Chapter 12
TWELVE
ARYELLA
You can make an easy target out of someone who thinks they’ve already won.
—FROM THE BUTCHER OF NYRIDA’S LAST KNOWN LETTERS TO QUEEN ARYELLA I
I was the first cadet in the mess hall next to the main hall. I scarfed down breakfast, and by the time the others began to eat, I was already making my way to the center courtyard. The first day of training was to be held in the main hall, but when I tried to pull the door open, it was locked.
“What are you doing here?”
I spun around and faced Captain Valda Hoss. Her sleek black leathers were smoother, more form-fitting than the full armor she’d worn before. She appeared taller and even more intimidating.
“Waiting,” I answered.
She nodded toward the mess hall. “Breakfast is served after sunrise, which was ten minutes ago.”
“Yes.” I didn’t tell her the cooks had opened the doors a few minutes early when they saw someone waiting outside the door. “I already ate.”
When she shifted, so did her thick black locks, plaited close to her scalp, some strands tightened by intricately detailed metal cuffs. She assessed me, tight-lipped and brow furrowed, as if waiting to see if I would break beneath her stare.
“Just eager to get started, Captain,” I replied to break the silence.
Valda clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth three times before turning and unlocked the door to the main hall. I followed her in and saw the main tables had been cleared and replaced with twelve sparring mats, split into three rows of four.
Jittery excitement welled up inside me. I’d spent the last four months practicing for this. I refused to be confined to the identity Simeon forced upon me, and now I had the chance to prove I didn’t need to be.
Here, without my powers, I would be enough.
A few minutes later, cadets began trickling in. Mavic and Mina found me stretching in the corner with my back to the wall to ensure no one could sneak up behind me.
“Good morning.” Mina plopped down on the floor next to me and copied my stretch.
“Fera.” Mavic greeted me and sat down on my other side. “We missed you at breakfast.”
“I was up early.” The memory of a dangling vial of green poison flashed in my mind. I fixed my gaze on the worn wooden floor between my legs. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Lots of excitement,” Mina agreed. I caught them exchanging curious stares but tried not to dwell on it.
When the main doors burst open, everyone stood up and snapped tall and straight.
I did stand as Elias strode into the main hall with irritating confidence, but I took my time.
One glance was all I needed to confirm everything about him still looked annoyingly perfect.
I averted my eyes but felt his cool gaze lingering on me as he moved toward Valda at the end of the hall.
Mina fidgeted with something at her side and muttered to Mavic. He circled around to help her. I shifted to get a better view and saw she was having trouble getting her sheathed knife to sit right on the belt loop of her leathers.
Wait, her knife ?
I glanced around the room to see that everyone but me had at least one dagger strapped to their hip. I still hadn’t gotten mine back.
When I found Elias watching me, I refrained from fuming too visibly. Either my early rise caused me to miss whatever meeting had armed my peers or they had deliberately given a weapon to everyone but me.
My fingers compulsively flexed for my favorite dagger that wasn’t there.
Only over my dead body would Elias Winterton keep that dagger from me.
Hushed whispers followed me to the front of the room. It wasn’t smart to approach the two highest ranking individuals in the fortress without invitation, but I didn’t particularly care.
“I want my blades back,” I told him the moment I approached. “The rest of the trainees have been given daggers. I’d like mine.”
“Fera.” Elias greeted me with a stern nod, making a point to look down at me. Which wasn’t hard to do, given my size, but this felt insultingly intentional. “Are you demanding or asking?”
My nostrils flared. “Asking.”
He lifted an inquisitive brow. “I don’t know what manners they taught you in Brinnea, but that’s not a very polite way to ask a question.”
I clenched my fists at my sides. My knuckles cracked a little too loudly.
“Commander Winterton,” I said, infusing saccharine sweetness into my voice. “May I please have my daggers back?”
Beside him, Valda snorted. Elias didn’t smirk, but the twitch in his jaw made me think he was trying not to.
“You may have one .” He nodded at a lieutenant who dragged over a wooden chest. “Choose wisely.”
The chest opened with a creak, and… yes .
It was right at the top amongst the other daggers I came here with and plenty of others.
Relief washed over me at the sight of the silver, crown-shaped pommel with worn, intricate designs on the handle.
I snatched up my ancient blade, drew it close, and couldn’t get away from Elias Winterton and his stare quickly enough.
“You must have a death wish,” Mina mumbled, allowing me to slide in between her and Mavic. “You can’t just walk up to Commander Winterton and make demands .”
Technically, I realized, giving commands to the commander was something I could do.
“She’s a thrill seeker.” Mavic wiggled his eyebrows. “Aren’t you, Fera?”
I snorted and instantly thought of, and missed, both Caz and Finn. Mavic’s lighthearted, joking attitude reminded me a bit of Caz. It was clear how they all fit together as a family.
“Something like that,” I answered, half grinning.
Training began with basic hand-to-hand combat, which most of the others had already learned while growing up in the Caves.
Elias observed, stone-faced, while lieutenants milled about, correcting posture and position.
Valda walked by and cast her critical eyes over me, clearly itching to correct my stance or technique.
Pride swelled in my chest when she didn’t have to.
Soon, they separated us into pairs. Cadets were mostly matched evenly with each other. I was given a male opponent twice my size with cropped black hair and thick arms tattooed in bold artwork.
“You’re the Brinnean,” he observed in a deep, raspy voice as he began to circle me. I kept a few steps between us and countered his movements.
“Pleased to meet you.” I kept my steps light. With his massive, bear-size feet, he moved slower and more deliberately.
“Have you visited the infirmary yet?” His lip curled to reveal a crooked smile with a chipped front tooth. “I have a feeling you’ll be spending a lot of time there.”
“Can’t say I have.” I glanced at the thick, meaty fists clenched at his sides. Those would hurt if I wasn’t careful.
“You will today,” he grumbled menacingly.
I shrugged and gave him a simpering grin. “Let’s find out, shall we?”
He lunged and swung immediately. Sloppily .
I dodged. Despite his size, he was just a cadet, so maybe this would be easy.
Another swing. I dodged again. This continued for about a minute, until I dropped low, sprung up, faked left, and swiped my right fist across his mouth.
A small shock wave of pain shot through my wrist from the contact, but that was expected.
My blow wasn’t strong enough to knock him out, but it did throw him off.
He touched his index finger to the blood beading on his upper lip, cussed out an insult, and sneered at me from across the mat. A few snickers from bystanders fueled his embarrassment and anger. A hot-headed opponent made for an impulsive one, and I was confident that I had the upper hand.
But then my left foot slipped on something slick that hadn’t been there a moment ago. I shifted quickly to regain my balance, but the hair’s-breadth lapse in composure was enough for him to lunge and strike me in the gut.
His punch knocked the air right out of me. I bent forward, breathless, gripping my stomach with both arms. My vision blurred as I tried not to vomit from the throbbing pain beneath my ribs, which I knew would burst into an array of bruising colors by morning.
Breathe.
My command to myself, echoing in his voice, centered me, and I obeyed. I hadn’t heard a crack, I could raise my arm, and unless adrenaline was staving off the pain, I could still breathe comfortably.
“Good one. That… hurt .” I stumbled forward to brace my hand on his shoulder and make him believe I was out of breath. That I was surrendering after a single blow. “Gods, you’re strong.” He stood tall, smug and arrogant. “But you should never let your guard down after a hit.”
Grunting through my own pain, I gripped his broad shoulders and kneed him in the groin.
As he keeled forward, I punched his jaw and sent him stumbling backward.
It wasn’t enough to knock him unconscious, but he lost his balance, and I leveraged his own weight against him.
One shove, and he hit the mat, both hands guarding that precious place between his legs.
A chorus of empathetic groans sounded from the small crowd of spectators.
I stepped off the mat and tried to hide how I winced with every step, then stole a glance at the spot where my foot had slipped.
A puddle of grease glinted in the morning sunlight streaming in from the upper windows.
My opponent must have put it there as we circled, just in time for me to step right in it on my way around.
Elias watched me drag myself down the aisle between sparring mats, his face stern and unreadable.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the prick had put my opponent up to it.
“Damn,” Mavic muttered to his sister as I passed by them. “Badass.”
I wanted to smile at him. To relish in my win. But the pain in my side was too sharp to do much else other than force myself to breathe. I could consider healing it, but they all saw how hard I’d been hit. Too quick of a recovery could raise suspicion.