CHAPTER 10
“The fabric of this world has chosen you. It calls to you as I do, and you have come before me to accept its mantle of power.
“I bind you to me: body, mind, and soul. Receive unto yourself the fire of creation. All life lives at our command.
“When you go forth, you will be one of the Bound, and with this great gift, you will carry an equal burden. For, all bindings have a cost.
“Yet, worry not, Small One. One day, your debt and your sacrifice shall be repaid.”
—Recounting from the private diary of Jerris, Dragonbound
SERAE
Midsummer, Jerrmon 1036
I walked back to the city in the growing dusk.
Or, perhaps I rode. I remembered there being a horse.
I remembered Dane looking at me with shrewd eyes and asking me questions.
Did I answer them? I must have. I did not remember getting into bed, but I must have done that, too.
All I remembered was one voice echoing through my mind.
“I bind you to me: body, mind, and soul.”
The following day, I woke in my bed. Gerta’s was already empty, so I rose and dressed in a tan underdress and my blue, sleeveless overdress.
I wove my hair in a six-strand braid. There was a pressure in my head, but it was not quite painful.
It strained like an overworked muscle—if the mind could be thought of in that way.
Not knowing what else to do with myself, I sought out Gerta and found her in the Relaxation Room with our morning trays.
Breakfast was a silent affair, anticipation preoccupying us both.
The Sun Trial was over. My First Sun had passed. And Gerta’s return home was overdue.
“I can stay with you, milady,” she offered in a hushed tone, despite our solitude.
“Don’t be silly.”
“I would, though.”
I took her hand. “My fate need not be forced on you.”
As long as I could remember, Gerta had been there for me, supporting and guiding me.
Somewhere along the line, her role as servant and caretaker had slipped into that of friend.
I wasn’t ready to let her go. Soon, she would return to Inra, and when I finally followed, we would be almost strangers to each other.
We shared a new bond here, being the only two alike in this sea of otherness, but back home, she was just another servant, and I was just another lord’s daughter.
She would never be allowed to accompany me to the Fethersen estate.
She was indentured to Cavendaffe, and unless Lord Fethersen decided to pay off her contract, there she would stay.
We both smiled, but there was only sadness between us.
We’d barely returned to our room when a knock sounded at the door. We both jumped. Gerta’s eyes rounded as they locked on mine.
“Enter,” I called.
The door swung open revealing Bracht, dressed head to toe in green. He swept into a bow, a boisterous smile on his full lips.
“Lady Serae!” he exclaimed. “Such a pleasure to see you today.”
I startled. “Is it?”
“It is,” he confirmed, maintaining his broad smile.
His honey-blond shade again struck me for its likeness to Merria’s.
His braid was one of the shortest I’d seen, falling only to his shoulders.
According to Kahvrah, hair was traditionally cut short as a sign of grief or shame.
What had happened to him? “We’ve been barely introduced.
Allow me to rectify that. My name is Anbrachten, but you may call me Bracht. ”
“And you may call me Serae.”
“Not a chance, or Dane will have my head. May I escort you?”
I couldn’t help but smile at his buoyancy. He looked like the sort of man who could flounce into any room and put everyone at ease.
“Where would you take her?” Gerta asked, dipping into a quick curtsey.
“If it pleases you, I will take her to her lessons,” he replied to Gerta, then turned back to me. “That is, if you feel up to it?”
“Why has Kahvrah not come to collect us?” Gerta asked.
Bracht tilted his head and looked between us.
“Ah.” He smoothed his hands down his tunic.
“No one has explained this. I’m sorry that it has to be me.
Kahvrah has been called back to her regular duties and has taken over the position of Marr of Dowsae.
Your training must continue, though, if my lady is to remain in the Riht. ”
I stood, willing my knees to stop shaking. First Gerta, now Kahvrah, too. “Who is to train me if not Kahvrah?”
Bracht put a fist to his heart and bowed. With his eyes on the floor, he said, “My reálton—”
“Reálton?”
“A dedicated companion, of sorts. Apologies, my lady. I have been devoted to Wep for so long, I forgot this is all new to you.”
“Wep?”
He nodded. “Our renowned weaponmaster.”
My stomach dropped. The last thing I wanted to do was train with someone considered a master of weaponry. I could barely control my own body, let alone hold a blade.
“Must I?”
Bracht looked up with wide eyes. “Do you not want to meet him?” His brow furrowed with concern.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I couldn’t admit that I was afraid of meeting a man I’d never even spoken to. Based on what, a feeling and my own imagination? I squared my shoulders. “Of course, I do. Please, lead the way.”
Bracht nodded, and his broad smile returned.
“And what of me?” Gerta demanded, her voice harsh. “Can I not continue to learn with milady?”
Bracht cleared his throat and shifted from one foot to another. After a moment of thought, he announced, “Please, do come. I will speak with Wep.”
As we walked, I wondered why my training would fall on the shoulders of a weaponmaster. Surely, his primary purpose wasn’t teaching weak Inraen women the art of combat.
Bracht led us to the same stairway that held our usual training rooms, but this time, we continued to the double doors at the bottom. He ushered us inside and called out to a warrior at the other end of the room. “Wep, I have brought you both the Lady Serae and her lovely companion, Gerta.”
Wep didn’t spare us a glance, but I froze. I would recognize that copper hair anywhere. He didn’t need to turn—I already knew the piercing eyes and their accompanying anger that awaited me. He stood at the far end of the spacious room, inspecting a rack of axes. Bracht darted to his side.
“You!” I blurted out.
The weaponmaster, not general, turned narrowed eyes on me. His gaze flicked up to my hair and lingered before trailing down my body. He turned back to Bracht, dismissing me.
I wanted to vomit.
“This room is nice,” Gerta whispered.
Fire and ash, was she right. I hadn’t properly examined it the first time I was in here, what with getting my ribs shattered and all.
The mats were far thicker than the rug in the small training room.
The walls towered above us, twice as high as the others in the wing.
Weapons and tapestries covered the walls.
And there were plenty of windows here. After training so long in such a dim space, this was a delight.
“By the Nine Martyrs, I hope you can stay here to train with me,” I whispered to Gerta.
“By the Creator himself, I hope so too.”
My eyes slid to a rack of long-handled weapons to our left, with heads of every shape and size. I didn’t even know their names. “Do you think we’ll have to use those?”
“Who knows, milady.”
“This is how people lose fingers. Or hands. Or who knows what else.”
Gerta chortled, and the two men’s heads whipped toward her. She lowered her gaze, her face a mask of subservience. Once they turned away, she shot me a grin. “Suppose I can imagine what else one might—”
“Enough, Bracht,” Wep hissed, the words carrying through the large room. “Please, go to Dane.” He spoke in Rihtish, but it was simple enough for me to understand.
Bracht nodded and placed his fist over his heart. Wep caught him by his shoulder before he turned away, murmuring something I couldn’t catch. Bracht’s face split into a grin, and he walked back to us, one arm extended.
“My lady, if it pleases you, I ask that Gerta accompany me to speak with Dane.”
I looked to Gerta, who had gone very still.
“Can she not stay to train with us?”
Bracht shook his head. “Wep thinks it most appropriate that you spend this first day alone together. And…there is the matter of seeking Dane’s permission.”
My eyes whipped to the weaponmaster, who had taken up his favorite pastime of glaring at me. One word echoed through my head—alone.
Gerta nodded. “Yes, of course.” With a tentative step forward, she took his arm, but her eyes flicked to me. After another backward glance, the two hurried out, leaving me at the weaponmaster’s mercy. Just as he wanted.
I stood still and tried to relax. My mind swam with fears of what this man could do to me behind these heavy, closed doors.
Had he been away on raids like Eldreth? Were his hands stained with the blood of innocent Inraens, too?
Channeling Kahvrah, I steadied my breath.
A voice echoed in my mind. “Calm is key to survival.” I froze, my eyes widening. What the fuck was that?
Across the room, Wep’s stare bored into me.
His eyes were sharp, but his posture was relaxed.
He wore a long-sleeved shirt, dark brown and stretched tight over his muscled arms, and plain black pants.
He bore no tunic, tabard, or vest marking his house or station.
Strapped to his wrists were well-oiled leather bracers that matched the leather of his boots.
He shifted his weight then approached slowly.
Watching him reminded me of the hunting dogs Father kept. And in this scenario, I was the fox.
I did not break eye contact.
Neither did he.
Wep stopped about two arm’s lengths away. The silence of our twisted staring contest stretched. Of course, I was the first to snap.
“How shall I address you?” I asked in Mayoran.
He did not answer.
“Kahvrah has been helping me with your customs, but it seems I am without a reálta now.”
He raised a brow.
“Is there a title I should use, like with Dane?”