“Never claimed I was a hero,” the big one, Fel, said. A snort from the female and he added, “But I could be your hero.”
A gagging sound came from beneath her hood. She stood, at least a head shorter than her companions. “Tell Dweezil I retired early. We’ll find the smithy tomorrow.”
The light and shadows seemed to melt beside her and a small, well-dressed man clutching a monocle appeared. “Tell me yourself, woman.”
“And so I have,” the cloaked figure said, waving her crossbow in mock salute. She stomped past our table, the scent of old books and ocean rolling past us.
Andimir grinned. “Now that’s a woman after my own heart.”
Jyn waved a hand, shushing him. The other table had quieted again. The man to Fel’s right adjusted a massive sword strapped to his back. When he lifted the blade from its sheath, revealing a sliver of silver, glowing light filled the space around them. Jyn shifted his posture; Camion straightened. This group was unsettling and, apparently, we weren’t alone in the feeling. The innkeeper approached the table, a wary expression on his face.
“I’ve never seen anything like that armor, not in all the years I’ve run this inn,” he said, wiping a tankard clean as he spoke. “What’s it made from?”
“This? Skyva hide,” Fel said. Fondness flickered over his expression as he patted the armor on his shoulder. “They’ve become harder to find, but I got word that an intruder disturbed a nest beneath Emberlyn Forest back on the mainland. Took some clever trading, but I managed to find a guy who could get me inside.”
The world froze around me. Camion tightened the grip he held on my waist. Meryn studied the shining black scales, her eyes wide with disbelief. Had he killed them all? Or only a few? Were they running free in Thrais?
Skyva.
All too easily a memory, flooded with the feel of scales under my fist, overwhelmed me. I could still see the slithering black creatures that lived in the dark catacombs beneath the forest, and the sharp tips of their claws. I tried to push the thoughts down, to take the life from these images. Bile bit at the back of my throat. Another picture rose, of the foot that Meryn had taken. Panic seized my chest. I closed my eyes and took long, steadying breaths. The air burned in my lungs.
Camion scooped my hand into his free one, murmuring “Breathe, Tyli” over and over. I focused on the sound of his voice and tried to ease the pain gripping my heart.
Jyn muttered something to Andimir. The pirate listened intently, then nodded. For a moment, I was too shocked that Jyn had addressed the pirate with civility to be curious. The distraction worked, though, and the fear released its hold. Andimir stood, swaggering over to the other table, and my stomach clenched anew. I could breathe, but the easing panic became pressure in my ribs.
“How many did you kill for such an ensemble?” Andimir asked, leaning beside the monocle-wearing man—Dweezil, he was called. The three companions glanced up at Andimir, curious.
“As many as I could find.” Fel grinned, and though I should have felt relief, the wicked glint in his eyes sent my stomach roiling. “I sold most of what I didn’t use. I might be willing to offer you the rest, if the price is right.”
Andimir lifted a shoulder. “Not sure I’d have much use for armor that fine on the ocean. If my ship were to capsize, I’d be done for. Still, I can appreciate quality material.”
The brown-haired man took another swallow from his tankard. “Maybe we can find another nest, take you with.”
“You find many?”
“No, but there’s rumor the Aren mines might be suffering an infestation. We’re going to check.”
“The Dwarves will allow you to enter their mines?” Andimir asked, brows pulling together.
“If they need the help badly enough, they will,” Fel interjected, leaning back in his chair. “I’m expensive, but worth every coin. If they’re desperate, they’ll find the money. That forest nest didn’t last long.”
“Our companion fights for sport in Hexryn,” Dweezil explained. “He doesn’t lose often.”
“So, you cleared that whole nest, then? Every single one?” Andimir’s eyes widened. I was alone in noticing that the gesture was exaggerated. When the Numyra nodded, he added, “I’m impressed.”
“Of course, you are. I said I was worth the coin.” Fel smirked. “That one took me all of a day, maybe. Disappointing.”
I nearly crumpled into Camion’s side in relief. Meryn gripped my wrist, squeezing gently. The luck of this encounter, the chance that Andimir had brought us here tonight . . .
This crazy warrior from Hexryn had taken care of the Skyva, had done the job for me. My people were safe, at least from one threat. The clamp on my heart eased, as well as a smidgen of the weight on my shoulders. I didn’t hear the rest of the exchange Andimir shared with them, but I noticed when the pirate threw a wink at the brown-haired man. Dweezil stared up at him with narrowed eyes, lips pulled into a thin, calculating line.
Andimir took the appraisal in stride, inclining his head before dropping back to the seat beside Jyn. The Elf muttered a “thanks.”
“Anytime.” Andimir laughed, looking rather pleased with himself. But after a moment, he peered my way and the grin faded slightly. “Does that set your mind a little at ease?”
“Yes. Very much so. Thank you.”
The smile returned. He inclined his head, then picked up his ale.
I managed to finish every bite of food on my plate.
***
Thin, firm mattresses topped our beds, and the warm water of my bath the next morning was soothing against the stiff ache in my muscles. Two metal tubs sat in the partitioned bathing area of the room we had rented for the night. Serving staff had come up at first light to fill them, and Meryn and I were quick to take advantage.
Crystalline bubbles floated over the water’s surface. One danced across an open space before it popped, sprinkling my face with tiny flecks of soap. Rose petals drifted between them, filling the air with their rich scent.
I dipped my head below the surface and listened for a moment to the warbled sound of the men talking quietly on the other side of a folding partition that was drawn between us. They were planning the safest route in case Eurybia made another appearance. Right now, with clean water soaking away the days of grime from my skin, I wanted nothing more than to ignore the problems around me for a few minutes. To pretend, for a little while, that I wasn’t miles from home, chasing Scepters, running from Titans, and trying to ignore the internal alarm that screamed Annalea’s name.
Water splashed loudly as I shoved my head through the surface. The men fell silent, listening several beats before continuing their conversation. I stared at the fluffy robe nearby, debating whether or not to climb out. The bath had chilled anyway. Meryn was splayed out under her own sheet of bubbles beside me, eyes closed on the borderline of a nap.
“Aren’t you cold?”
She cracked an eye open, glancing my way. “No, are you?”
“We have been in here quite a while.”
Meryn wagged her brows, closing her eye again. Barely disturbing her own bath, she reached across the gap between us, dipping her fingertips into my water. I raised an eyebrow of my own until the water warmed around me. She withdrew, a smirk spreading across her lips.
“Cheater,” I scoffed, but slid in deeper until bubbles brushed my chin again. “Thank you. You should teach me how to do that.”
My friend considered, picking tangles from her hair. “I might be able to. I’m not sure on the finer details of arcane magic but, since your powers manifested, I’ve been doing a lot of reading. From what I can tell, the only real difference is the source of your power.” She paused, biting down on her lower lip before she said, “Both forms of magic have a price. Natural magic users can extract power from the earth around us, or the casters ourselves—natural life energy, borrowed from a plant, or the ground. But arcane costs a bit more. Instead of life energy, the magic takes more of a life . . . force.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Life energy is like wiping the glaze from a muffin; you’re removing a component, but one that’s small and easily replaced. Life force is connected more closely to your soul, your existence, which is why blood is the best component for arcane magic. At least, for humans. Elves have deep stores. Your life force is much stronger than, say, a mushroom’s which is almost nonexistent. You can’t extract power from a leaf but, from my understanding, a small animal would be acceptable. A stronger life force. Because of that, and because blood is already a strong magical component, even when the user can’t wield it, a drop of your blood is far more precious than any berry.”
I swallowed. “So, when I use arcane magic without providing a source, even of my own blood, the magic simply takes the energy needed from my own life force? A spell could take my life, and I wouldn’t be aware of the cost until the end?”
“An arcane spell could require the energy of an entire life force, yes, but technically so could a natural spell. I would have to expend a great deal more magic, and be unable to connect to the earth, to accidentally kill myself. You aren’t trained enough, nor do you use your magic enough, to be truly at risk. There are books you should avoid, however, ones filled with arcane spells requiring a life sacrifice. Though, those books are usually hard to find and their spells are considered forbidden arts.” Meryn tapped the side of her bath with a finger. “Because the life doesn’t always have to be yours. More often than not, a little blood will do the trick to activate the necessary magic. Even so . . . some of the more complex spells . . .” Her voice trailed off. When she picked up again, her words wavered. “Whenever things are made, or forged, often there’s a cost to unforge them.”
Dread tightened in my chest as her words sunk in. “You’re saying that if the Scepters were re-forged—”
“There would be a cost for the re-forging and another for the destruction. Breaking and re-forging magic can be particularly finicky too. If I had to guess, you’d need blood descendants from all types of magic involved. And the cost would certainly not be small.”
Bile rose in my throat. I swallowed hard, ignored the burning sensation. “But whoever has been collecting the Scepters would need arcane magic to combine them, yes?”
“Indeed,” Meryn said. “It’s unlikely that the Elves would help, which is a relief since arcane magic outside of Eythera is hard to come by.”
“Unless you happen to be the Queen of Thrais,” I muttered.
“Only three of us know about your abilities, right? Myself, Jyn, and Camion?”
“Lucian knows my mother had power . . . And my sister, she knows too.”
“Forget Lucian. Do you trust us?” Meryn turned hazel eyes to mine.
“With my life.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.”
Chapter 14
“Teach her to fight with you,” Andimir said, circling Camion and me. We paused our sparring to look at him, the ship swaying gently beneath us.
Jyn frowned at the pirate. “What good would that do? She can barely defend herself from the enemies we face.”
“I think her strengths are being smothered by your skill,” Andimir said. Jyn’s brows drew together in confusion. “You and Camion are both significantly better fighters than Nat.” When I glared, he lifted a shoulder. “It’s true, and you all know I’m right. Teach her to fight with you instead of against you—her strengths will compliment yours, and you’ll naturally learn to cover her weaknesses. And vice versa. Nat isn’t helpless.”
I was grateful for that, at least.
Camion nodded. “You’re right. But we’re going to need challengers, if we’re not sparring each other.”
“I’m more than glad to help,” Andimir said, drawing his rapier.
Jyn straightened and loosened a blade of his own. He eyed the pirate with interest, then Camion. Then he paused, mouth tilting into a smirk. “She’s mine,” he said.
I grimaced. Jyn and I hadn’t been able to spar at the palace, for his fears that he wouldn’t be able to adequately protect me if he wasn’t focused. Apparently here, in the middle of the ocean, he was less concerned.
The thought of testing my mettle against his was terrifying. I was outmatched in every way. He was determined, though, and Andimir graciously stepped toward Camion.
Silver flashed.
Jyn moved and I backed up—right into Camion—who reached behind him, steadying me as he raised his own blade to parry Andimir’s blow. My sword met Jyn’s, steel biting steel.
“Watch us,” Andimir said, swinging again. “Don’t let Jyn and I past your guard. But pay attention to each other. Find each other’s weaknesses. Learn to make them your strengths.”
“You’ve done this before?” I grunted, dipping under another of Jyn’s attacks. He was restraining himself and I could still barely keep myself upright.
“Yes,” the pirate panted. “All of my crew have been taught to fight in groups and to adapt quickly to each other’s needs.”
“Focus,” Jyn warned. His blade dipped a hair too close to my shoulder.
So, I did. I took a steadying breath and, in between blows, I listened. Felt. Camion was a solid weight at my back, then my side, his body moving back and forth as needed. When I struggled with clumsy footfalls and unbalanced swings, I could use him as a counterweight. If I wasn’t able to catch myself, he steadied me on reflex. Similarly, I noticed he had the slightest lag in his left-side responses—and was able to compensate, blocking a blow of Andimir’s that could have clipped Camion’s waist.
“Better,” Andimir said.
Progress meant harder attacks, though. Andimir aimed for Camion’s weak spots, forcing me to pick up the slack or risk him getting nicked with a blade. Jyn managed to clip the side of my arm once, but the wound drove Camion to try harder, to protect me more fiercely. When Andimir landed a solid hit on Camion, it was like I had been attacked, like the blow was a personal insult. I wanted to try harder. Do better.
I understood why Andimir insisted I learn partnered combat. When the fight was about my own life, getting lazy remained an option. Giving up—letting them finish the job—was a valid choice.
Fighting with another person? Failure wasn’t an option.
And when my partner was someone I cared about?
I would fight or I would die, but I would not surrender.
I hesitated, caught on my thoughts. Camion spun fully around to meet Jyn’s next attack. Jyn recovered, aiming for Camion’s left side. The blade inched too close. My heart leaped into my throat and, without thought, I dropped my blade. My hands flew up, palms out, and Jyn was flying backwards, slamming into the base of a mast. Camion’s eyes widened to match the expression on Andimir’s face. I tugged my sleeves down over my hands, smothering the purple and blue sparkles before any of the crew could take notice.
I gaped, for a handful of chaotic heartbeats. Then I ran to Jyn’s side, apologizing profusely between footfalls. He rubbed at the back of his head as he slowly picked himself up. I offered him my sleeve-draped hand, my eyes filling with tears.
“What was that about?” he grunted, accepting my help. When he met my eyes, his expression softened. “I’m fine. I mean, that wasn’t expected. And I’ll probably feel it tomorrow. But I’m fine. Nothing broken.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said again, swiping at my cheeks. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Princess, I’m fine.” He lifted his hand and ruffled the dark strands of his hair between his fingers. “No blood. I’m okay.”
At the sight, and the confirmation that he wasn’t wounded, Andimir’s lips spread into a grin. He looked to me. “I can’t believe you attacked Jyn. Out of reflex, so you shouldn’t feel too bad, and damned efficiently I must say. Don’t tell me how, I’m sure I don’t want to know the answer. I’m not going to ponder my suspicions. But I’m impressed.”
“I didn’t mean—” I stammered.
“You learned a
lesson, yes?” Andimir asked. “You felt that instinct take over, that need to defend, whatever the cost?” I agreed reluctantly, and he added, “Well, that’s all you needed to know.”
I glanced up at Jyn. He met my eyes with a shrug and said, “I survived, didn’t I? And to be fair, you did what was asked of you. Nice work, Princess.” He looked away, to Camion hovering at my side. “And you, Camion. Though I’m a bit less surprised there.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. Jyn grinned, moving to retrieve his blade. I rolled my eyes at him as I fell against Camion’s stomach and wrapped my arms around his waist. We were both damp with sweat and blood, glowing with our success, and all I could think about was how well we fit together.
He pressed a kiss into my hair. Without words, I knew he understood.
***
With little else to do as we sailed south, we spent a few more days focused on combat, learning, practicing together. Jyn wasn’t satisfied though and, after one of our more grueling lessons, he insisted I dive into one of Meryn’s books. I needed to take my studies more seriously, he had said, as though I wasn’t gaining more real-world experience than any book could ever teach me. To his credit, all Meryn knew about my magic was in the books she carried. Or some of them. I could only benefit from the reading. Still, I missed sinking into a book for the escape that was a well-woven story . . . not a lecture on arcane ancestry.
I humored Jyn though, usually studying as late as the sun would allow. A feeling was in the air today, though, and I couldn’t seem to focus on the pages. For no reason at all, a heavy weight sat deep in my stomach. Fear, maybe. Warning bells sounded in my mind every time my attention rose to those ivory masts fluttering in the breeze. I tried to shake them off. The sea was calm, the crew around me at ease.
Late in the night, long after most of the ship had gone to sleep, I awoke trembling and covered in cold sweat. The cabin was almost silent around me, only broken by the soft creaks of wood and the sound of Camion’s quiet snoring. For a moment, I assumed a nightmare had shaken me awake. But no dream lingered at the edge of my mind; no ghost of my mother faded away to echoing screams or was chased by the lingering memories of the catacombs and the banshee’s illusion once contained within. I glanced at Camion again. He was calm. Peaceful. No sign of the mysterious nightmares that might forever dog his sleep. I couldn’t help wondering why he hadn’t clarified or explained his demons. He had always said, “at a more appropriate time.” I hadn’t thought I should press the subject. But I couldn’t deny my curiosity.
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