Chapter 22 #3
‘They went out of the pyrrhic last night. Thessa said they’re back, but they’re probably napping after their big meal.’
As I reach out for my wolf, I can feel that soft haze in the bond that tells me he’s still asleep. Dead to the world.
Kyor nods. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Els is sleeping.’
‘We’ll catch them later,’ I say. ‘Let’s go straight to the temple and then get today’s training out of the way. Stefan’s probably waiting for us there.’
A slight Issen woman acts as our chaperone to the temple where, unexpectedly, Stefan is not waiting. Instead, it’s another Issen warrior, a woman called Hesta, whom I recognise from the library.
‘Stefan apologises,’ Hesta tells us. ‘He has important meetings that cannot be shifted, even for you, Princess.’ The way she says my title – ever so slightly clipped – tells me which side of Isthyr’s political situation she sits on.
As does the fact that she appears utterly repulsed by the sight of Kyor at my side.
I tighten my grip on his. ‘After your prayers are done, I am to walk you to the edge of the city. He should be done by then and able to meet you.’
‘Thank you, Hesta. We appreciate your time in coming here and chaperoning us. And Stefan’s too, as always,’ I reply as sweetly as I can.
The Issen’s lips move slightly, but she does not say anything else, and together, Kyor and I head inside.
My prayers in this temple have shifted substantially since the first time I knelt in front of the altar.
That morning, after surviving what I had assumed would be my only trip to the Veil, William and Kay were all that filled my mind.
And while they’re still at the forefront of it – while William’s face still haunts my dreams more than even the Rottings – today I know exactly where to start.
Kyor has been through so much, I say after I’ve run through the rest of my prayers, envisioning the God with Toren’s face.
He has been through so, so much, and I know he’s not one of your people, that he does not show his fealty to you, but thank you for helping him to speak to me.
To trust me. More than overcoming his dependence on the Robbard’s, sharing how he feels about his father …
it’s a huge step. I feel as if we’re on the precipice of something great. Thank you for helping us get there.
My chest constricts as I fight the urge to look around at Kyor. To see his clear blue eyes, and the light in them that seems to pulse just for me. When we leave the temple, the wolves have joined us, and my heart jolts up to my throat as I immediately open up the channel to Fen.
Morning, Little Raven. You seem lighter today, he says.
Yes. I smile. I am. I am lighter. It’s an apt description of how I feel, and Fen sensing it makes me feel even brighter than I was before.
‘You ready?’ Kyor asks, softly touching my arm. ‘Time to give those new powers of yours another test. We want to show these guys what this power couple is made of, right?’
‘Right,’ I reply, hoping I can keep it together today.
Determined to show Stefan some improvement on my part – like fuck he’ll call me pathetically weak again – once we’re a fair distance from the city, I try to repeat the eruption of spear-like blades that I made in the battle yard.
But rather than flaring up from the ground as they did the night before, this time a blast of ice spears sprays out from me towards him.
Stefan swears and throws himself aside.
‘And that,’ he says as he climbs back to his feet, brushing snow from his trousers, ‘is exactly why we’re not working on offensive magic today.’
Instead, he spends the next hour trying to teach me how to form a shield.
Not creating ice but shaping it. Again and again, he has me summon a fist-sized lump of ice, then mould it with my magic, stretching it wider and thinner before curving the edges.
Every time I try to rush, the whole thing collapses into snow.
By the end of the lesson, I can just about manage a chest-high crescent of ice for a few heartbeats before it cracks apart. It isn’t impressive, and it certainly wouldn’t survive a battle, but for the first time, I’ve made exactly what I intended to make.
Stefan is annoyingly dismissive of my progress.
‘That wouldn’t stop an arrow. I don’t think you could even use that to bludgeon someone to death,’ Stefan says with notable disgust in his voice. ‘Your improvement is lacklustre.’
‘Don’t speak to her like that,’ Kyor says, jaw tight. ‘She’s progressing in leaps and bounds. She’s working hard, doing breathwork all the time. She’s even been able to freeze a cup or two of water. The issue is you. You’re undermining her confidence when you should be bolstering it.’
My heart glows that he’s noticed my efforts because I have been trying, practising when I’d much rather be doing other things.
Stefan merely snorts. ‘It does appear that my method of training doesn’t work for her, but given my exemplary track record, I suspect the issue is actually you distracting her.
’ He glances quickly at Kyor before saying firmly to me, ‘If you can’t focus with him here, then maybe it’s best he doesn’t attend these sessions. ’
‘This has nothing to do with him!’ I bite out, exasperation rising. Kyor’s right – I have improved. Truly.
‘Are you sure? From where I’m standing, it looks like everything you do is about him. Your gaze drifts to him in every session, as if seeking his approval. His appreciation. A princess without a mind of her own. How disappointing.’
Anger flares hot and wild. ‘Excuse me?’ I take a step towards him, my jaw clenched. ‘What did you just say to me?’
‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’ Something dark bites in his tone. ‘You’re the king’s puppet. Kyor’s plaything. It’s a miracle the Veil accepted you at all.’
My hands clench into fists at my side, but as the icy throb builds, I close my eyes and breathe, using my three breaths to calm and settle myself and my magic. And then I imagine a single snowflake.
I open my eyes, and there it is. One perfect flake. I let it rise and float it with perfect control right into Stefan’s irritating face.
A smile starts to form on my lips as Stefan wipes it from his cheek.
‘Again,’ Stefan growls, dismissing my control as a fluke.
I’m delighted when I call forth another snowflake and then another – each controlled perfectly as I direct them at will – letting the tiniest trickle of my magic out, so little I can barely feel the cold rising.
I cast three more flakes, then five, and then ten, until I have a small flurry around my hands wisping in the air exactly as I tell them to.