Chapter 13
For the hundredth time in a row, I kicked the bag stuffed with grass in Callen’s hands, my hips crying with the effort. Harthon had been smart in making me wait to train. Based on the soreness pervading my limbs, I probably should have waited another day.
I would have, if I’d known the thousand different ways in which Callen would torture me.
“That one doesn’t count. Do it again,” he demanded, and I clenched my jaw.
Rolling my eyes would only result in one hundred more repetitions. I’d learned that ninety-nine repetitions ago, when he’d said the same words on what should have been my final kick and I hadn’t been smart enough to withhold a retort.
Fake magvis or not, Callen was treating me as he would any other soldier, and Harthon wasn’t close by to make him stop.
After a grueling hour of balance exercises, we’d worked on kicking and punching techniques before beginning the endless rounds of repetitions.
Though truth be told, no matter how deeply I despised every order that came from Callen’s mouth, I didn’t want training to be easy. If it was, I’d never improve.
Still, he was high on a power trip, and it was infuriating.
Settling back into the split stance, I bent my standing leg for stability and jabbed out with the ball of my foot. Dust puffed in a cloud, and Callen nodded, adjusting the bag higher.
“Good. Right-handed jabs, now. Drive through your legs. Use your hips.”
Filling my lungs, I began the repetitions, once again grateful that we were in the privacy of my room.
The training grounds were far too public for my ugly form, and nothing shouted I’m actually not a powerful being at all like punching a stuffed bag with shaking arms and sweat rolling down your face.
“How long.” Punch. “Did it take.” Punch. “For you to.” Punch. “Get good at fighting?”
“Years,” he answered, watching my form like a hawk.
“That’s not.” Punch. “Encouraging.” Punch. “At all.”
He frowned. “Don’t get lazy. Power through your legs. Your arms can’t do much, not until you’ve perfected your striking technique.”
“My arms aren’t that weak,” I protested, even as I forced my legs to work with my next strike.
“They also aren’t that strong compared to full-grown men.”
Okay, that was true.
“And as far as getting good at fighting goes, it took me years because I didn’t have the incredible instructor that you have.”
“So incredible.” The sarcasm was lost in a wheeze, and I was too out of breath to speak again until I finished.
“Water time,” Callen informed me, and I gratefully plopped onto a chair, drinking straight from the pitcher.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I asked, “How long have you been with Harthon?” All I’d learned was that Callen was part of Harthon’s former mercenary group, but if I was to be stuck with them until I attempted escape again, I may as well know them.
He glanced at the ceiling, silently counting. “Six years or so.”
“Were you his third-in-command for all six of those years?”
Callen snorted, taking a seat opposite me. “Definitely not. Harthon is very cautious about who he lets into his circle. Always has been.”
Given the thought behind all of his decisions, I could see that. “How did you meet?”
“Let’s just say that I tried to kill him, and then we joined together against a common enemy.” He laughed, glancing at the far wall like he was reminiscing it in his head.
My eyes bugged. “I’m sorry, what?”
“That’s the story.”
Callen had tried to kill Harthon, and he still lived. Skies, they were friends. In what world was that even a possibility?
“How in the Domus did you manage that?”
Callen sobered. “The situation was complicated. Uniting was the best way to achieve both of our ends. Then we became friends.”
“Just like that,” I pondered, disbelieving.
His lips compressed. “Yep.”
There was so much more to the story than he was sharing. While he’d offered me new information, Callen was still being tight-lipped about their history.
“What about North?”
“He was with Harthon just before I came along.”
“And they were doing what, exactly?”
We hunted and killed those who needed to be hunted and killed, Harthon had said. All he’d done was define the term “mercenaries.” There were a thousand different things that it could mean.
But Callen didn’t indulge me. “That’s a story you’ll have to get from Harthon.”
Dammit.
The door opened then, and Ana gracefully entered the room, donning the same violet I’d worn yesterday. Of course, it complemented her far better than it ever would me.
She acknowledged Callen with a smile. “Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to stop by before you leave tomorrow morning.”
As Harthon had explained to me yesterday, Ana would be staying to rule in his absence, as would Callen and North. Traveling to Fifth was apparently a somewhat safe venture, and should Koerlyn attempt a surprise attack here, Callen and North were needed to help Ana coordinate a defense.
“Ellan is planning a welcome party,” she said, stating what I already presumed.
I’d stressed over it for most of the morning.
I’d handled the cabinet meeting just fine, but a Princeps’ party was at a whole other level of uncharted territory.
It was the very last thing I’d ever thought I’d be a part of, and I certainly didn’t want it.
I’d probably roam around like a lost calf, the subject of concerned stares, wishing a cliff was available to step from.
Ana nudged Callen with her hip, shooing him until he scooted over. She sat beside him, crossing her legs with a courtly poise that was completely at odds with the frank words she spoke next. “I’m going to be blunt. Ellan’s parties make any sane person want to skewer themselves with a dull fork.”
I grimaced, both happy to have the insight and dispirited by the information.
“There will be half-naked dancers, drunk, overconfident men with no boundaries, and so many flowers that your head will swim from the fumes.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Ellan will inevitably give a cringe-worthy speech showering Harthon in praise and glorifying their alliance, and you’ll have to sit there politely and smile at the whole thing. ”
Callen butted in. “Maybe she doesn’t have to smile, considering she’s the mysterious magvis.” He wiggled his fingers.
“That’s actually a good point.” Surprise filtered through her voice. “So, maybe you don’t have to look like you’re enjoying it, but you still need to witness it without stabbing Ellan. The only thing that might make you feel better is knowing that Harthon hates every moment of it, too.”
I was sure he did. Warriors, never mind former mercenaries, didn’t seem like the type to enjoy wasteful displays of wealth, delicate dances, and choreographed conversations. “Why does he agree to attend, then?”
“Politics.” She rolled her eyes. “No matter how obnoxious they are, allies are good to have, and sometimes the stupid parties come with that.”
Right. All of the shows that came with politics and high society were wastes of money, thought, time, and effort.
For Lords and Princepes who were supposed to lead the whole of the people, they spent an awful amount of time in their isolated, fabricated worlds, working to solve nonexistent problems.
“What about Josenne?” I dared to ask.
Callen answered before Ana could. “Don’t drink before you visit her. She can make you piss your pants with her voice and the things she knows. It’s freaky.”
Ana smacked his arm, drilling him with a stern look even as she addressed me. “You’ll leave in one piece, especially with Harthon there.”
Callen grimaced, rubbing his arm, though I doubted the hit was anything more than a tickle to him. “All I’m saying is that she has a way of haunting your dreams in the days after you meet.” When Ana cocked her arm again, he quickly added, “Ana, you can’t even deny that.”
After a brief hesitation, she lowered her arm, not arguing back.
How reassuring.
“Why, again, are you so confident that she’ll help me find the path?
If it was in my head, I would know. This is a lost cause.
” I’d spent two hours yesterday re-reading Therion’s letter to Tamen.
Harthon hadn’t misspoken a single syllable.
But even with the evidence laid out before me, it was still difficult to believe I held any knowledge that I couldn’t unbury on my own.
Therion could have been wrong. And if he was, this was all a massive, wasted effort.
“Etarla, we know you never asked for this,” Ana started, her emerald eyes wide with sincerity.
“You’re helping a Princeps who isn’t yours.
You’re being kept from your home. You’ve been put into more danger than you’ve ever known.
But doing this will change this world for the better, and you are our only key.
You hardly know us, and you hardly know Harthon, but you will realize this, I’m sure of it. ”
I swallowed, staring down at my leather boots.
Harthon was different from other leaders.
Yesterday’s discussion about education and resource distribution had shed light on his priorities—priorities that, for perhaps the first time in our world’s history, focused on helping those who needed help.
Improving life by starting at the bottom.
But a few moments of grace weren’t enough to convince me that I should be bringing him into Centralis, all but making him into a king. It wasn’t a choice I even wanted to make. I looked after myself and my own—worked each day and slept each night. I had never desired a role beyond that.
“Maybe you’re right,” was all I said.
As if she knew the conversation was a dead end, Ana elegantly stood. “Well, I hope everything goes well. I’ll miss having you here to badger Callen and deal with North’s grumpy ass.”
“I’m sure you can handle it on your own.”
“Sure, but it’s always more fun with a friend,” she threw over her shoulder, leaving the room.
A friend? The word burrowed under my skin, feeling itchy.