by Gwynn White
She stood. “If that’s all, I’ll head to Eliezar.”
Queen Geminara rose too. “Stasha, please call me Geminara. I know we haven’t gotten off on the best footing, but you are to be my daughter-in-law. I hope we can be friends.”
“It would certainly make life easier.”
A smile crinkled Geminara’s sapphire eyes. “I’m glad we agree. I’ll summon Brock to spirit you to Eliezar.” She rang a bell.
So much for Averin meeting her after breakfast for a full disclosure. Like everything he’d done, giving her the feather that hung in the sheath at her side had been part of the lie. What did it matter to him if he didn’t fly until after the Hiding of the Moon? His magic was now safe from all royal demands, and he had her on hand to lead his army into battle. He’d gotten everything he wanted. She’d ditch his horrible feather the first chance she got. Hopefully, some dark fae would find it and use it to ground him forever.
But even as she wished for that, her heart ached. She’d never part with his feather, just as she’d hung onto Tarik’s ribbon long after his death. Tarik’s ribbon had given her hope, until the Tiyanak had tricked it off her and soiled it with fae blood. Averin’s feather would be a constant reminder of the need for caution in all her dealings with fae and their monsters. She’d not be so easily duped again.
A knock sounded, and the door opened. Brock buzzed into the room. The second his chunky boots touched the carpet, he bowed. “Her Majesty requires my assistance?”
“Lady Stasha has a training session with Eliezar. Spirit her to the Wave Camp.” Brock held out a stubby arm. Stasha took it, even though all she wanted to do was
flop into a heap on the floor and cry like baby.
Stasha and Brock’s destination was the greenish-blue wave-shaped building to the left of the palace—Averin’s military headquarters. Brock dropped her on a parade ground in front of the massive, imposing structure.
It was a buzz of activity. Hard-faced fae, dressed in regulation black fighting leathers and polished boots passed through two vast wooden front doors as they went about their business.
Bristling with swords, cudgels, bows and arrows—and purpose—others drilled, marching in straight lines past sparring fae, who tossed mini-cyclones and other tempests at each other. These Zephyr warriors could not have looked more different to the fae who’d played in the carnival the night before. It was like she’d landed on a different island altogether. This is where she pictured Averin, Trystaen, and Eliezar spending their time.
Eliezar watched Feral Fox, Ivan, and Vlad, who occupied a tiny corner of the vast field. They were engaged in sword fights using wooden swords against black-clad fae soldiers. From the laughter and banter, they all seemed to be having the time of their lives, even if they struck no blows. “Where’s Klaus?” she shouted above their noise.
Feral Fox dropped his sword and spun to her. “In the library. He said he’d meet you at lunchtime.” At least Klaus was probably having a good morning.
Five other soldiers stood in a loose group under a tree not far from where the battalion played. Warm cloaks around their shoulders not only warded off the icy wind but suggested they were headed somewhere. They stopped their conversations to stare at her, as if sizing her up. Head held high, she ignored them and strode to Eliezar.
He met her halfway. “Breakfast done? You ate well, I hope?” His wolfish eyes seemed to look through her skin into her very soul. Clearly, he knew the answer to that question. Just like he’d known Averin’s true purpose in finding her. From the start, he and Trystaen had made it clear that they didn’t approve of Averin’s fake affection for her. Now she knew why. Her stomach churned with nausea. They both had more honor in their baby fingers than Averin had in his entire body.
She folded her arms. “It was delicious. Every mouthful an absolute treat. Now when do we start this training?”
Eliezar’s dark eyebrows twitched. “I’ve been told about your brush with the Lost.” Voice lower than usual, it was unlikely anyone would hear him.
Given everything else that had happened, her weird compulsion to glide into a hole in the wall to eat a non-existent cake had slipped clean from her mind. She rubbed her arms. “It’s been suggested that I need to work on my mental shields.”
“As an absolute priority. I believe Prince Rican is in the library with Scholar Klaus. Hopefully they’ll find something that helps us understand why you were targeted.”
Her mind wandered to where Averin was and what he was doing. She grimaced.
Not going there. Eliezar watched her with such quiet stillness, it was unbearable. “I don’t need your pity.”
He did a double take. “Just as well, because I don’t do pity. You’ve asked me to teach you magic control. I’m more than willing, but first, do you have anything to tell me that will make both of our jobs easier?”
Translation: did she have water magic? Wouldn’t he just love to know. She fixed her sweetest smile on her face. “Absolutely nothing.” Meanwhile, her insides burned. Without sharing the truth with her teacher, she was no doubt dooming them both to an unending, fruitless, and frustrating endeavor.
It didn’t matter.
She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. They had a fae lifetime to mess around with this training. And as for her white heat? With Averin’s mighty army at her back, she’d have to risk going into battle without it. What else could she do? Give the Zephyr royals more of herself to exploit? She snorted. Not if she lived to be a billion years old.
Eliezar studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Then let’s start. Some rules and expectations first.” He jerked a finger at her. “Wielding magic takes stamina. Stamina is built on healthy, nutritious food. I’ve watched you eat, and, quite frankly, your efforts are pathetic. Three solid meals a day, plus two wholesome snacks. That’s what I expect from you.”
Although he was right—despite being a starved orphan, she was an erratic eater, with an appetite easily affected by emotion—she shuffled. Anything to do with food sailed painfully close to Averin.
His finger wagged. “Stasha, answer me. Do you accept my challenge?”
“Done. Next?”
“We also need to bulk up your muscles with physical exercise. It’s not right that you’re so weak. I think a chronic lack of food is part of it, but training will help too. That’s what we’re starting with today.” He pointed at the group of soldiers. “They’re regulars, sent here by their commanders to try out for the Azura. You’ll be joining them on an exercise in the mountains. It’s designed to tax all of you to the limit of your endurance. And perhaps a bit beyond. It’s the first stage in a whittling process for them. See it as an opportunity to build both mental and physical strength.”
“Do they know who I am?” According to Averin and Rican, the wind had been very busy since her arrival in Zephyr.
“No, why should they? You’re dressed in military leathers. Right now, the official line is that you’re here to win a coveted place in the most elite fighting force in the world.” Was this when she regretted not eating a bite of her breakfast? “What you choose to tell them is up to you.” Eliezar stalked to the soldiers. She followed his dark shadow, dragging her feet in her scuffed red boots.
The fae jerked to attention and saluted Eliezar. She eased into place next to a heavily-built, red-headed fae with bars denoting rank on his shoulders. He smelled sharply of crushed fruit and pine resin. As he shifted to make space for her, she noticed they all wore rank insignia. These were all hardened warriors she was going up against. Her body, still exhausted from the journey from the temple, ached at the prospect.
“Welcome to the Wave Camp.” Eliezar paced in front of them. “There are six of you, and I have two places to fill in the Azura. Throwing powerful magic around is not enough on its own to win you a place. I’m also looking for fae who can work as a team to achieve battle objectives. At the end of this exercise, two of you will be going back to your units.” Still as statues, no emotion
flickered on any of their faces or twitched a single muscle. She fidgeted like a horse with a fly on its ear. “We’ll spirit to our task, and then I’ll brief you on your assignment.” He clicked his fingers, and the air split. A female fae warrior stepped out of the opening. She saluted and then stood with outstretched arms. “Troops, take hold of Corporal Ara. She’s our ride.”
Stasha shuffled into the circle of fae and grabbed a handful of Corporal Ara’s sleeve. “On three,” the corporal drawled. “One, two, three—” The familiar flash and they landed at the base of a gray rock pinnacle that stood easily fifty feet high.
The cold bit as Stasha’s boots hit the snowy ground. Without a cloak and gloves, and with magic that refused to warm her, this was going to be a miserable day. She’d just have to block out the cold as best she could. She tossed her head back to study the obstacle before her. Her eyes widened and widened as she took in the monolith, until they’d open no more. If this was supposed to be a climbing exercise, as the hollow pit in her stomach feared, where were the ropes and bits and bobs she didn’t know the names of that pinned those nonexistent ropes to the rock?
The soldiers moved into line in front of Eliezar and stood with their feet apart and their hands at their sides. Teeth gritted against her shivers, she copied them.
“Right, first things first: teams,” Eliezar said softly in a voice hoarser than usual. He scanned their faces and then gestured to the redhead standing next to her. “Captain Oristina.” Then his finger roved to a female with short-cropped dark hair and a pixie-like face. “Major Paeral, and… Lieutenant Bellum. Step forward and pick a teammate.”
“Sargent Ilpas,” all three of them said at once, their voices mingling into one solid rumble. The redhead pointed to a tall, beefy, dark-skinned fae male with arm muscles as thick as most people’s thighs. Her heart ached at his resemblance to Lucas.
Eliezar snorted. “Let’s try that again. Bellum and Ilpas. You’re a team. Paeral, pick.”
The female with sky-blue eyes set in the pixie face punched the fae male to her right.
“Gantar, that takes care of you,” Eliezar commanded. Ganter showed no emotion at being chosen beyond a head flick.
That left her—unpicked. As the other pairings broke away to speculate quietly on the upcoming task, she threw her shoulders back and eyeballed Captain Oristina. “Aren’t you the lucky one.”
Faded-blue eyes scanned her distastefully. “You have a name, Private?” His voice rasped like steel on stone.
Right. No rank on her shoulders. She dropped into a fabulous, sweeping bow. “Stasha, Orphan from Askoval, Bearer of Wild Magic, and Weapon Coveted by Nations and Kings at your service.”
Oristina snorted, like he didn’t believe her, then looked at Eliezar. “Is this for real, General?”
Eliezar slapped Oristina’s shoulder. “You have your work cut out for you, Captain.”
Instead of looking thrilled to have her on his side, the stupid fae sneered at her. She caught him mutter, “But she doesn’t have air magic. How in all creation is she going to make it to the top of that rock without ropes?”
“With your help,” Eliezar said coldly.
Oristina jumped, as if he hadn’t realized Eliezar was standing right behind him. He snapped a salute.
Eliezar turned to the group. “Your objective is simple. There’s a silver coin on top of the pinnacle.” Stasha rolled her eyes. Who’d have guessed Eliezar had a sense of humor, however sick? “The team that brings it to me first, wins. As Captain Oristina has already pointed out, you will do this with magic and your bare hands. This is a test of agility and, most of all, teamwork. I suggest you take a few moments to plan your strategy.” He waved at the rock. “Begin.”
Stasha clasped her chin and stared in bemused wonder at the gray stone. What had Eliezar been thinking? It had plenty of handholds, but not even on her best day could she climb it. This was not her best day. No wonder Oristina was glaring at her.
I could forge you an icepick, her water magic offered.
I thought you didn’t make things that aren’t weapons?
You can bury it in Oristina’s head.
Her fire magic cackled.
Thanks, ever helpful. She shrugged at Oristina. “I’ll do my best, but as you’ve observed, I don’t see how my fire magic will help with this.”
He scratched his head, then leaned in close enough to brush her cheek with his coarse red stubble. “Askoval, cost me my place in the Azura, and you might find yourself floating off this mountain in a parcel of air.” His voice set her teeth on edge.
Still, she couldn’t really blame him. “Okay. I get it. You’re mad, but the others have started climbing, so maybe we should move too.”
A short huff. “Go first. I’ll do what I can to help you from below.”
She stomped to the rock face, spat on her hands, and gripped the two most likely protrusions above her head. Every muscle screamed as she pulled herself up. Toes wriggling, she sought for footholds but found none. Her icy fingers opened and tore through the rock. She slid back down, jarring onto the snow. Biting back a cry, she shivered with pain as she gently blew on her bloody hands.
“Can we try that again?” Oristina sounded pained, like he’d been the one to fall on his ass. He looked pointedly at their opponents—they were well underway.
She staggered to her feet. “What do you think I am? A lizard?”
For a split second, she was sure Oristina smiled, but when she looked again, his ugly, freckled face was sullen. She turned her back and stomped to the rock face. This time, she took a moment to plan her route. Carefully, she gripped her chosen rocks and managed to crawl two body lengths up the sheer incline before her quivering muscles gave in, and she had no choice but to cling to the face and rest.
“Askoval, move.” Oristina shoved her foot harder than needed.
She stamped down onto his fingers. “Do that again, and I’ll set fire to your hair.” It wasn’t a good strike, but he still swore. He nudged her again, this time with less obvious disdain.
Slowly, painfully, she inched her way up the mountain. Ahead of her, the other teams had slowed. From her vantage, it was obvious that the handholds were now spaced so far apart, magic was required to move ahead. She closed her eyes and cursed softly. With the best will in the world, she was going to fail and drag Oristina down with her. She winced at what the wind would do with that gossip. By nightfall, there probably wouldn’t be a fae in Zephyr who didn’t know that invincible Stasha had been whipped by a pile of rock. What Zephyr fae warrior would willingly follow such a pathetic leader into battle?
“Today, Askavol,” Oristina growled.
She sucked in a breath, opened her eyes, and gazed up at the top of the pinnacle. It might as well have been on another planet. If only she could fly. Or at least call on Deja. No doubt Eliezar would consider intervention by Deja cheating. More’s the pity.
Something stabbed the inside of her shoulder blades. Not once, not twice, but a dozen times, each thrust more excruciating than the last. Her back arched, and her hands tore away from the rocks. Then she was falling. She screamed, flailing her arms and legs as her bones and muscles burst through the skin on her back. Or, at least, that’s what the agonizing knifing pain felt like. And still she tumbled toward certain death.
Something in her back ripped. Tears streaming off her face, she shrieked so long and loud that she was no more than a couple of feet off the ground before she realized that she’d slowed. She hit the snow with a gentle thud and then rolled head over heels, finally stopped by something unyielding protruding from her spine.
Oristina dropped down next to her. His faded-blue eyes had gone, replaced by the deepest sapphire. “Any other hidden magic you want to tell me about, pit princess?” The red hair morphed into inky black, and the ugly freckles faded.
“Averin!” She tried shuffling back on her butt, but the things sticking out of her back stopped her. She shot a desperate look over her shoulder and gaped
at a pair of black-and-red wings. Arched and magnificent, they curled around her fae body in a firm embrace.
Shift up. Make room, a new voice said in her core. A stiff breeze whipped at a cresting wave of entwined fire and water.
Welcome, sister. Make yourself at home, her fire magic crooned. There’s always room for more.
The wave spun into a vortex as fire, water, and air swirled together in a wild dance in her core.
Nauseous, shocked, sore, and terrified, a sob racked Stasha. Her hands lifted to cover her face, but she forced them back down so she could deal with Averin. She gulped. Not just Averin.…
King Seph was sloughing Eliezar’s skin before her very eyes. Next to him, beefy Ilpas shrugged off his black skin to reveal Trystaen. And then Rican and the real Eliezar dropped off the mountain to join the rest of the fae encircling her. Even pixie-faced Major Paeral was changing. She gasped as Suren stepped into the circle of Zephyr royals and Trystaen and Eliezar. That was all kinds of confusing.
Averin dropped onto his knees next to her. “I’ll ask you again, pit princess. What other kinds of magic are you concealing from us?” His voice was stern, like he’d brook no arguments.
Curse him. She brushed her enormous wings aside and struggled to stand, refusing his outstretched hand when he got to his feet first. She brushed snow off her leggings. “Averin Trysael, you have a right royal cheek asking me about my magic.” But the words didn’t come out with the vigor she wanted. Something was going on, and she was totally in the dark—again. Her shoulders slumped, and she cringed as pain spasmed her back. Hopefully her fae healing would end the torture soon. “I don’t understand. Please tell me what’s going on.”
Averin dragged his hand through his hair. Behind him, King Seph and Rican stood with their arms folded. Their faces were like stone. “It’s all about trust, Stasha,” Averin snapped. “You want answers from me, then give me the one answer I need from you. How many more kinds of magic are you hiding?”
She folded her arms, mirroring King Seph and Rican. “I had no idea about the wings.”