CHAPTER 40 #3
Kara shivered reading the words. Seeing it in parchment and ink like that made it real. She was going into battle.
A full week passed. More letters spoke of strategy, of where to place Thorne garrisons, Fatàn shields, where to build Durent barricades, how best to use the Arcanth’s power.
Tobias’s orders were clipped, but more than once Kara caught a note of care hidden between the words.
He also wrote of the realm itself: they knew the Fatàn volcano had quieted the same day the Arcanth was made whole, but so too had the rest of Vallenna.
No more hurricanes lashed Hale, no more quakes shook Durent, the floods that had swept Lyran and Navyrian valleys had receded.
Balance was returning. Eventually, a hawk from Hale also found its way to their house in Fatàn.
Kara snatched the letter up the moment it landed.
Hale will march. We will tend Vallenna’s wounded.
Do not write again.
Her hands trembled as she read the words. Once. Twice. No father. No love. Just cold duty. Her throat burned but she swallowed it down and forced herself to nod. It was enough. Not what she’d prayed for – but enough. Vallenna would have its healers.
By day, Veyra drilled them mercilessly. The raw power that had burst wild and untamed now bent more easily to their wills.
The shields Sebastian summoned held strong for minutes rather than heartbeats, withstanding any magical strike Kara could throw at it.
His chaos lent itself to water too – in the hot springs he summoned waves that nearly bowled Kara over, grinning as though he’d meant to do it all along.
At last, he even managed to send a pulse of fear with violet magic which made her heart race and her palms sweat until she wanted nothing more than to run.
When she staggered back, Veyra’s cool voice carried across the training grounds, “Excellent work, Sebastian. There are more ways to break an enemy than with a blade.”
Kara’s gifts sharpened too. The roots she called no longer flowered helplessly but wrapped strong and tight as bindings, pinning Sebastian in place until he swore fiercely at her.
Her Fatàn shields held longer, though never as enduring as his.
When they sparred, her strikes grew swifter and stronger – she was no longer holding back.
Veyra’s words sounded with each strike: “The bond is your strength. Fight alone and you fall. Fight together, and you endure.”
At night, they collapsed together, bruised, weary, their bond buzzing with exhaustion but also closeness, readiness.
In the quiet hours, under the safety of Fatàn’s shield, they lost themselves in each other.
Those nights became their peace – soft stolen moments, where they could simply be Kara and Sebastian, not the Healer and the Warrior, not saviours of Vallenna.
But each night was one day closer, and Kara found herself holding Sebastian a little tighter, letting him kiss her, touch her until she forgot the world outside held an army that was nearly at their door.
But one evening, whilst they were sharing a meal with Veyra and her family, after about two weeks of training, another hawk brought darker news still. Sebastian unrolled the parchment in the flickering torchlight, his eyes closing when he reached the end.
“They’ve been sighted,” he said grimly, looking up at Kara. “Draknor sails. Dozens of ships. Heading straight for the western shore.”
Kara’s blood went cold. “How long?”
“Seven days, maybe eight,” he answered. “If we’re to meet them on the field, and have time to prepare, we’ll have to leave Fatàn in three.”
The room fell into silence until Veyra herself, cloaked in amethyst, set her cup down with calm finality.
“You will march with us. Fatàn will do its duty. We will shield where it is most useful – over you, your healers, archers, your frontlines if need demands. Your strength must be spent on Draknor, not wasted holding barriers.”
Kara bowed her head in wordless thanks. The letter meant one thing. Their days of training, of quiet nights, of safety – were almost gone. That night, she fell asleep on his chest again, counting the days she had left to do so.
The following morning, Sebastian had renewed focus. He asked Veyra to walk with him after training, Kara trailing at his side, wary.
“They’ll have dark magic,” Sebastian said bluntly. “This Dracanth. Whatever it is, it won’t fight clean. We should know some of it.”
Veyra tilted her head, her expression neutral. “You’re suggesting–”
“That you teach us,” he pressed. “Give us the best chance of survival. Even if that means stripping senses, blinding–”
“Blinding?” She turned on him, aghast. “How can you even suggest that after what Henry did? You can’t–”
His gaze burned, unflinching. “Exactly. Caldris magic is capable of it. And I’ll use anything I have to, Kara. Anything, if it keeps us alive.”
“No,” Veyra said sharply. “The Arcanth flows through you both – light, not shadow. That power was never meant to be twisted, and I will not see you attempt it under my watch.”
Kara released a shaky breath, gratitude flooding through her. “She’s right. You don’t need it, Sebastian. You’re already–”
But he set his shoulders, stubbornness flashing in the bond. “In two days we ride, Kara. If Draknor brings it against us, we need to know what we’re up against.”
Two days. Not weeks, not months. Days.
“Find another way,” Veyra snapped. “The Arcanth does not abide corruption.”
“I am not asking because I want to corrupt it. I want to defend–”
“No. You will not become what you fight, that path leads to ruin,” Veyra said, eyeing him closely. “That is my final word.”
At the look on her face, and much to Kara’s surprise, Sebastian fell silent, although the bond hummed with frustration, anger. And under all that – fear. Fear that he’d fail her.
“You won’t,” she murmured, just loud enough that only he heard her.
He stared at her.
“Fail,” she clarified. “You won’t. We won’t.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. “I hope you’re right.”