Chapter 8 #2
The next morning at the breakfast table, my thoughts spun like a storm. I couldn’t stop replaying what I’d overheard from Aiden and Jasmine. If the Eastern Encampment really was on the brink of collapse, the tide of this war would shift and not in our favor.
“Good morning,” Ryan said, dropping into the seat across from me with his usual mountain of food.
“Someone looks lost in thought.” He raised a blond brow as he stabbed a sausage link.
I glanced around the hall; no professors were close enough to overhear, just the low murmur of half-asleep cadets. Leaning in, I lowered my tone.
“I heard something last night. Between Aiden and Jasmine. The wards at the Eastern Encampment, they’re weakening. Failing.”
Ryan froze, fork halfway to his mouth. “Seriously?” he muttered, voice tight.
“Not only that, but—” I started, only for Luna to plop down beside me, tea in hand. Her olive-green eyes narrowed instantly.
“What are we whispering about?” she asked, leaning closer.
Before I could stop him, Ryan blurted, “The Eastern Encampment.” Too loud. I hissed at him to hush, darting a glance around the table. He lifted his hands in mock surrender, mouthing sorry.
Luna’s expression sharpened. “Wait. The Eastern Encampment? What about it?”
“The wards are breaking,” I replied quietly. “The commander down there can’t reinforce them fast enough. If they fail…” My throat tightened. “The Blood Assassins could sweep through.” Luna’s face paled; the joke that usually lingered at the edge of her mouth was nowhere to be found.
Gia slid into the seat beside her, catching our grim faces. “Whoa. What did I just walk into? You all look like someone died.”
Ryan leaned in, lowering his voice this time. “Ryn says the wards at the eastern post are failing.”
Gia blinked. “That place has been fortified for decades. If it really is crumbling-”
“Then everything changes,” I finished softly, staring down at my plate as I pushed a piece of toast across it. “And I think the High King’s covering it up. Aiden said his father told him the encampment was fine, but Jasmine got word directly; it’s not. If we lose that position…”
I let the rest hang. A heavy silence settled.
Even Ryan wasn’t eating. “For now,” I whispered, “we keep this between us. No gossip. No panic. We have the Trifecta coming, and the Fourfold Rite. We need to stay sharp.” They all nodded, though unease flickered in their eyes.
Minutes later, Jackson dropped into the seat beside Gia, and Alaric soon after, oblivious to the quiet storm brewing at our end of the table.
After breakfast, we headed toward the training room.
This time, stepping onto the sparring mats was different.
The extra lessons with Alaric had paid off.
I felt steadier, stronger, like the burn beneath my skin had finally achieved direction instead of chaos.
Aiden paired us off again, and now I found myself standing across from Clive.
He shifted nervously, red curls catching the light as he adjusted his stance.
His chestnut-brown eyes were wide—too wide—giving away everything he was trying to hide.
Fingers twitched near his hilt, betraying hesitation he probably wished he could swallow.
It didn’t take a genius to see this was his first time fighting a woman.
“Clive, don’t overthink it,” I said, sliding into a ready stance. “Come at me.” He hesitated. I didn’t. In a flash, I twisted under his guard, swept his legs, and sent him crashing to the ground. One of my daggers rested lightly against the side of his neck. His breath caught.
I moved away and sheathed the blade in the holster at my thigh.
As I straightened, my gaze drifted and snagged.
Aiden stood at the edge, leaning against a stone pillar, arms crossed as he watched the match.
Then Jasmine walked up beside him. He turned and smiled.
Not a smirk. Not that sharp, infuriating curve he wore like armor.
An actual smile. Easy. Unguarded. For some reason, it hit harder than I expected.
I tore my eyes away and focused back on Clive, who was still staring at the floor as if it had personally betrayed him.
“Clive,” I said, softer now, giving him a small pat on the arm. “You have to fight back.” Because if he didn’t start pushing harder, this place would eat him alive.
“I know, it’s just…” He trailed off, fixing his eyes on the mat.
“Look,” I said, my voice low. “I get it; it’s weird.
But out there, you won’t get the luxury of hesitation.
Women kill as easily as men. And during the trifecta?
Any one of these first years could gut you without blinking.
You have to be ready for that.” He gave a half-hearted nod, and we reset.
But I could still tell he was holding back.
That’s when Aiden strode over, shadow and steel in motion.
Without a word, he grabbed Clive by the front of his leather armor and yanked him close with frightening ease.
“Listen to me,” Aiden growled, voice like gravel and fire.
“If you don’t fight Ruin like your life depends on it, then you’ll be fighting me instead.
And trust me, you won’t enjoy that outcome.
Now fight… or be taught an even harsher lesson.
” Clive’s eyes went wide with panic. He nodded so fast it looked painful.
Aiden released him with a shove and turned to walk away, but I grabbed his arm.
“Was that really necessary?” I asked, glaring up at him.
He gazed down at me, jaw clenched. “Your sweet little pep talk didn’t do a damn thing. If he can’t handle fighting a woman in a controlled match, how’s he going to survive the fourfold rite? Or an actual war?”
“He’s just nervous. You didn’t have to scare him half to death.”
Aiden stepped in, voice low and fierce. “You think the Fourfold Rite is soft and forgiving, Ruin?” I opened my mouth, but he cut me off.
“You have no idea what it’s like out there.
One mistake, just one, and you’re dead. If Clive can’t take the pressure now, this place will chew him up and spit him out.
So, drop it… and fight him.” He walked off, shoulders rigid with frustration.
I exhaled slowly, brushing my fingers over the hilt of my dagger before turning back to Clive.
This time, he attacked like he meant it.
By the end of the match, I had a gash on my arm and a slice across my cheek.
He apologized over and over, guilt heavy in his eyes.
I just shook my head. “Don’t worry about it,” I told him, giving him a faint smile.
“This is bound to happen.” I added before making my way to the medical ward.
“You always seem to end up here with a new injury,” my aunt murmured, tending to the gash on my arm. Her golden waves framed her face as she leaned in, the familiar scent of chamomile clinging to her robes.
I gave her a crooked smile. “What can I say? Trouble likes me.” She shot me a look, half concern, half exasperation. “I know,” I added quickly. “But I am getting better. Alaric’s been training me on the side, hand-to-hand, mostly.” I reached out and touched her hand gently, hoping to reassure her.
But Mira wasn’t worried about the blood. Her brows knitted in that quiet, maternal way of hers. “I don’t doubt your skill, Ryn. You’ve always been capable. What I worry about… is you. Being here. You were supposed to go to the Healing Academy. That’s what you trained for, not to become a warrior.”
I exhaled softly and looked away. “I know it’s not ideal.
And trust me, if I could walk out, I would.
But… there’s something inside me that doesn’t want to.
I need to see this through. I have to. And honestly, my medical training has already come in handy.
” I reached into my belt pouch and pulled out a small tin.
“Made this last night, pain reliever balm.”
Her lips quirked into a slight smile. “So, all those summers in the greenhouse with your mom and me paid off, huh?” My heart twisted at the memory.
I could almost feel the warmth of those days, the green-tinted light through the glass, the scent of crushed sage, the way my mother’s laugh filled every corner of the garden.
“Yeah,” I murmured softly. “If only I could’ve followed in her footsteps.”
“Hey,” Mira reached up and gently tilted my chin until I met her eyes.
“Your mother would be proud of you, Rynlee. You’re strong.
Resilient. A survivor, just like her. And like you said…
finish this. Not for your father. Not for the Academy.
But for you.” Her words settled in my chest like sunlight. But the doubt continued to linger.
“I still can’t make it up the fourth tier,” I admitted, my voice dropping. “Firebeard gave me advice and told me to think outside the box, but I keep jumping too soon, always missing the edge. I’m scared that when the Fourfold Rite comes… I won’t survive. I’ll die because of a damn incline.”
Mira didn’t flinch. “You’ll make it. You know why?
” she asked, her gaze steady on mine. “Because you’re a Yarrows.
And your mother raised you to never back down from anything, not even a mountain.
” Tears welled in my eyes as her words wrapped around me like armor.
I reached forward and pulled her into a tight embrace, breathing in the comfort of her.
“Thank you, Aunt Mira,” I whispered. She was right. I couldn’t give up. Not now. Not ever. I would survive.
Later that evening, I stepped onto the training field where Alaric and I had agreed to meet. The air was cool, shadows stretching long across the grass. Alaric was already there, mid-stretch, his silhouette outlined against the fading sky. “Hey,” I called, offering a small smile as I approached.
He glanced over with a grin. “Hey. How was your day?”