Chapter 7 #2
She spoke, her voicing forming syllables and cadences he’d never heard but could have sworn meant something like, “I see you heard the rumors he’s back?”
“Aye,” one said. “Blessed be the Savior.”
There was that word again. Savior. It made his ribs constrict.
Isobel smiled. “I was hoping to take him straight to Cathaire. You think—”
Sean turned toward his busy surroundings. This place was insane. Bodies hustled in every direction, sweat-drenched with exertion.
After a few more words exchanged, Isobel nodded her thanks, and the five of them bowed again as she led Sean away.
“I could understand that,” he whispered to her.
“It’s Lux. The common language of the realm.”
“How do I know it?”
“Lhynion lived for more than five hundred years. A lot of the things he knew will come very easily to you.”
That settled about as softly as a glass shard in his brain. He was more Lhynion than he was himself. So who was Sean Archer, really?
They passed an archery range, and Sean wondered whether they ever practiced with firearms—a far more useful weapon if they planned to fight among humans. A bow and arrow had nothing on a semiautomatic.
Points for style though.
Past that were rings set several steps into the earth—fighting arenas. Their peripheries were so crowded with onlookers that Sean only caught glimpses of the brawls and knife fights within.
Isobel shook a censorious head at them. “The pixies and their gambling. The winners are worshipped, and those who bet on them can take home hefty coin.”
Despite himself, a grin formed on Sean’s face. He’d need in on that ASAP.
She took in his expression with a disapproving smile. “No. That’s not for you. Not yet.”
“What’s for me, then?”
She pointed ahead, where patches of grass were filled with people in rows, learning the basics of combat.
Beginners.
“Ugh.” Surely he didn’t need to start at the very beginning? Didn’t the punching bag count as training?
With a soft laugh, she answered, “They divide up each race according to our strengths. See the dryads over there?” She pointed at a group of auburn-haired sorts being trained by a handful of pixies. “We’re best at hiding, sneaking, climbing. We charge our Light from communing with nature.”
“You’re a dryad?”
She nodded. “And just there”—she gestured toward a crowd of people whose unifying characteristic was that their edges glinted like gold—“the devas are a little wild, but they draw their Light from mating, so they’re trained in close combat.”
Sean’s brain tripped. Did she say mating? He wasn’t ready to delve into the specifics of sex magic. The harried pixies training the devas kept shouting orders at their charges, only to be half-heartedly obeyed or ignored entirely.
“But you”—Isobel grabbed his wrist and dragged him toward a specific grassy area, empty except for two raven-haired individuals, a man and a woman—“are a pixie, and you will train as the pixies do.”
At his approach, the duet paused to turn his way, and just like everyone else, their eyes widened.
The man recovered first, and he did the whole bow, temple tap thing. The woman followed.
“I’d heard rumors,” he said, “but seeing is another thing entirely. ’Tis an honor. I am Cathaire, Blademaster, hailing from the Selgovae tribe.” His musical accent was thick, but he spoke English well.
“Good to meet you.” Sean extended his hand, but Cathaire grasped his wrist, squeezing as he leaned in and kissed Sean’s temple.
Through the touch, a shock sparked that Cathaire either didn’t feel or ignored.
“Have you brought him here to be trained?” the pixie asked Isobel before Sean could recover.
Did this guy just kiss him?
“Yes.” Bel grinned like she enjoyed his discomfort. “You trained Kywyn, and Kywyn will want you to train his son. I was explaining to Sean how you’re the Blademaster in charge of the lavanié’s pixie Apprentices.”
Cathaire laughed and glanced at the girl behind him. “The only pixie lavanié in existence,” he said before adding, “Aside from your family, of course. They Apprenticed with me as well.”
“Lavanié?” Sean asked, still confused by the lingo.
“It’s what we call anyone with mortal blood,” Isobel murmured.
“Right,” Sean said, then offered the guy a smile because what else was he supposed to do?
“He’s like a baby,” Isobel said, patting Sean’s cheek. “Knows nothing. He’ll have to start with the basics.”
Cathaire stepped back and gestured toward the girl. “This is Anna Ainslan, my Apprentice. She was raised in Viterra like you. Arrived from the mist, how long ago?” He looked at Anna.
“Almost five years, now.” Her English was also accented, but it sounded more…Scottish? Irish? “No idea this place even existed before that.”
A flare of something like relief spread hot and fast through Sean’s nervous system. Here was a person who was just like him—non-native, raised mortal. He fought the urge to ask her how she coped. Had she been just as clueless as him?
She stepped closer to Sean and grasped his wrist the same way Cathaire had, sending a similar shock through his nervous system. As she touched her lips to his temple, Sean began to suspect it was an expected greeting.
Temple kissing.
Would he ever get used to that?
The girl was a full head shorter than Sean, and her black hair was plaited to the side, the rope of it ending at her waist. She had the clearest eyes Sean had ever seen, like morning skies with rays of sunlight.
“So you just found the mist one day?” Sean asked, giving in to his curiosity.
She shook her head. “More like, one day I felt an overwhelming urge to run into the moors, and when I stopped, it hurt so bad that I kept running until I wound up here.”
“And you’ve never gone home?”
Something in her expression softened, almost as if she understood the mountain of anxiety he was currently scaling. “This is home now, but I’ve not visited my dad. It’s forbidden to leave the realm until you’ve finished your Apprenticeship and joined the Honor Guard.”
Oh.
“You’ll get used to it,” she said. “It didn’t take me long.”
An awkwardness settled on Sean’s shoulders that he hid behind another smile. “Of course.”
“Only a few months to go before I rank up,” Anna said, shooting a playful glare at Cathaire.
He raised submissive hands. “Five years is not so long to train for such a dangerous mission.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Anna gave him a lighthearted shove, and he laughed.
Were they together, these two?
“Your father is a Blademaster himself,” Cathaire said. “He no longer requires my help. Anna is the only other pixie with mortal blood in the realm. I’ve trained her alone for years. She’s quite good. You took down Tatya just last week, didn’t you?”
Anna shrugged and studied the fingerless leather bracers strapped to her wrists. “She took it easy on me.”
He threw her a fond smile. “Tatya takes it easy on no one.”
“There are only two of us?” Sean turned toward the other groups, dozens of dryads and devas in each.
A knowing glance passed between the two.
“Pixies stay with pixies,” Cathaire said. “There are very few with mortal blood.”
“And why’s that?” Sean asked.
Anna shrugged. “It’s a tribal thing.”
They were leaving something out, obviously, but Sean wasn’t sure he cared. He’d already attracted enough attention. Better to train with only one other than to try and fail in front of a crowd.
“So can we start now?” He glanced at Bel.
“We have a little time,” she said.
A slow grin spread over Cathaire’s face. “You start at the beginning, Apprentice. Why don’t we gauge where your skills are?”
Sean’s eyebrows shot up. “You want me to fight you?”
“No.” Cathaire pointed at Anna. “I want you to fight her.”
His gaze swung to the woman—thin armed, a head shorter than him—who offered him a capricious smirk. He could probably break her with a friendly hug. No way would he fight her.
“What’s wrong, Ashanta?” she asked. “Scared?”
A disbelieving laugh burst from his chest. “Yeah. For you.”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
She looked about as strong as a Maltese puppy, so that wasn’t saying much.
“You’re serious?” Sean asked Cathaire. “Her?”
Cathaire nodded. “Would you like leathers?” He gestured to the guards Anna wore.
“Nah, I’m good.”
His new trainer made a face like he thought that decision unwise but said nothing. He motioned toward the grassy area nearby. “Take your stance.”