37. Chapter Thirty-Five #3
For the first time since stepping into the ballroom, I realized not a single vision had surfaced, not with Ciaran, not even when Mairenn caught my elbow.
Interesting.
Maybe I could handle sparring with someone other than Tairngire after all.
The doors slammed shut. Laughter faded into silence. Waiting in the shadows of the archway, steel and silk woven into one, Scáthae stood.
Every half-born bowed low. I bent with them, eyes down.
“Come, Seer,” she said, her voice full of command.
I obeyed, falling into step next to her. She carried authority like breath, never questioning her right to lead. We walked in silence until she asked, almost lazily, “How fares your training?”
“Grueling,” I admitted. “Mairenn barely lets me breathe.”
A faint, proud smile touched her lips. “Good.”
I dared a question, one that I had asked a very annoying and indirect Forest God multiple times, testing to see if she would give me more. “What is the purpose of it? Weapons training, combat tactics—am I meant to be a soldier in whatever comes for us?”
Her silver gaze cut to me, sharp as any dagger.
“You are a weapon, child. You always have been. The Seer of the Seven Realms in the wrong hands?” She shook her head and looked off into the distance.
“That would tip the balance before the first blade is drawn. It’s important that you know how to defend yourself. ”
Tairngire had tried to tell me that he didn’t care about my visions, that he only wanted me to be able to look out for myself. Scáthae had said as much herself, but after, she'd declared that I was literally looked upon as a weapon to be used.
I pushed my emotions aside and pressed on. “And Goibniu? Do you trust him?”
Her jaw tightened. “I tolerate him when I must. Alliances are rarely born of affection. But the Underworld stirs, and when it stirs, we answer. The King of Ash moves his pieces. The gods prepare theirs, and Neit must be stopped. That is something we both agree on. So for now, we make friends."
War. The word lodged heavy in my chest. I thought about those werewolves, sired to the King of Ash. What else did he have at his disposal?
Scáthae’s laughter cracked like flint, she must have sensed something in my intense gaze. “Ah. There it is. Your flame. You wield it poorly—let it blind you and it will hinder. Harness it, and it becomes your greatest strength.”
Her gaze cut over me as if stripping my flesh from bone. “You wear armor but have not grown into it. You’re quick, but not precise. Yet you do not yield. That…is worth something.”
The words stung and steadied all at once.
We stopped at a cross-corridor, pale light spilling through narrow windows. She regarded me one last time, a sly smile on her lips. “Do not worry, Seer. Your god will return…soon.”
Her certainty was iron, unshakable. She left me there, heart hammering, questions clawing at my throat.
Ugh. I really wished people would stop call him my god. But my heart still skipped a beat all the same. Especially having come from her. My jealousy was staunched for now, but my body still hummed with the tension Tairngire was beginning to stir within me.
Traitor.
The next few days struck like lightning, Mairenn was relentless in her training. She knocked me on my ass more than once, and smiled the entire time. “Get up, Aurenya. Don’t embarrass me in front of my family, you have fire in you. So use it.”
I was a wet, sweaty mess by the time she grabbed my wooden sword from me and handed me a water skin.
“Aurenya….it’s time. Tairngire still isn’t back yet, and we are wasting precious moments where you could be getting some necessary fighting techniques down.”
Fuck. She was done allowing me to avoid it.
I started to protest, but she held her hand up—her signal that she wouldn’t be argued with further.
“Fionnuala has kindly volunteered to spar with you.” She gave me a conspiratorial grin before continuing. “Which is fortunate, because she’s similar to your size and stature, and if you were to get a vision from her—she wouldn’t pry into it.”
I arched a brow, thinking about all the prying Fionnuala had been doing during our ballroom classes the last few days. I scowled—there was no way I wouldn’t be questioned if I zoned out into the realm of visions after touching the daughter of both Aíne and Scáthae.
Mairenn gave an apologetic shrug, evidently picking up on my thoughts from the look I’d given her.
“Eilis and I have talked to her, told her that she needs to lay off with the questions. She was so excited at the opportunity that she would have promised anything. So, come. It will all be fine, and you’ll come out having learned a thing or two. I’d say it’s worth the risk.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “That isn’t exactly promising.”
Mairenn ignored me, turning to start making her way toward the sparring gym.
I trudged behind her slowly and tried to give myself a pep talk on the way.
You can do this, Aurenya. You’ve shut down visions before. Nobody here thinks you’re weird.
I cringed at my internal monologue and tried to take a few soothing breaths the way the Shaman had taught me. In for three seconds, out for six.
When I stepped inside the sparring gym, I noticed Fionnuala on the mats ahead of us, her wild red curls tied back with a leather band as she went through what looked to be various warm-up exercises.
She moved with an ease that immediately set me on edge—she wasn’t showy, just…
prepared. This was not the same bubbly girl I’d seen in Scáthae’s ballroom.
She was fierce here. Every roll of her shoulders, every bend of her knees looked practiced, like she was checking in with her body rather than simply loosening it.
She glanced up as we approached, and for a fleeting moment, the girl from the ballroom was there again. Bright eyes, her mouth curving into a quick and genuine smile.
She clapped her hands together enthusiastically and bounced on the balls of her feet, as if her tiny body couldn’t contain all the excitement she held inside.
“Aurenya,” she said warmly, dipping her head in greeting.
Mairenn stopped at the edge of the mats. “You’ll keep it clean,” she said, her tone light but her gaze sharp. “No unnecessary force,” she glanced my way with a wink. “Or questions.”
The two sides to Mairenn never ceased to amaze me—there was a side of her that was at ease, joyful even.
But the other side, the one she showed me during our training, was that of an executioner who didn’t waste time with pretty words.
She was every bit her mother’s daughter, fierce and unrelenting, yet loyal and understanding all at the same time.
Fionnuala nodded once. “Of course! Only what’s necessary.” She said the words slowly, as if trying to recite them the exact way she'd been told to.
I sighed.
Her bright blue eyes flicked back to mine—still kind, but with a hint of assessment in them. As if she were measuring me as more than just the sacred Seer—like I was simply an opponent she needed to observe.
I swallowed and stepped forward, feeling suddenly and acutely aware of my own body. The stiffness in my shoulders, the lingering ache in my thighs from Mairenn’s relentless drills. The way my hands wanted to curl uselessly at my sides.
Gods. My nerves were livewires, simply waiting to be struck.
“We’ll start slow,” Fionnuala said, lowering herself into a ready stance. “Just simple hand-to-hand. And if you, um…feel a vision staring to come on, just…pull away and step back, and we’ll restart.” She nodded her head confidently, a question in her eyes.
I nodded back once—respectfully. She was considering my feelings, and that helped ease my anxiety somewhat. The truth was that my visions had always been a burden. It was difficult to explain to others, which was why I had been close to few.
Branwyn had been the only one to truly understand how debilitating my visions could be.
She’d witnessed Brannach and the High Priestess bringing me to my knees in the town square of Caer Anam, forcing me to touch others for divine prophecy.
She never questioned me about it, but would be the first one there to comfort me afterwards.
My fierce protector, my big sister. The closest thing to family I’d ever had, her and Saorla.
Branwyn would show up at our hut after harrowing rites and watch me try and knit whatever project Saorla had me working on by the hearth. Sometimes she would put a comforting arm around my shoulders and distract me by telling one of her enthralling stories involving her travels.
Goddess, I missed her.
I wondered what she was up to these days—probably tormenting the High Priestess and shepherds in taverns alike. I smirked at the thought.
“Aurenya!” Mairenn’s stern voice brought me back to the moment. “Time to focus.”
Right.
As if it were that simple to snap out of my thoughts.
I turned back toward Fionnuala and mirrored her stance as best I could, feeling clumsy and over-conscious, like a child pretending at adulthood. The mats beneath my bare feet were cool and grounding. I tried to focus on that instead of the low hum of anticipation thrumming through my veins.
She circled me once in a clinical way, with none of the predatory instinct that Tairngire offered.
“You lead,” she said quietly.
I hesitated for half a heartbeat too long, I wasn’t used to leading in any aspect.
That was all she needed.
Fionnuala moved, swift and precise. Her hand caught my wrist, redirecting it before I had the chance to fully commit to my first strike.
The world tilted as she stepped inside my space.
Her shoulder brushed mine as she twisted, and suddenly I was off-balance, stumbling forward with a sharp yelp.
I barely caught myself from hitting the mat face-first.
Damn she was quick. I couldn’t help but notice that she made up for her small size with pure speed.
I had no doubt that move could have brought down a six-foot something warrior if caught off guard.
Tairngire’s previous lessons in combat had come back full force.
I’d just watched it successfully executed.
My eyes narrowed in focus, weighing my next move with foresight and instinct.
“Again,” she said, calm and focused.
Heat flared in my cheeks and a spark of something seemed to snap awake in my soul.
Instinct, maybe.
I tried again. I struck first—took my time to read her next move. And that time, I made contact.
For exactly half a second.
Her block was clean and efficient, her counter gentle but firm as she tapped my ribs with two fingers—right where a real blow could have landed.
“Dead,” she said mildly, just like Tairngire had. I let out a frustrated sound when the memory consumed me. Shame settled right in between the very ribs that she had tapped.
Fionnuala simply shrugged. “But continue.”
I let out a long, frustrated breath, and let myself feel the defeat for a moment before resetting. I wouldn’t have the time on a battlefield to wallow in my defeats. I’d have to be resilient. Jump right back up the minute I was thrown down, so long as I was able.
We went through the motions. One of us initiated, the other blocked.
I was clumsy, she…graceful. But I didn’t let her experience intimidate me.
That would only lead to frustration and failure.
She naturally beat me in almost every match, so I kept telling myself that this was a positive learning experience.
Each exchange stripped some of my shame away.
My perpetual overthinking, my fear of doing something wrong, my instinct to apologize for taking up space among warriors when I’d been raised within temples and rites.
Fionnuala never rushed or mocked me, but she didn’t coddle either.
Every mistake I made was met with consequence.
Every opening I gave her was exploited effortlessly.
For the first time, I felt like this was exactly where I belonged.
And slowly—so very slowly—I almost didn’t notice that it stopped feeling like I was simply flailing around, waiting for someone to criticize me for my lack of finesse.
My feet remembered where to go. My body began listening to the instinct that was waiting patiently beneath my skin.
I went to that place where my dreams took me, where I was some fierce forest mercenary protecting the wilds from harm.
A dagger within reach at both my thigh and hip, a bow bouncing at my back as I tracked my prey.
My deepest desires, my most sacred ambitions.
To be more than what the temple declared me as—someone worthy of protecting the realm that I loved.
Even if it was only an illusion, it fueled me. Pushed me to try harder. To push myself to the full extent of my abilities.
Somewhere between a failed block and a clumsy counter, something stirred low in my chest—warm and steady, like embers coaxed back to life. It wasn’t a vision, the typical outcome of the feelings that I was currently experiencing. But rather, a presence.
My presence.
Fionnuala paused then, her eyes narrowed slightly. Not in suspicion, but—what was that? Respect?
“There,” she murmured. “Do you feel that?”
I nodded slowly, breath coming fast.
“I-I think so.”
“Good,” she said, resting a hand on my shoulder, serious now in a way that felt almost reverent.
“That’s your soul reacting. Your very essence begging to be acknowledged.
The instinct coursing through your blood.
You hide the one thing that gives you an advantage.
Want my advice?” She arched a brow, and I returned the gesture in response.
She grinned. “Stop hiding it. Embrace it.”
Before I could even process what she’d said, Fionnuala came at me again, harder this time.
Game on.