15. Lora
Lora
As we continued our track upstream, the two guards assigned to our boat eased up, their rigid watch softening into something closer to companionship.
Serelis constantly scanned the shoreline as if expecting an ambush at any moment, her wiry frame taut with tension. In contrast, Nyra’s towering build usually relaxed against the boat’s edge, her lips curved in an easy smile.
The three of us took turns propelling the boat upstream while Erion practiced water wielding.
Small conversations sparked between us—brief exchanges about the weather, shared complaints about the river’s current, even a few genuine laughs when Erion’s fumbling attempts sent spray showering over all of us.
Once in a while, he spotted a plant beside the river and instantly rattled off its properties. If only his wielding would return as easily. None of the techniques I showed him seemed to stir even a flicker of recognition.
Each night, we stopped at an inn where Erion endured his so-called “training” with the moon master before sneaking off to practice with me instead.
When we stopped at another inn after a week of travel, Erion’s skills had slightly improved, but he was still leagues away from the control he needed.
The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread made my stomach growl as we claimed a corner table. Voices buzzed around us—travelers swapping stories and locals gossiping about neighbors. As I gulped down my food, a few words cut through the noise, catching my attention.
“…so the Sun King cast him out. Exiled!”
“What! His own son!”
My head snapped toward the group at the next table. Three men, rough-looking but not unkind, leaned over their drinks.
“Excuse me.” I twisted in my seat. “What did you say about the Sun King?”
The nearest man glanced up. “Oh, just rumors. People are saying the Sun King exiled one of his sons. The younger one.”
Erion’s brow furrowed. “Why would he exile his son?”
I clenched my jaw. “Maybe they’re finally realizing how horrible they are and are turning on each other.”
A man from the next table raised his cup. “Hear, hear. People are saying we should attack now, while the Sun Kingdom is sundered.”
I liked the sound of that. A sundered Sun Kingdom was no doubt an easier target.
I could imagine the Queen’s council arguing over it. The General would push for an offensive, and rightly so. We’d be able to raise an army in no time. People like me, these three men, and countless others across the Queendom would no doubt climb over each other to join the attack.
But the Treasurer would insist war was too expensive. The Grand Moon Master would call for more research. The High Lord would suggest another ridiculous ball.
And the Queen…. she’d do nothing at all. She’d wait for Erion to fulfill his destiny and spare her the trouble of actually having to do something for her people.
“Attack?” Erion glanced between the men. “Isn’t that a bit excessive? What has the Sun Kingdom done to deserve that?”
A chill cinched around my ribs as images of Mother’s crackling skin filled my mind.
My voice turned glacial. “They deserve it. Trust me.”
Erion blinked at me. “But why? Why does everyone want the Queen to attack the Sun Kingdom?”
I forced breath into my lungs. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know. Didn’t remember.
“Never mind that,” Hadrien cut in, waving dismissively. “The Queen can wipe her arse with them for all I care. We’ve got more important things to worry about. Like your abysmal water wielding skills.” He jerked his chin at Erion. “Go fetch a bowl.”
Fury simmered beneath my skin. As if those resurfacing memories of Mother weren’t enough, I had to put up with this arrogant river-rot. How could he dismiss our conversation like that, as if the Sun Kingdom’s crimes were nothing.
Erion returned with the bowl and started his wobbly attempts at water wielding.
Hadrien sighed and shook his head. “We’re getting nowhere. Come on, we’ll try something new.”
He pompously dragged Erion outside. Frowning, I followed, curious if he might actually try a different teaching tactic this time.
Moonlight filtered through the leaves of a gnarled tree as Hadrien stopped in the yard outside the inn.
“Now, I shall teach you shadow wielding.” He puffed up his chest and made a flourish with his arms. “Shadow wielding is about force. You need to bend the darkness to your will. Command it to obey.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Darkness responded to intent, to an understanding of its nature—not brute mental force.
Shadows twitched around him, jerking and writhing, fighting his pull. Sweat beaded on his brow, his face contorting with strain.
Releasing the shadows, he straightened, smoothing his tunic. “There, like that. Now you try it.”
Erion hesitated, glancing at me. I gave him an encouraging nod, twirling my fingers as a reminder of the softer ways I’d taught him.
He reached for the shadows, coaxing them with flowing hands. They responded, sluggish but obedient, creeping across the ground in a slow wave.
Hadrien lifted his chin, preening like he’d just conquered a mountain. “There. See what proper instruction can achieve?”
I bit my tongue, my insides boiling.
Erion met my gaze, his lips pressed tight, but an amused glimmer flickered in his eyes. And despite everything, I found myself smiling.
Hadrien might ride the wave while I pulled the tide, but Erion knew the truth. He trusted me. Turned to me when doubt crept in. That knowledge settled like a quiet warmth in my chest.
I forced my shoulders to relax, shutting out Hadrien’s smug expression.
Erion’s progress might be slow, but there was still time. The world wouldn’t end tomorrow.
Whatever I had to do, no matter how long it took—I wouldn’t fail him. I’d stand beside him until he was powerful enough to seal the rift.