Chapter 12 #2
He leads me past the main yard to a side space, where the gravel is replaced with narrow planks, some set into seesaws, others into tilting platforms. At first, I don’t understand. Then I do, and my stomach sinks. Balance was never my strong suit.
King Sylvian stands on the nearest beam, hands clasped behind his back, and waits for me to climb up beside him.
“Earth fae don’t move fast. We don’t even move much, if we can help it. We win by being the last to fall.”
I put one foot on the beam, then the other, wobbling. It’s worse than I expected, but I grit my teeth and hold steady.
“Let’s try simple at first,” he says. “Just walk with me. No sword needed.”
He leads the way, moving slow enough that I have no excuse but to follow. His steps are unhurried, steady. When I falter, his hand is already there, palm open, ready to catch me before I go over. He never grips, never holds tight. He just keeps me from tipping, then lets go instantly.
We make a circuit of the beams, up and down, over and back, until my legs start to shake.
Keeping balanced is harder than it looks.
If he wasn’t constantly there to catch me, I’d have had some pretty nasty falls by now.
King Sylvian doesn’t comment, doesn’t scold or instruct.
Instead, he sits on the edge of a platform and pats the wood beside him.
I drop next to him, grateful for a break.
“It’s hard,” he says quietly.
“I’m not cut out for any of this. I have no idea why the goddess chose me for this.”
King Sylvian leans close, knees brushing mine. “Yet, you keep trying. Not everyone does. Actually, most people don’t.” He says it like it’s the highest compliment.
That’s hardly an asset.
I bite back the urge to cry.
He lets the silence grow, then says, “Balance is not about never falling. It’s about knowing where your center is, and coming back to it.“
His hand, broad and warm, settles briefly on my shoulder. Then he stands, offering it to help me up.
“Earth fae win slow,” he says, pulling me upright. “But we win.”
I let myself lean on his arm just long enough to get my footing. He doesn’t comment, just smiles, then gestures toward the center yard.
King Cassius stands there already, wooden sword in hand, waiting.
I take a deep breath, straighten my shirt, and walk back for what I hope is the final round.
King Cassius is a blue shadow against the pale gravel in the center of the yard. He doesn’t smile or tease or do anything to show that this is just an exercise. Instead, he studies me, eyes so pale they’re almost colorless.
I try not to let it get to me. But it does.
“Water fae,” he says, as if reading my mind, “value three things: precision, adaptability, and observation. You don’t win by being the strongest. You win by never letting the enemy see what you’re doing.”
He steps into a guard position so perfect it looks like a sculpture. “Attack.”
“Attack?”
He nods and motions for me to come at him.
Okay then…
I charge, sword up, and he parries with the barest flick of his wrist. My blade spins from my hand and clatters across the yard. King Cassius just stands there, unmoving.
I jog after the sword, cheeks burning. When I get back, he’s still in the same stance.
“Again,” he says.
I swing harder, aiming for his side. He twists, and the sword is gone from my grip before I even register what happened. This time, he catches it in the air and hands it back to me, expression unreadable.
“You’re giving away your every move,” he says, tone flat. “Don’t.”
I try to muster a comeback, but he’s already in motion, circling me with predatory calm. I realize he’s not trying to exhaust me, he’s trying to teach me. He’s studying me.
“Watch my feet,” King Cassius says. “Where do I put my weight before I strike?”
I do, but the answer eludes me. When he moves, it’s liquid. His feet barely touch the ground. I lunge again, and this time, when he knocks the blade from my hands, he catches my arm before I can fall.
His touch is strong, but not rough. He rights me, then steps away.
“Again,” he says, and we repeat the whole thing, over and over, until the world narrows to just the exact moment his balance shifts, the way his expression softens right before he counters. I start to catch the pattern. I realize it’s not magic, it’s just observation.
After a while, he starts quizzing me between rounds. “Where was my weight before the last strike?” “Did my shoulders square or did I stay open?” “What did I do with my eyes?”
He expects answers, and when I give them, sometimes he nods, and sometimes he corrects, always with that icy, analytical calm. I’m learning more than sword fighting. I’m learning to see the world in a new way.
I’m breathing hard when he finally lets up, coming back to a relaxed standing position. “You’re improving,” he says. It’s almost a compliment.
“Most fighters reveal their intentions before they strike,” he says, kneeling to retie my bootlace, which has come undone. “Your task is to learn to see it. See everything.”
He stands, then straightens the collar of my shirt, his fingers careful and clinical.
The others gather round. All four kings are staring, and for the first time, I feel less like prey and more like… a participant. A member of their team, if only barely.
My arms ache, my feet are raw, and the braid in my hair has come half undone, but I’m still upright.
“Learning the fire fae’s ways will save your life,” King Oberon tells me carefully.
King Ashton laughs. “Yeah, because all brute force and no intellect is the way to stay alive.”
“The wind fae hardly use their intellect in fighting,” King Cassius says, an unspoken challenge in his words.
“They’re just jealous because no one can compete with the earth fae.” King Sylvian follows his words up with a wink and a squeeze of my shoulder.
King Ashton drops an arm around my shoulder, cautious, like he thinks I might break. “I say we let her decide who did the best job,” he says, grinning wide.
I look at all of them, then at my battered hands. “I’m not sure… that was pretty awful.”
There’s a brief, stunned pause. Then, they all laugh, King Oberon quietly, King Ashton loudest, King Sylvian deepest, King Cassius a soft huff through his nose.
My cheeks heat. “Are we finished then?”
King Sylvian gives me a pitying look. “For now, but we’ll pick back up later.”
A groan slips from my lips.
King Ashton pulls me just a little closer. “Just remember, you need this if you’re going to survive the labyrinth.”
The labyrinth. I don’t even want to think about it. I don’t even want to remember that these four aren’t helping me out of the kindness of their hearts. They think I’m the one that’s going to save their people. That’s all they care about.
And for my part in this, I just need to survive and get home. Nothing else matters.