13. Mare
Mare
I'd held a sword once before—as a child. Liam had become strangely fixated on weaponry, and he'd dragged me out to the yard to practice with him.
We'd used wooden sticks back then—foolish weapons. Aenir trained elite longbowmen and elk riders with weighty lances. The only people in our country who used swords were Tirnanog's myrmidons.
And they were all gone.
Tightening my hands around Cierthine's thick hilt, I steadied my breath and lifted my gaze.
Liam paced the yard opposite me. He tossed off his cloak and rolled up his tunic's sleeves. The crimson fabric matched the blood I'd seen pour from his arm, back in Galasvar.
Bandages and a brace still bound his wrist. The vined horror had fractured it.
Dwelling on the creature threw me back into bloodied streets.
I saw the child's head turning into a red, pulpy mass. My brother, bleeding out. A dragon, descending from the sky. Death all around, torn flesh. Agonized screams.
Blinking, I tried to drive the memories away. They lingered, like an acrid taste I could not wash out.
Liam drew a dagger from his belt—a real weapon, made of steel. A strange nostalgia struck me, seeing him all grown up in a position we'd only taken up as children.
What happened to my sweet baby brother? These days, my constant companion had a sharp tongue and thieving tendencies. Father had gone terribly wrong with Liam, somewhere.
"Ready?" Liam asked.
"No," I said honestly.
Cierthine was the most beautiful blade I'd laid eyes on. Its ebony length pulsed with gentle violet light, humming in tune with my breath. For the first time, I felt it.
This blade was mine.
Alas, that didn't make me any less of a complete novice at swordplay.
"Maybe." I lowered the blade. "We should just wait for the Paragon. It's not like you know much about swordplay."
"And tell him you've never even swung that thing?" Liam pointed his dagger at me. "Do you want him to tell everyone you're better off dead? Hell, he might slip poison into your drink himself."
"He wouldn't. Paragons are noble. Heroes."
"Right . . . " Liam's eyes darkened. He lowered himself into a defensive stance. "Just . . . take a swing. See how it feels."
Sharp, frigid air rushed through the yard. Snow fell from a nearby rooftop, piling up by its gate. Breathing in, I lifted Cierthine and . . . swung.
The attack was meant to cleave toward Liam's side, but I lost balance and teetered off course.
Cierthine flew from my hands and landed in the snow as I fell backward on my ass.
Liam unfolded from his defensive stance. "Oh, it's even worse than I thought."
"Saint's shit," I breathed. "It's heavy."
"You didn't realize that already?"
"It's a lot heavier when you're trying to kill someone with it."
"How about this: I can make you a disguise, help you change your name," Liam offered. "Forlaith has eyes everywhere, but there are some nooks where their vigil is lax."
"I'm not running away." Rising, I dusted myself off and retrieved the Paragon's blade.
My blade. I was the Paragon.
Oh, gods.
My fingers trembled. Snow fell from the hostel's roof, and the chill wind dug into my skin, spreading the tremors throughout my body.
Maybe the Paragon would kill me for being a waste of space.
Hefting Cierthine, I pointed it toward Liam and lunged forward. My brother's gaze shifted to something behind me, and panic flashed across his face. But it was too late to change course.
What happened next was a blur. A shadow descended over me as I took my first step. Warmth enfolded my being, and Cierthine crashed into another blade—but it wasn't Liam's.
I blinked. A man stepped from the shadows behind me and blocked my path. Before I could register his appearance, I felt his free hand on mine. And then Cierthine was ripped from my grip.
The blade's weight left my hands, and I stumbled, surprised.
A knight with fiery red hair stood between Liam and me—silver armor gleaming softly in the moonlight. He held a golden rapier in one hand and spun Cierthine in the other, as though it were no heavier than a feather.
Liam's dagger whirled through the air, flying toward the man's exposed back. He didn't even glance back as he lifted his rapier and swatted the knife from the air with a metallic clang.
"I've never held Cierthine before." The man smiled at me. "It's not as heavy as Killian claimed."
My mind spun rapidly, desperate to regain my poise.
This was the man I'd been instructed to wait for. Tiernan. Leader of the Paragons, chosen of the holy rapier, and . . .
I blinked a few times, taking in his bronze skin, easy smile, and brilliant golden eyes. To say nothing of the unnatural, warm aura he exuded.
I thought Paragon Tiernan was a Fireborn. Why had no one thought to mention he was actually a Solheart?
Straightening my back, I knitted my hands at my waist. "Paragon Tiernan!" The words emerged as little more than a squeak.
So much for dignity.
Liam straightened out. "Woops. I was aiming for Mare, not you."
I shot him a glare.
Paragon Tiernan grinned. Flipping Cierthine around, he offered it back to me, hilt-first. "Don't worry, you wouldn't have hit me."
Taking Cierthine, I let it fall by my side. "I thought you weren't supposed to be here for another week."
"I was already on my way south." Paragon Tiernan sheathed his rapier. He glanced at Liam. "May I steal your sister?"
"Take her." Liam pushed me toward the Paragon. "Talk some sense into the nobles while you're at it." He retrieved his cloak and stalked away.
Knowing my brother, he was searching for the perfect spot to eavesdrop.
The grin on the Paragon's face vanished. "Are you alright?"
I stared at him in silence. Of all the things I'd imagined the Paragon's first words to be, 'Are you alright?' had not been among them.
"Yes," I finally answered. "All things considered."
Paragon Tiernan glanced around, radiant gold eyes taking in every inch of the yard. He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "You haven't held a sword before, have you?"
"I have. Two or three times."
His mouth flickered with a faint smile. "Walk with me."
Shoving Cierthine into its hilt, I fell into step with him. He towered above me as we walked the streets of Kentoro—and not just physically. Killian had stood out on the ramparts in the same way.
I walked alongside a legend. Someone larger than life. He had a confident bearing, the stride of a man who'd been a soldier for years.
And he was a Solheart. The shimmer of light and warmth they exuded reminded me of why they stood above the rest of us in the hierarchy.
Paragon Tiernan looked down at me. "Killian asked me to join him on the southern border. I didn't expect . . . " He trailed off. "No one here approves of what your king asked of me. Word will have reached Forlaith by now—and they will be livid."
"Are they . . . allowed to kill Paragons?"
"You're not a Paragon." His eyes hardened. "Not until you've taken the oath, sworn by a monarch. Your king won't dare—not until he has Forlaith’s approval."
Forlaith was the seat of the Solhearts’ empire. King Ailithir would be powerless before them. Our nation was the most progressive in the empire, and even our lords had balked at the notion of a woman wearing the Paragon title.
I was royally fucked.
The distress must have shone clearly on my face. Paragon Tiernan stopped and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'm here to protect you. No one will lay a finger on you while I'm around."
Heat radiated from his touch like a furnace. I paused and took in his features.
A black cloak rested around his shoulders, and a matching collar brushed his cheeks. Red hair fell in waves to either side. He was part Fireborn, then.
No matter who they lay with, Solhearts always produced pure-blooded children like them. But there were signs, when one of the parents had been lesser—like the red hair of a Fireborn.
A handsome white surcoat fitted around his armor; its radiance ended in stark black boots and gloves.
Forlaith inquisitors wore colors like that. Secretive men who stalked the shadows, searching for heretics. Traitors. For those who worshipped the shadows.
For people like me, who should not have survived Galasvar.
I ground my teeth together, refusing to let fear overtake my features.
Paragon Tiernan retracted his hand, shattering my thoughts. Ice seeped into my bones where his touch had been.
"I wish we had more time to talk, but . . . " He took a step away, and an odd light entered his eyes. "You know . . . You can refuse it. The sword. Me."
My head snapped up. "And let them kill me?"
"The Paragon's life is not easy. I don't want you to think you have no choice."
"Speaking of choices." I studied his face. "Why did you accept the king's request?"
"Paragon weapons do not make mistakes."
Cierthine pulsed under my grip. I watched the dancing violet light streaming up and down the black blade.
Truth be told, I wanted to fall to my knees and beg him to protect me.
All my life, people had looked at me with two opposing lights.
Humor. Laughter at the city-less princess who held her head high.
Pity. For the girl who'd lost her people before she could even speak.
I'd lifted my chin and walked forward, though I didn't know where I was going. Even though nothing brought me closer to my goal. To find them.
To see my mother. To receive an answer beyond screaming at the stars and begging them to tell me why my world was gone and everyone had simply forgotten.
Following Paragon Tiernan didn't mean cowering behind his cloak—it meant learning to be a Paragon.
And pretending to be someone I was not.
So I smiled insincerely. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't have a choice. Either I train under you, or I die." I tilted my head. "So I hope you're a half-decent teacher."
"I hope you're a half-decent leader," he echoed playfully. "To keep me in line. I'll stray toward protecting you, not training you."
His words were an immense relief, but I pretended otherwise.
"I am. When do we start?"