me again, a warmth that settled somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach.
His hand rested there long after it needed to, but for some reason I couldn’t explain, I wasn’t about to shake him off.
It wasn’t until we were outside, blinking in the blaring sunlight, that he released me, the spot his hand had rested oddly cold without his touch.
We were beyond the castle proper now, but still within the ramparts, standing on a ledge about one story’s height from the ground.
Before us spread out all of the facilities that kept the castle running, including the training yard I had spied yesterday morning.
“Welcome to your army,” he said simply.
My eyes widened as I took in the various practice areas.
Ahead of us were over a dozen sparring rings, each covered by a different surface, like sand, stone, and grass.
The fighters in the rings were varied in their weapon choices and fighting styles.
Some were fighting with swords, while others were using weapons I barely recognized, and a handful were going hand-to-hand.
I was pleased to see several women fighting with the men, all moving so quickly the weapons were a blur.
As someone who had only ever trained in the sword and dagger with a grumpy blacksmith, I was quickly realizing I had a lot to learn.
The next section contained warded practice circles, where soldiers were practicing safely wielding their magic against what had to be reinforced targets.
A running track went around the outside of the yard.
Farther down, outside the track, was an archery range.
I squinted past that to an obstacle course with climbing walls and agility challenges.
Racks of practice weapons stood everywhere, containing everything from basic swords to exotic polearms.
I lost track of the different types of fighting styles, the different types of training happening.
Everyone knew their place and what they were doing here, carrying out the activities with a grace that I’d never seen before.
The sheer number of bodies working in this space significantly outnumbered the number of people who lived in my entire village.
How was I ever to fit in here, let alone run an army?
“I have an army? And it consists of how many people exactly? What am I supposed to do with them?”
His eyes crinkled—I was starting to learn that was his tell of amusement. “Don’t worry. They run themselves for the most part. And this isn’t your whole army, just a part of it. There are other parts spread throughout Serentyn.”
I tried to take it all in, but my eyes continually went back to a pair of sword fighters.
I had never seen anyone move with that speed and grace.
If you had asked me before today, I would have told you I was decent with the sword, but I was nothing like them.
The longer I watched, the more I realized that they weren’t just fighting with metal weapons.
One of them flicked a hand, and a whip of fire appeared.
The other countered with what looked like wind as the fire redirected toward its wielder, who hastily changed the whip into a fireball and lobbed it at the fighter, who moved into it and batted it out of the way with the sword.
It headed toward a group of runners, one of whom stopped and unleashed a torrent of water, the fireball dissipating with a woosh.
Griff led me down a steep set of steps carved into the stone wall.
He gave me a tour of the whole facility, pride evident in his descriptions.
As people noticed us, they paused to bow their heads respectfully before continuing with whatever they were doing.
But no one approached us. No one asked me for anything.
And damn if that wasn’t refreshing after the influx of courtiers yesterday.
Eventually, we had circled the yard and were back to the sparring rings.
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Griff said, as we walked around the side.
It was the fighter I had been watching earlier.
Her dark hair had begun to gray, and she kept it braided tightly back, her skin browned from being out in the sun day in and day out.
Ignoring the silver in her hair, she appeared to be not that much older than me, but I had learned to be cautious with judging ages.
She was dressed in worn leathers that had clearly seen better days and was strapped with weapons.
I quickly lost count of how many daggers were around her waist and legs.
Griff introduced me to Kaia Guerin, general in the army and head swordmistress.
I held out my hand, and she clasped it in a firm grip, her skin calloused from years of holding a sword. Her brow furrowed slightly as if she was trying to place something before saying, “Well met, your highness.”
“Just Lexa, please.”
An approving smile stretched across her face. “Well met indeed, Lexa. I fought alongside your aunt and your parents.”
I shoved down the questions that her casual mention of my parents stirred up as I mentally adjusted her age up quite a bit.
Her look was appraising. I don’t know if she was looking at my fighting leathers or the way I carried myself, or something else entirely, but she jerked her head at the practice blades. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Griff unstrapped the crossed swords on his back, setting them aside, and lifted two practice blades.
“You?” I croaked. “I’m fighting you?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Scared, Princess?”
I scoffed with a bravado I didn’t feel. “Hardly. And my name is Lexa.”
Our hands brushed as I took one of the practice blades from him, an exchange of power zinging my arm.