Chapter 15 #2
“Tane, you fool, every time?” She giggles, but her eyes are locked onto his corded arms as he continues pulling on the hilt.
In between each pull, he grunts out, “I am worthy, dammit!” before he lets go of the handle and slumps against the fence. He sighs heavily before looking up at us. “You give it a try.”
Mathilda glances sidelong at me, tilting her head. “Fine, I will.” She places one hand on the handle and tugs gently. “There, I tried.”
Tane grumbles, “You didn’t even give it a real tug.”
She places her hands on her hips. “Because I am not destined to pull it out, and neither are you.” She stretches out her hand to help pull him to his feet, and they both look at me. “You try it, Lena.”
Something about looking like a fool in front of them makes me shake my head violently back and forth. “No, thank you. I’m definitely not worthy.”
They both scoff at my reluctance, but don’t push me further on the matter. Tane shrugs and says to Mathilda, “Let’s show her the warm-up first. Then I figured we’d start with the basics?”
She nods and looks at me excitedly. “Let’s start stretching!”
Their enthusiasm and positive support are the opposite of anything I’ve encountered from Julius thus far.
Mathilda plops on the ground and begins stretching her legs and back.
She’s surprisingly limber to be so muscular.
Tane leans over and touches his toes before standing upright and stretching out each thigh.
“Just stretch until you feel limber,” he instructs while balancing on one leg.
After we’re loose, Tane leads us around the ring in a brisk jog to warm us up.
Mathilda and I continue around several times while he ducks into the timber building and comes out with a roll of linen and some padded gloves.
“What’re those for?” I ask as we halt at the water table for a quick sip.
Mathilda glances over to Tane. “The linen is to protect your knuckles and align your wrists, and the gloves are what you’re going to punch.”
I gulp down the water quickly and begin bouncing on my toes with excitement.
Tane chuckles at my eager expression. “We’re not scary enough, Mathilda. She’s still excited.”
Mathilda rolls her eyes and catches the roll of linen he tosses to her. “Hold out your hands,” she instructs.
I do just that, and she wraps my knuckles and wrists with the linen. It’s not too tight. I can still ball my fists, but it is tight enough that I can’t tilt them.
“This will keep you from breaking anything if you throw a sloppy punch,” she replies, as I struggle to roll my wrist.
We stand in the middle of the shade on the west end of the grounds as Mathilda throws a staccato of punches into Tane’s gloves. The beat floods my senses, and my eyes flare with excitement.
They are both so freaking cool.
Tane grins fiendishly at Mathilda as she effortlessly throws punches into his alternating hands. He absorbs each of her punches easily, and then he swipes out at her. After their demonstration, Mathilda moves me into position, commenting on my stance and making adjustments.
“You need your feet balanced beneath you, not too close together, it’ll put you off balance, and not too far apart so you can use the power from your legs.”
She nudges my feet gently to get them in the exact place she wants them, and I’m grateful that she took the time to explain the reasoning, much like my dad used to.
Mathilda holds her fists up in front of her face, and I mimic her placement. “You want to throw your punches from here. If you drop your hands, your opponent will drop you.”
I nod, and my father’s voice resurfaces from my memories, the many instructions he gave me on throwing punches clicking into my muscles.
Tane holds his left glove out farther than his right, indicating where I should strike first. I throw a punch, twisting slightly from the hips as I shift my weight.
“Good,” Mathilda praises, and Tane holds out his left glove. I bring my left fist back to my face before throwing a punch with my right hand. My punches don’t land as loudly as Mathilda’s, but my muscle memory is just beginning to come back to life.
Mathilda corrects my arm position gently, and Tane nods. “Again.”
I move slowly at first, jabbing with my left, then my right, and then two lefts before Tane extends an arm and I duck under it.
“Good Lena, remember to shift your weight slightly with each punch, but not too much or you’ll become unbalanced.”
Tane switches the routine in the opposite direction this time, and we move together more quickly.
“Again,” he orders, and we go faster and faster each round.
My muscles burn, but my fists slamming against the pads, ringing out louder and louder, spur me on.
Mathilda’s voice calls out over the thumping, “Control your breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Make sure you pay attention to everything around you, your surroundings, your position, even the direction of the wind.”
Tane swipes out with a hand, and I duck quickly, but this time, he shoves his left-padded glove out right after, and my instincts take over as I let my body move freely. My right fist connects with the pad so forcefully that Tane stumbles back a step.
Surprise flashes in his eyes, and he grins broadly at me, shaking his hand out. “That was incredible, Lena.”
Mathilda claps beside us. “Natural footwork, and you didn’t drop your hands once! Good job.”
Their words fill my heart as much as my head, and I grin fully back at them.
“You guys are great teachers,” I say in between gulps of air.
Time has passed quickly, and the sun is beginning to set.
My arms hang limply at my sides from throwing so many punches, and my skin glistens with sweat. I stumble over to the water table, and my arms twitch, trying to pick up the glass. Gods, I am out of shape. Mathilda and Tane follow behind me and laugh at my shaky arms.
“Next time, we’ll start with some hand-to-hand sparring, and then we can go over the various weapons and their grips,” Mathilda offers.
Tane shakes his head. “No, we need to work more on sparring and footwork before we introduce weapons.”
They argue the merits of both plans, but my body begins to sag. My stamina is running on fumes.
“You guys figure it out and let me know. I need a bath,” I murmur.
They nod, and I begin trudging back to the Great Hall. My body is exhausted, but my mind is sharp. The elation from a successful training session is filling me with joy.
The sound of a crowd spills through the passageway and onto the terrace.
I try not to grumble at having to meet anyone new while my body is covered in sweat and dust. But I square my shoulders and enter the throne room.
This is a realm of warriors. Surely my appearance, which was caused by hard work, would be appreciated.
Odessa leads a large group of warriors across the throne room and, as luck would have it, in my direction. But my eyes lock onto the familiar, tall, dark-headed man at her side.
It’s Lachlan, my Lachlan.
My breath catches in my throat, and I let out a small cry before hurtling myself across the throne room. He’s actually here. All this time, I’ve been constantly wishing he were here, and now he is.
Thank the gods.
My footfalls echo across the hall with each slap upon the marble, my necklace bouncing in time with my steps, and my heart races alongside them.
Surprise widens his eyes a moment before I’m catapulting myself into his arms. His scent smells stronger somehow, the cedar scent reminding me of the evergreens lining the Ayele. It wraps around me before settling into my bones.
He smells like home, this home, and this is real.
He’s really here. I pull back to look into his green eyes, my own eyes burning with tears.
I blink furiously to keep them from spilling over.
But his eyes are vacant, no happiness or relief is displayed on his features—it’s just blank.
He doesn’t seem nearly as happy to see me as I am to see him.
“How are you here?” I whisper, not caring about anything else, just so relieved to see him here.
His jaw ticks as he clenches it, a familiar perturbed gesture like when he’s put on the spot. My arms are the only thing keeping me up, and I realize he’s not embracing me back. The ruffle of wings over his shoulder draws my attention from his distant green eyes.
The feel of leather against my body causes my mind to stall before it begins rapidly spinning. Those are wings peeking out above his shoulders—Lachlan has wings. He’s in Idirihalla, and he has glossy, iridescent black wings like the guards.
My mind finally puts the pieces together.
Lachlan is a royal guard.
He gently places me on my feet before taking a step back and dropping into a low bow. “Your Majesty,” he murmurs.
My mouth drops open, and I take in the man before me, the stranger in front of me. Odessa places a hand on his arm.
“Helena, I’d like to introduce the captain of the guard, Lachlan Freysson.”
My eyes bounce between hers and Lachlan’s before taking in the group of warriors and guards around them. Realization hits me right in the face, and I stumble back a step.
He knew.
All along, he knew who I was and what the necklace meant. The necklace that now hangs like a deadweight from my neck.
I trusted him. I imagined a future with him. My heart shreds in my chest, tears well in my eyes, and I fight with every ounce of my being to hold it together in front of all these warriors.
This is Idirhalla. And I am the future queen. All respect for my title would be lost if I were to crumble like a small child in front of them now. Several warriors begin eyeing me, my step back a sign of weakness.
Odessa analyzes me as well, a slight glimmer of something in her eyes. Lachlan grinds his teeth together, the movement the only flicker of emotion he’s shown this entire time.
I dip my chin. “Nice to meet you, Captain. I’m sorry for that display. I mistakenly thought you were a friend of mine.”
The words come out cool, but the fire in my eyes cannot be mistaken. His eyes meet mine, widening a fraction. I nod to my aunt and the warriors before squaring my shoulders and walking away as steadily as I can back to my room.
The door clicks shut, and with it safely between me and the outside world, my breath saws out of my chest as my heart shatters. I collapse to the floor, sobs wracking my entire body.
Tears fall in a race down my cheeks and splatter onto my lap. The evidence of my heartbreak and embarrassment pours out of me. He tricked me into coming here. My entire life, everything I knew, was a lie. And he was a part of it. He was my first friend, my only friend, and it was only a facade.
He knew who I was.
For several long moments, I allow the flood of emotions to rise to the surface, a dam breaking.