25 Phantom Hands #2
Morning light filtered through the high windows of the empty training hall.
Vaelira had skipped breakfast and come straight to drills, hoping to draw as little attention as possible.
Anything was better than staying in her room with her thoughts.
She needed to prove she still belonged here, not only to the others, but to herself.
Last night had helped. Ressa and Fang had stayed late, until she’d finally kicked them out, insisting she needed her sleep if she was going to show up for training. She hadn’t planned to go, but when she woke, she’d felt different. Maybe she could get through this if they were by her side.
Recruits trickled in and Vaelira avoided their stares. Elijah’s visits these past days couldn’t have gone unnoticed, she only wished she could. Ressa and Fang spotted her and came to sit on the bench she was slumped on.
“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Ressa said quietly, watching their new combat master, Lorven, enter.
“Hopefully I can keep a low profile,” Vaelira replied, eyeing the man. He strode to the centre of the room, turning in a slow circle until his eyes found hers. Her skin prickled but he just gave her a crooked smile before turning away.
“Come on,” Fang said. “Let’s grab a mat before they’re all taken.”
As was to be expected after several days of missed training, Vaelira was soon out of breath and slick with sweat. Bent double, hands on her knees, she gasped for air.
“What’s wrong?” a woman sneered from the next mat. “Prince’s whore can’t keep up?”
Vaelira turned away, forcing her breath to slow, ignoring the prickling heat in her palms. She rejoined the others on the floor, lying back to begin crunches.
“What was that about?” Ressa said between breaths.
“The usual.”
Her abdominals burned, but she welcomed it, let the fire in her muscles drown out the one rising in her chest. She needed to get back to her routine. Drills by day, research by night.
Galfri had promised to look for a map of the Heartlands, but she didn’t hold out much hope.
Even if they found Korveth, how would that help them find Maerin Vireldane’s Veritas?
His mother was long dead, and she wouldn’t have told anyone her son’s true name, not if what Vaelira had read in A History of Mages was true.
Keeping it a secret was the whole point, and his mother would have taken it to her grave.
“Recruit!”
She snapped out of her thoughts. Ressa and Fang were standing now, eyes wide.
Lorven towered over her. His hair was tied into a bun at his neck, his tanned skin flecked with pale scars. A thicker one sat below his right eye, as if someone had tried to drive a blade through it. “Did the knock to your head make you stupid, girl?” he barked, arms folded.
She scrambled to her feet, wiping her palms on her trousers.
When she didn’t answer, he laughed. “It seems so. Drop and give me fifty.”
The training hall stilled. Every recruit stared. Her face heated, but not with shame. Drawing a breath, she dropped to the floor. Each push upwards of her arms was heavier than the last. When she finished, sweat streamed down her temples and her biceps ached.
Lorven wrinkled his nose in disgust and turned back to the others. “What are you all staring at?” he snapped. “Back to it!”
Fang offered a hand and helped her up. “You sure you’re okay to be back?”
Vaelira just gave a tight smile and stepped past him, sinking onto the bench.
Hand-to-hand drills began and people got into pairs. Ressa and Fang glanced her way once, then began their training.
They didn’t need her. In just a few days, she’d fallen behind.
Maybe Queen Mairese had been right, maybe she didn’t deserve to be here.
She’d spent too long focused on training her essensia and trying to find out everything she could about the summoners.
She’d neglected her training, and now everyone could see it.
The bench jolted as someone sat down heavily beside her. Lukas.
Vaelira made to rise, but he gripped her shoulder and shoved her back down. His fingers dug into her skin. “Looks like the Prince fucked all the sense out of you,” he sneered.
“How’s your throat?” she said, cocking her head, remembering the blow she’d dealt him all those weeks ago before Kolborn was killed.
“You little bitch,” he snarled, surging forward and reaching for her.
She grabbed his wrist and twisted, throwing him to the ground, then walked towards the mat, her palms stinging dangerously.
Lukas caught her wrist. The rage surged like a wild beast in her chest. She gritted her teeth, trying to swallow it, but he was behind her now, the heat rolling off him like a furnace. He yanked her arm back, pain jolting in her shoulder as he dragged her closer. Her pulse thundered.
She wasn’t in the training hall anymore. She was outside the chapel and Elijah’s hand, not Lukas,’ was holding her. Her breath came faster, her chest tightened.
Phantom hands brushed her waist. Her neck. The curve of her ear. Her head spun, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.
“Looks like it’s not just the sense he fucked out of you,” Lukas said, louder now.
Fury rose. Her control unravelled with it, slipping from that hollow place where she’d kept it coiled tight.
He laughed. “Must’ve shoved his cock so far down your—”
Blinding light flared and Lukas flew back. Vaelira staggered, her hands trembling.
Trembling, and engulfed in flame.
Someone screamed. Lukas lay crumpled against the far wall. His sleeve was burned away, the skin beneath raw and blistered. Bile rose in her throat. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, she’d just wanted him to let go.
“Merciful Gods,” Ressa whispered.
Vaelira turned slowly. Everyone was backing away, eyes fixed on her. Master Lorven stood in the centre of the room, his gaze steady and cold.
Her hands dropped to her side, the fire vanishing.
That’s when she saw them. Guards swarmed into the room, pushing past recruits, golden crests glinting at their necks. She didn’t recognise a single face. The fear hit harder this time. She’d done the one thing she was never supposed to do.
“Hold on,” Fang said, stepping to block the guards.
Vaelira stifled a sob. Even now, he was trying to protect her.
“She didn’t mean to—she didn’t—”
“Don’t,” Vaelira said softly, stepping around him. “It’s not your fight.”
She let the Guards take her.
Jurah sat across from her, his desk cluttered with parchment. The guards had been dismissed, but he hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t even looked at her.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said. “I lost control. I didn’t want to hurt him.”
“Didn’t you?”
She shrank back. She had wanted to hurt him. “Not like that.”
Jurah closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “This is why Elijah’s been so secretive, isn’t it? Why he insisted you could help with these summonings.”
“What’s going to happen to me?”
“I don’t know. I’ll speak with the High Chancellor.”
Her voice was small. “You don’t hate me?”
His laugh surprised her, though it was laced with something bitter. “No, Vaelira. I do not hate you.”
She tried to smile but it felt wrong. “But your scared of me?”
He met her gaze. “I’d be a fool not to. Gods, when Elijah gets wind of this, the Abyss will break loose.”
Vaelira flinched inwardly. If only he knew.
A knock sounded.
“Not now,” Jurah called.
The door opened. Heavy boots thudded across the floor. Guards entered, hands on their sword hilts.
“Vaelira Tarn,” the one at the front said. He wore a white cloak, a small golden crown pinned at his throat. “In the name of His Majesty King Roderic Duremont, sixth of his name, you are under arrest for the crime of unlawfully practising essensia and practising with malicious intent.”
Jurah stepped forward, but one of the guards shoved him back. Vaelira was hauled to her feet. Cold metal clamped around her wrists. The flame in her chest flared then sputtered out.