Chapter 49
The next morning, Hallis and I are standing in the middle of the courtyard, waiting for Acker to finish speaking with the commanding officer of the battalion. The group of soldiers I performed warm-up stretches with are now gathered under the arch leading to the palace’s front yard. I can’t help but stare at the cages of human bodies on the far perimeter wall, some of them moving, some slumped in slumber—or worse.
Hallis hands me a sword sheathed in leather.
I motion to the men with a tilt of my head. “What are they doing?”
“They’re starting their morning conditioning.”
“Am I not training with them?”
Hallis squints down at me, the sunshine out in full force this morning.
“Acker wants to see your swordsmanship, and there’s no way you’ll be able to spar if you run first, not with the shape you’re currently in.”
He’s not wrong. I’m under my normal weight, and my strength is significantly depleted. While Fia healed me through the awakening, the muscle mass I lost during the sea crossing has never fully returned, and the stretching alone has my joints feeling a little too loose and sore.
Even so, I hand the sword back to Hallis. “I’ll be back,” I tell him, then I hurry to catch up to the soldiers as they begin their run.
Their initial pace is brutal, and I’m on the tail of the group. The path is along the interior wall of the grounds. A few of the soldiers catch a glimpse of me over their shoulders in the first turn, and I’m convinced it ignites into an all-out race to leave me behind. What I thought was brutal becomes downright agonizing.
Each breath feels like knives in my chest, each step harder than the last.
I fall behind, but so do others. It’s a small consolation to know they’ve been doing this run for weeks, if not months, and are struggling with it as much as I am. All the time I spent competing with Aurora through adolescence feels so trivial now. We should have been competing against the boys just as hard.
We’ve made the first pass around the palace grounds when Hallis catches up. The two of us run side by side, strides matched despite his clear ability to surpass me by a long shot.
“Who are they?” I ask on our third lap, looking toward the palace gates.
Two women stand before the iron bars. A young boy stands in front of one of them, the woman’s hands tight on his shoulders. He’s crying. They all are, but his tears are the hardest to take in.
“His father was sentenced to the wall for not disclosing his abilities,”
Hallis says. “He’s been sentenced to death by public execution.”
Disgust sits heavy on my tongue as I look up at the man crying, hand stretched between the bars of his cage, reaching for his family. A family
he’ll never embrace again.
“It’s cruel,” I say.
Hallis’s mouth thins. “I hate the practice, but King Edmond thinks it holds Heirs accountable, and it’s difficult to deny its effectiveness.”
“As long as he didn’t harm anyone, why does the king care if people hide their gifts or not?”
“There are good people in the world, the same as there are bad. The bad people with magical abilities are exceptionally dangerous when left unchecked.”
“Couldn’t the same be said about the people inside these walls?”
“To be honest,” he says, lowering his voice, “I’m not sure anyone deserves magic. If Mother Nature is real, she fucked us all when she gave these gifts to us.”
By the time the commanding officer blows a whistle to cease running, I’ve lost count of the number of laps we’ve done. The commander summons the soldiers into a line. His eyes stutter on me at the end but he continues on without a word.
He orders us to do a set of strengthening exercises, and then another after that. And another, and more. The morning goes on like this for what feels like an eternity until my eyesight begins to bleed into a haze and bile coats my throat.
“Water break,” he yells, sending the men scattering to the water stations.
My butt hits the gravel and stone of the courtyard floor, and I tuck my head between my knees to stop myself from passing out. Sweat drips down the bridge of my nose and drops to the ground.
Acker’s voice pierces through the throb of my heartbeat in my head.
“You’re pushing too hard too fast, Jovie.”
I don’t recall asking your opinion.
There’s a nudge against my leg, and I open my eyes, accepting the waterskin he pushes into my hand. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything
better.
“Two minutes,” the commander yells.
I need to get my legs under me before my muscles lock up.
“Jovie, no,” Acker says, reaching for my elbow.
I jerk out of his reach, and I’m impressed by my ability to stay upright on shaky legs. Acker growls my name as a warning, but I don’t have energy to waste arguing with him. I find myself back in line, this time landing somewhere in the middle.
“We’ll do three minutes of sparring,” the commander says, eyes lingering on me a smidge longer this time. “Pairings will be my choice.”
The commander picks pairs on a whim, and I don’t look away or back down when he glosses over me. I observe the bouts, some more entertaining than others. There are a few men I would be nervous to face, and I make note of them by name for possible future jaunts in the ring. Not until after watching the second sparring match do I feel as if I’ve gotten my breathing back under control. My legs still feel like jelly and my arms are dead weight, but I can at least hear and see with ease again.
It’s down to the last two pairings when it becomes blatantly obvious I won’t ever be picked. I look at Hallis and Acker, who are watching from the sidelines of the circle carved into the center of the courtyard. My pride is
wounded, and anger has me sneering at them when I’m left standing at the end of training session, having never gotten my chance.
The commander doesn’t bother to look at me when he dismisses the battalion. I’m on a rampage as I march across the yard, temper flaring as Acker laughs at something Hallis says. It falls away quickly when he sees me. He widens his stance, arms crossed over his chest as he prepares for my
approach.
I swipe the sword from his waist.
“Jovie,” he chastises, indignation tightening his features. “What are you doing?”
“You wanted to see me with a sword in my hand,” I declare, walking backward to the center of the ring. “Well, here I am. All I need is a competitor.”
The remaining soldiers slow their departure to watch the unhinged spectacle of me challenging their prince.
“Not after you punished yourself this morning,” Acker says, unmoving.
“Maybe after a few days’ time, your body will be rested enough to try again.”
Seething, I turn to the open courtyard, conscious of the onlookers congregating on the veranda. “Anyone willing to go against an out-of-shape princess?” I ask. “Any takers?”
The soldiers share looks between them, some grinning, others concerned.
One brave soldier steps forward, head turning to Acker. I recognize him as one of the more proficient swordsmen; Talon is his name. “I’m willing, your highness.”
Acker is less than pleased. “No.” He turns toward Hallis.
I’m debating which insult to launch at him when he turns back around with Hallis’s sword in hand.
“You want to spar,” he says, stalking into the ring, swinging the sword in his hand into a ready position. “Fine.”
His relaxed stance and calm demeanor are insulting. It gives me the fuel I need to energize my overworked muscles. One last hurrah before my body gives out to prove I’m not as weak as I look.
I don’t waste time. I advance, turning and throwing a backswing as the first strike. Acker throws his sword up in defense, and our blades meet with a loud clang of metal against metal. It’s all too easy for him to throw me off with a push of his weapon.
“Yeah?” he says, a hint of a smile peeking through his disapproving demeanor. “All right.”
Then he advances, swinging his blade to the right. I move to block, but it’s a misdirection, and I stumble off balance. He lets me regain my footing before advancing again. This time I wait until he’s close before I counter his forward strike with one of my own, which he sidesteps.
I know there’s no way I can walk away from this match a winner, but I refuse to go down without a fight. I’ll push until my sword falls or my arms give out, whichever comes first.
I give it my all. Swing, block, strike, miss. Miss.
Miss.
Miss.
I’m gasping for breath. Acker looks as if he’s enjoying a bout of child’s play.
He shakes his head at me, scolding me without words. He’s taller and stronger. If fighting with Messer taught me anything, it’s that men are weakest when you’re inside their reach. I spin left and attack then shift right in defense, before spinning again, closer and closer. I strike until he’s backed to the circle’s line where the only way out is through me.
“Good, Jovie,” he praises. “Just like that.”
I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but I’m sure my cheeks somehow redden further despite my state of exhaustion. We’re less than arm’s length apart when he decides to strike. It’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for.
I counter his strike with a quick swipe and am rewarded with the sight of blood as it seeps through the paper-thin cut on the back of his forearm.
Acker stares at me with a heat I can’t feel because everything hurts and I think I might be on the brink of death. My arm shakes as I lift the sword to return it to him, hilt first. He at least has the wits to ignore it.
“Find an elemental to chill her bathwater,” he says to a servant stationed under the veranda. Then he gives me one last, lingering look before turning
away.
I hear Hallis’s whispered words over the wind. “Was it the oath or just you holding yourself back?”
They walk too far out of range for me to hear Acker’s reply, but I don’t care.
Surviving is good enough for me. For today, at least.
