Chapter Thirty-Two
Adrian
“Rise or your family falls with you. Rise or die in the streets, forgotten and afraid. Rise or live in chains forever.”
“Focus!”
“I am,” I growled back at Gryfon who'd paused only long enough in his rapid knife throwing to scream at me once more.
“You aren’t even trying to save yourself,” he critiqued drily.
“I suppose running like hell from you doesn’t count?”
Zya snorted from where she'd been watching and I shot her a look that might have killed if I could access my magic. Having claimed she wanted to see Gryfon’s knife-throwing in action to better her own skill, she now sat cross legged upon a mossy boulder, sharpening her daggers while bemusedly watching my so-called training.
“The magic,” Gryfon snapped again. “Focus, Adrian.”
I rolled my eyes but squared my shoulders.
“Again,” I said.
Gryfon cocked his arm back and hurled another knife in my direction.
I didn’t run at first. I held up a hand in the knife’s direction as if I expected something to happen.
It didn’t and I nearly lost the tip of my finger for my efforts.
Hissing at the thin line of blood now trickling down my ring finger, I glared back at my trainer who merely shrugged.
“Oops,” he said.
I scoffed.
“I think drawing blood signifies we’re done for the day,” I hissed, stepping toward the jacket I'd stripped off when the morning had grown too hot for it.
“We’re done when I say we’re done,” he drawled, voice low and dangerous, his preferred method of communication.
I stood up, rolling my eyes.
“So say we’re done,” I replied. “I’m hot and tired and hungry and there’s the celebration tonight—”
“This is more important.”
“Not if it kills me, General.”
He scowled at the title and I delighted in how much he hated it.
I'd just learned the truth of Gryfon's status in Archí upon our arrival and of his displeasure at being addressed as such soon after.
Since then, it'd been my preferred nickname for the scowling warrior who still maintained that throwing daggers at me was the best way to force my magic to the surface, despite days of failure as evidence to the contrary.
“One more throw,” he said after a moment’s stare down.
“Fine,” I replied with a shrug, dropping my jacket to the dirt and striding back to my place several yards in front of him. “One more.”
He nodded and waited as I took up a stance which we had no idea whether or not even did anything. It was simply the stance we'd both decided had the best chance of succeeding in drawing something out of me.
One more, I thought. Just one more and then you can take a nice cold bath and get whatever stew and bread the cooks are making today.
I nodded.
Gryfon cocked his arm back, aimed, and grinned.
Before I could process what was happening, he whirled and sent the knife spinning off in Zya’s direction.
Several things happened at once. Zya shrieked, I screamed, and a cloud of black smoke shot from my outstretched hands, flew toward the spinning dagger and knocked it from the air only inches from Zya’s chest. Wide eyed, she watched it fall to the ground before turning her gaze on me.
“Finally,” Gryfon announced with a wide smirk. “Progress.”
“You unbelievable ass,” I sputtered, voice rising in fury as I stormed toward him. “You incredibly arrogant, foul, horrendous son of a bitch. You shit-eating pig person. I ought to gut you right here. I should dig out your intestines and hang you with them, you growling prick.”
“Now, we’re done for the day,” he announced, ignoring every insult and threat I hurled his way.
I just stared in open-mouthed shock as he gathered his things, turned, and strolled back through the copse of trees toward the camp we'd left behind hours ago.
“Can you believe him?” I scoffed, seething.
“Adrian, you did it!” Zya cried, already halfway across the clearing and gripping my shoulders. She shook me excitedly, practically jumping up and down. I just blinked at her, confused. “I can’t believe it! You actually did it!”
“Zya, he could have killed you.”
“But you did it! You called the Dark!”
“Has everyone in this camp lost their godsforsaken minds?”
I shrugged her off then, stooped to grab my jacket, and then strode past her toward the copse of trees Gryfon had vanished into. I heard the clatter of knives behind me as Zya rushed to gather her things before catching up to me.
“Do you know what this means, Adrian?” she whispered, her voice carrying through the forest despite her effort to keep it low. “It means we can help them! We can go back.”
I stopped suddenly, whirling to face her.
“Zya—” I tried.
“I know. I know. Don’t get my hopes up. But we could, Adrian. We could go back for them. We could see them again. I know you want to. That’s how this whole thing started in the first place.”
I frowned.
“But what if that’s what they expect us to do?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Her smiled faltered, eagerness melting away in a puff of smoke.
“If the leaders of this place, these people, are right, we have actual gods hunting us down,” I explained slowly, carefully, trying in vain not to allow my fear to show.
“Don’t you think the first place they’ll go to search for us is our home?
Don’t you think they’ll have people watching at all times to see if we’re foolish enough to return?
I had one small success, Zya. I called one ounce of the power I would need to wield to fight them. We can’t face them alone. We can’t—”
“Who said anything about going alone?”
I froze, lips parting in surprise as her eyes met mine. There was ice in her stare, a frigidness I'd never seen before. I blinked at her, taken aback.
“Zya…” I started, unsure of how to finish.
“I will not bow before them again, Adrian. And I will not give them the honor of my fear. These people are determined to use you in order to wage a war they believe will end all of this. Every war has a first battle. Why shouldn’t this one’s be for Sanctuary?”
I stared at her, shocked, but she merely strode away from me.
In moments, she was stepping through the canopy of trees shielding us from the camp beyond and the spell of the quiet woods was broken.
I blinked as I watched Roxy meet her at the tree line, the two of them linking arms before walking away, laughing, to join the preparations for the festivities of the evening.
Festum Primi; I was told it meant Festival of the First in the old language, the language of Prima’s mother, of the ancient humans.
They celebrated it here every year. The camp was strewn with brightly colored green, blue, and maroon banners, an ode to the original houses of Sanctuary.
I stared at the sweeping paper snake on a stick children ran around with among the tents.
Viper. A house I would rather forget. So I focused instead on the paper cranes flying through the air as the children pelted one another with them, the blue satin sashes tied around their waists and feathers adorning their hair in honor of Avus.
I watched the little boys in long fur cloaks growling at one another, slashing out with fake claws for Lynx.
I took a breath and stepped out from the tree line, letting the intoxicating scent of roasted meats and powdered pastries carry me forward. If there was one thing I could find the attitude to celebrate, it was the festival food.
“We’re leaving soon,” a familiar voice said from beside me.
I looked up to find Kane standing nearby, sword slung at his waist as it always was lately.
He wanted to be one of Gryfon’s warriors.
He'd taken to speaking with them, practicing with them, and in the light of the midnight fires, sharing laughter and spirits with them. But he still didn’t wear a sword right.
It weighed him down so he was awkwardly imbalanced whenever he wore it.
My gaze snapped back up to meet his as I stepped forward and he strode over to walk with me.
“I assumed,” I replied, nodding at the line of people already making their way toward the river on the other side of the encampment.
“He isn’t coming,” Kane whispered but the edge of his disappointment was as sharp as ever.
I grit my teeth but only replied, “that's his prerogative.”
“Is it? These people have treated us well. They've welcomed us with open arms. Given us food, shelter, and protection even though it put them in danger. And he throws it all back in their faces, preferring to stay in that damn tent rather than make himself useful.”
“Darius is mourning another life lost.”
“As are we. As is my sister. But the rest of us are at least trying to pick up the pieces.”
I sighed, turning to face him.
“He'll come around,” I promised, though my heart wasn’t in it.
Kane noticed.
“And if he doesn’t?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to answer but found I truly had no response to that. And anyway, I could see Gryfon glaring at us from the opposite side of the camp, raising a brow in warning as the rest of the pilgrimage was filing out around him.
“We’d better go,” I told Kane instead. “We don’t want to get left behind.”
The walk to the river was as short as ever and the cave wasn't far beyond. Some of the people ran their hands in the water as they passed, muttering silent prayers and wiping the liquid on their brows. Kane glanced my way but I only shrugged and strode forward with the rest of them.
Hugh and Zya found us by the time the ceremony began. One glance around and one meaningful look from Kane told me Roxy had stayed behind as well. I frowned, knowing another conversation with Darius was likely right around the corner. Not that it ever went well for me these days.
“As it was,” a voice boomed out suddenly. “So it shall be.”