2 Spooked
Spooked
Vaelira jolted awake, clutching the thin mattress beneath her, and for a moment, the world tilted. Light angled through the curtains and onto iron cots that sat in neat rows across the clay tiled floor.
A clay tiled floor that was now spinning.
She dragged herself upright, her breathing unsteady, palms turning clammy.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her midsection screamed in protest. Stiffly, she pulled up the hem of her shirt, revealing angry puckered skin stitched tightly by dark thread.
The contrast against her pale skin made bile rise in the back of her throat.
The slice of the blade had been bad enough, but Rurik’s kick had done more damage than she’d thought.
Kili had patched her up and ordered her to stay the night, and Vaelira would have been a fool to try to argue with the matron.
She had the old woman’s herbal tonic to thank for the nausea, no doubt, but it had allowed her to sleep more peacefully than she would have managed back at the cottage without it, so she wasn’t going to complain.
Vaelira shoved her feet into her worn leather boots as the doors to the sanatorium swung open.
Her brother hurried inside, his thick hair sticking up at odd angles. His hazel eyes, the same as her own, were ringed with shadows, his jaw lined with stubble. Another late night then.
“Lira,” Jon breathed, catching his breath. “You don’t have to do this. You can wait another year. Or come and join me in the orchard.”
Despite the hoarseness in his voice, probably after another night at Polk’s, he sounded hopeful. He always was when broaching the subject, but she knew the attempt was only half-hearted. They’d been having this conversation long enough for it to be anything but.
“I do,” she said, “and I won’t.” She stood, not missing the quick once over he gave her. “I’m fine,” she added, heading for the door.
He hesitated, then followed, his long strides catching up with ease. “What if you fall from your horse because you can’t keep your seat? You could die, Lira.”
“People die every day.”
Jon flinched.
“What I mean,” she continued more carefully, “is that at least this way I can do something about it.”
Jon pushed open the door into the hallway, holding it for her. “It’s not your responsibility. No one would think less of you if you stopped now.”
Vaelira couldn’t help but laugh. “I won’t even be allowed on patrol past the walls until my second year. What could possibly cause me harm here?”
Jon nodded, his jaw tight. “You’re all I’ve got left, Lira. You know that, right? If anything were to happen to you… I couldn’t live with it. Not after everything.”
Vaelira’s heart clenched at the words. “What about that girl you’ve been seeing?”
Jon frowned. “You mean Scarlett? I wouldn’t say I’m seeing her.”
“You’ve been seeing her every night for the past month,” Vaelira raised a brow, stepping out into the morning and shielding her eyes against the pale light.
The ocean breeze met her with a brisk chill, scattering pale blushrose petals from the pot of blossoms across the road. Delicate leaves lifted into the air and tumbled down the street like ash on the wind.
“Yes, well,” Jon pursed his lips. “I don’t think she wants anything serious.”
Vaelira squeezed his arm. “Why don’t you ask her before you make assumptions?” She smiled up at him. “I have to go.”
“Ah salts, I forgot.” Jon smacked his forehead. “A messenger came. Change of plans. You have to report to the stables.”
“But the archery range is at the barracks?”
Jon shrugged. “Just passing along the message.”
By the time she reached the stables, her breath was ragged and a cold sweat trickled down her neck. What was usually a distance she could run with ease, had become difficult at a walk. She was going to break Rurik’s nose if she saw him again.
The barn bustled with movement. Horses shifted nervously in their stalls, stomping their hooves against the packed dirt. No one glanced her way, the recruits too busy saddling mounts, checking bowstrings, or counting arrows.
The familiar stink of manure and straw rushed to meet her, faded memories rising with it.
She remembered strong arms lifting her into the saddle.
The feel of thick leather reins in her small hands.
A deep comforting laugh…
A life that felt a world away.
As she neared her mare’s stall, Vaelira caught a glimpse of Commander Lysander at the far end of the barn, talking with two men. Their hoods were down now, and she saw the faces of the Royal Guards for the first time.
One was older than the other by decades, with a proud nose and short silver hair. The younger guard was probably no more than a few years her senior, with cropped dark hair and a jaw too sharp for the gentle curve of his nose.
The Commander glanced her way with a small nod. She forced a smile at the attempted reassurance, trying not to think about who was responsible for her being paired with Rurik in the first place, then she swung open the gate to Millie’s stall.
A body slammed into her, slender arms wrapping around her neck.
“Thank the Gods,” Freya said, abandoning the saddle she had been tightening to pull Vaelira into a tight embrace. Vaelira’s throat tightened as pain lanced through her side.
“I tried to see you after my fight,” Freya continued, “but Kili wouldn’t let me into the San. Is it bad?”
“I’m fine,” Vaelira said for the second time that morning, and just as untruthfully.
Freya didn’t look convinced but nodded anyway. “I thought I would get Millie ready for you just in case. Good thing I did.”
“Thanks,” Vaelira said, giving her friend a grateful smile. “How come we’re saddling up?”
“Apparently those golden guards weren’t impressed by our display yesterday. They wanted to see something more challenging.” Freya rolled her eyes, drawing out the last word with a shrug.
“And how exactly do you know that?” Vaelira raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, you know,” Freya shrugged again. “Wren,” she added, pursing her lips and avoiding Vaelira’s eye.
Vaelira slapped her lightly on the arm. “You’re still seeing him?” she said incredulously. “I thought Commander Lysander put a stop to that. Something about senior members of the Guard not getting involved with recruits. Ring any bells?”
“Oh hush,” Freya said, waving her off.
Vaelira rolled her eyes. “Go.” She shoved Freya out of the stall. “At least one of us needs to make it through this.”
Freya disappeared, only to pop her freckled face over the gate a moment later, her green eyes alight with excitement. “It’s not fair really. You’d probably come out on top this round if it weren’t for Rurik. You were firing arrows before you knew how to walk.”
Vaelira snorted at the exaggeration and waved her away. When Freya was gone, she turned towards Millie, patting her neck as the mare nuzzled into her. Vaelira might not have come out on top in archery, but she would have been damn close. Now she’d be lucky to land a single shot.
Mounting had not been easy, but she’d swallowed her pride and used the stool to climb into the saddle. Vaelira could have sworn Millie was walking more carefully than usual. If even her horse had noticed her injury, the others surely had too.
Heat prickled the back of her neck. She couldn’t afford to be the weak link.
The sun was beating down over the walls now, turning the winter’s day to one of early spring. Recruits lined up in their saddles outside the stables, some fiddling nervously with their reins, others unnecessarily adjusting the straps of their quivers.
Facing the group, Commander Lysander sat tall atop his bay stallion. The two Royal Guards flanked him on their white steeds, the standard mounts for Caerthalyn guards. Their bright coats gleamed, out of place amongst a sea of chestnuts, greys, and blacks.
“Gods forbid they let us forget who they are,” someone mumbled from behind Vaelira.
She didn’t disagree, but she couldn’t help but marvel at their splendour, at the way the sunlight caught their pearlescent coats, turning the hairs gold as they shifted under their riders.
Commander Lysander began speaking just as the dark-haired guard’s gaze found hers.
He held her stare for a heartbeat longer than felt natural.
Her cheeks had barely begun to heat before he looked away.
She looked down at the reins in her hands, cursing herself for getting distracted, and by a man of all things.
Vaelira drew her attention back to the Commander as he explained that they were going to be leaving Anhaven and travelling the short distance to a nearby wood.
An excited ripple passed through the recruits.
Leaving the safety of the walls was unexpected, even if there wasn’t much to fear in the daylight.
“Scouts have reported raiders crossing into Eastvale these past weeks,” Commander Lysander continued, “keep your eyes sharp and watch each other’s backs.”
An armed group of their size would be enough to deter any raiding party, but you never did know when it came to raiders, at least as far as she had heard.
They were as unpredictable as they were ruthless.
With their wicked weapons and merciless nature, they cared only for what they could take from you and showed no mercy to those that didn’t oblige.
She half hoped she would run into one out here.
To make them pay for the pain they had caused so many.
Had caused her.
They filed through the town gates, riding down the slope before turning north. The wood was already visible on the horizon, a dark mass of trunks crowned by gilded branches.
Vaelira was grateful they kept to a walk. Dread pooled in her stomach at the thought of having to ride at full speed through the trees, her stitches straining, balance faltering, let alone trying to wield a bow.