Shielded

by KayLynn Flanders

  I eased my way through the crowd around the large ring in time to see Cris land the final blow to his sparring partner. Everyone celebrated his victory, but I’d been caught in his gaze.

  “Jennesara!” he called out, his chest heaving from the match. “Shall we spar? You may actually stand a chance now that I have already beaten three others!” The crowd laughed and jeered.

  A blush heated my neck at his attention. “You know I can’t turn down a challenge like that, Cris!”

  The men and women in uniform started calling out encouragement to their respective favorites, but the cries for Cris were noticeably louder. Most usually rooted against me—I’d beaten everyone except Master Hafa. But today, their lack of favor stung. This was the place I most felt at home, and it was the last time I would stand in the dust to sweat and fight with them.

  I pulled off my sweater and draped it over the fencing surrounding the ring and blew on my hands to warm them. I arched one arm behind my neck, then the other, stretching my legs and bouncing on my toes. It would be a good day to swing a sword at someone’s head.

  Master Hafa emerged from the crowd, handed me a long wooden staff, and nodded toward Cris. “You may start with this one,” he announced in his gravelly voice.

  I made a fist, placed it on the opposite shoulder, bowed, and took the staff. As I tested its weight, I couldn’t keep from grinning. When I was five, Ren had taught me to use my stature and speed to my advantage, and staff combat was still one of my favorite ways to fight.

  Ren is leaving.

  The thought came unbidden, and I struggled to shake it free. I needed to let all emotions fall away as my opponent and I faced off.

  Cris was taller and stronger—and very distracting—but I was faster and born to fight.

  I found my grip and adjusted my stance, breathing in the scent of dirt, sweat, and the thrill of a fight. Cris grinned at me from the other side of the ring as we started circling each other. I smirked back.

  Finally, he stepped forward and took the first swing, sweeping at my legs. Everything seemed to slow. The clarity that always came to me in a fight dawned—my vision sharpened, sounds magnified, and I felt every breath, every breeze from my enemy’s weapon. I welcomed the jarring of my bones as our staffs connected, and I quickly jumped and spun in the air, catching Cris with a hit to the shoulder. I connected, but he used the momentum to roll away and regroup, readying for the next move.

  “You don’t need to go easy on me,” he taunted, trying not to smile and failing.

  “I didn’t want to mess up your face any more than it already is. I know it’s your most prized possession,” I shot back, then blocked his staff as he swung at my ribs. “Besides,” I grunted, shoving him off, “my brother needs at least one friend with his face intact to keep his ego in check.”

  His next jab was high, and I dodged left, jamming my staff into his foot as I turned. He yelped and sprang back to avoid my strike at his neck.

  “Why, Princess, did you just call me handsome?”

  I scoffed and aimed for his knees. Cris’s staff grazed my shoulder. I parried his next swing and danced away from him.

  The crowd around the ring was shouting and cheering, but to me it sounded like the pounding of heavy rain—one indistinguishable rumble.

  I am betrothed.

  Anger and frustration flared in my chest. Losing wasn’t an option. Not today.

  I was several paces back from Cris, and he was still grinning, waiting for me to take the offensive, broad shoulders straight and uniform neat despite his previous frays. So I ran at him. His eyes widened, and he pulled his staff in closer. I yelled as I took my last step, using my staff as a pole to push myself higher than I could jump on my own. He dropped his staff and grabbed my foot before it could slam into his sternum, holding on tight and pulling me down. I twisted around and used our combined momentum to pin him to the ground, pushing my shaft under his jaw against his neck.

  As the dust settled around me and Chris, the only sound was our labored breathing. Then the crowd erupted.

  I couldn’t keep the grin of victory off my face as I pulled my staff from Cris’s neck and rolled away. He lay there with wide eyes, propped on his elbows. He ran a hand through his hair and held it back a moment before releasing it with a disbelieving chuckle. I held out my hand, and his surprise transformed into something more like admiration.

  He grasped my palm, and I hauled him up. Instead of letting go, though, he pulled me closer. “Ice and snow, Jenna, where did you learn that trick?” He caressed the back of my hand with his thumb. To any spectators, it would only appear as a congratulatory remark and handshake.

  I tugged my hand free and shrugged, my stomach turning over from nerves, and something else that threatened to send a shiver down my spine. “I can’t tell you all my secrets. You’ll have to figure out how to beat me on your own.”

  “Princess Jennesara,” someone said, cutting in. I pulled my eyes from Cris’s as General Leland approached, nodding respectfully to me.

  “General Leland,” I replied, straightening my tunic. “I’m glad to see you’ve returned safe from North Watch.”

  I’d been afraid of the general when I was little—his near-colossal height and the permanent stern look on his face had always stirred my unease. Ren had told me again and again that my fears were unfounded, and I had to admit that Leland only ever treated me well.

  Leland’s strained smile accentuated the hollows under his eyes. “I arrived just yesterday. I could not miss your birthday.” I swallowed and kept my shoulders from slumping at his hidden meaning. He’d returned to escort me to Turia. He turned to Cris. “Lord Cris, I would like to speak with you.”

  I attempted a smile and took a step back.

  A muscle in Cris’s jaw flexed, but he bowed before exiting the ring and walking off with the general, their voices dropped low. Cris’s mother had passed away several years ago, and since he’d never known his father, Leland had taken him under his wing. That, more than anything, was what eventually softened my view of the general.

  I rubbed a hand against my stomach, uneasy for another reason. Would Leland tell Cris I was leaving? Would he tell him about the betrothal? A disappointment I hadn’t let myself feel swelled inside me. A hope I had never let myself entertain sputtered out—the hope of Cris becoming more than just my brother’s best friend.

  I am leaving tomorrow.

  I turned and handed Master Hafa the staff, picked up my sweater, then trudged back to the castle.

  Everything I did today would be the last time. I was glad I had a last chance, but I also regretted all the future chances I would never have. And underneath it all, there were weightier matters to worry over. The blackened edges of a note that shouldn’t have been burned, a note that shouldn’t have been written.

  But Leland would look after my father, and Cris would look after Ren. And I’d find out everything I could in Turia’s library before the trouble at the border escalated any more than it already had.

  In the Borderlands of the Ice Deserts

  A pair of tall, cloaked figures stood brazenly in the middle of a burned-out town covered in ash and snow. The predawn glow in the east barely illuminated them through the billowing smoke.

  “Where is Redalia?”

  “She has her instructions,” the one with drooping shoulders replied. A small trickle of blood seeped from his nose.

  “And why was I not privy to those, Graymere?” At the edge of the street, a new fire flared up in a collapsed building.

  “You are alive because of me. You will follow my orders, as will Redalia.”

  The man grunted. “And what of your new ally?”

  “He won’t fail.”

  “They are more powerful than I would have expected after so many years.”

  A slow smile spread across Graymere’s f
ace, his gray teeth reflecting the firelight around them. “Soon it won’t matter what magic their line has manifested.” He whistled, and a broad gray horse cantered into view.

  The other man tilted his head. “Do not underestimate our enemy. We have waited too long to fail now.”

  Graymere’s shadow seemed to grow despite the lack of light. “A dead enemy cannot be underestimated. I will have my revenge on Kais’s line.”

  “What of Kais’s bond? They will know your plan.”

  “No.” Graymere mounted his gray horse. “I will take care of the bond—with her blood.”

  My boots left muddy prints as I ran down the hall. I’d stayed in the garden longer than I’d intended, and the two seamstresses who were waiting to dress me would be even grumpier than usual. I skidded around the corner to the family wing of the castle and almost slammed into my handmaiden.

  “There you are,” Aleinn scolded. While only four years my senior, she’d taken to mothering me from the first day she was assigned to me. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” She wrinkled her nose as she caught the scent of sweat and dirt wafting from my tunic. “You’ll need a bath before tonight, as well.”

  I frowned but nodded. Though messages from Hálenborg could reach Turia’s capital, Turiana, in eight days by switching horses and riders at the border outposts, it took twelve days to travel by caravan. Twelve days until another warm bath. Twelve days until I could look for answers about the mages’ library. Twelve days until Hálendi was no longer my home.

  Aleinn held her hand out to lead me to my chambers. As we walked, she kept pace but remained one step behind out of deference. She was the closest person to a friend I had in the castle, and I understood why she kept space between us, but I couldn’t help but resent it.

  “How is your brother faring in the stables?” I asked, hoping to close the gap in another way.

  “He loves the horses, but not the mucking,” she replied softly.

  “No one likes mucking. That’s why they make the newest stable boys do it.”

  She laughed. “He says the stable masters claim it builds character.”

  “And keeps them from having to do it.”

  I touched her arm, and we paused in front of the chamber doors. “I’m going to miss you, Aleinn.”

  She patted my hand. “Haven’t you heard? I’m to accompany you.”

  Hope flared inside me, though guilt tried to stamp it out. “But…your brother. Your family…”

  Her smile was soft but genuine. “I don’t mind. Seeing more of the Plateau will be something of an adventure. I’ve heard so many tales about the strangeness of the Wild, and we’ll get to journey through the heart of it!”

  I pursed my lips to keep back a smile. Was she really excited to sleep in a tent and travel through the unknown, or was she just trying to make me feel better? “You only have to stay until I’ve gotten settled.”

  And then she’d return home. But I never would, not really. My shoulders drooped, and her smile dimmed the smallest bit.

  “This journey,” she said, “is it…”

  I pasted on a smile and tilted my head toward my chambers and the waiting seamstresses. “How mad do you think they’ll be when they learn I still need to bathe?” I didn’t want to answer questions about rumors—especially not in the hall—and I hoped she understood.

  Her pale-blue eyes studied my face. I didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. With a nod, she opened the door and gestured for me to enter. “Why don’t you go find out?”

  * * *

  My bedchamber was still full of maids frantically folding and packing when I’d finished scrubbing the dirt and sweat away, donned a robe, and rebraided my hair. Aleinn and I stayed out of their way in my sitting room.

  The fire roared, but my skin raised in gooseflesh in the brief span between when I removed my robe and when the seamstresses hefted the dress over my head. I was lost to a world of rustling fabric, cocooned in filtered silver and blue light, until they got it settled correctly. They helped me onto a short stool in the middle of the room, and then they were off, checking every hem, every bead, every seam, making any last-minute changes they deemed necessary.

  My stomach churned and rolled. The next time I’d be fitted for a dress this spectacular would be for my wedding. Another jolt passed through me at that thought, and I breathed through my nose to steady my nerves.

  “Arms higher, Princess.” Aleinn’s soft voice floated into my thoughts, and I adjusted my arms so she could wrap a thick ribbon of blue with intricate silver embroidery around my waist, its ties draping down the side of the skirt.

  “You’ll be sure to catch everyone’s attention in this,” Aleinn said with a knowing gleam in her eye, one I wasn’t familiar with.

  “Who are you— Ouch!” I yelped, with a glare at the woman stitching something at my side. Her cheeks went red, but she kept her head down.

  My teeth clenched as I remembered the note. The traitor could be anyone, could have eyes and ears anywhere. I exhaled slowly and let the seamstresses circle me like hungry wolves. Leaving my father here to deal with a council he didn’t trust fought with every instinct I had, but he’d given me my orders.

  “Oh, Princess, you look lovely,” Aleinn murmured.

  I did not doubt the seamstresses’ skill. The dress was a masterful work of art—the midnight-blue fabric was so finely woven it shimmered, and the embroidery at the edge of the long skirt swirled with a life of its own. But I had always had a hard time with dresses. Formal gowns were the worst: the skirts were heavier and the bodices tighter, and they weren’t made to stash weapons.

  I’d once tried to explain to Aleinn the reason I often wore trousers around the castle, but she couldn’t understand why I would need to reach a knife strapped to my ankle. My point was that if something happened, I couldn’t get to it if I was laced tightly into a dress.

  My mind snapped back to the present when the shorter seamstress fingered my golden braid, still wet, at my back.

  “Princess, we can help set your hair so it won’t cover the jewels at the collar. You are planning on leaving it down for the ball, aren’t you? Take it down now, and we can see how it will accent the dress.”

  I shifted and clenched my hands into fists to keep from wiping them against the fine fabric of my skirt. “My braid reminds me of my mother. I think I ought to have a bit of her with me on my birthday, don’t you?”

  A tiny trickle of sweat started between my shoulders. It had been ages since anyone had questioned me about why I didn’t let Aleinn style my hair. When I was young, my mother had always arranged it. After her death, I’d insisted on taking care of it myself. The servants looked at me funny, and the nobility laughed behind my back at the simplicity of my appearance—I’d managed to master only a handful of styles that hid the streak, and none of them were appropriate for the announcement of a betrothal. Still, everyone seemed to accept it as one more oddity about the princess who didn’t act as they thought a princess should.

  But would they be so forgiving in Turia? My ribs ached against my lacings. I’d be married to the prince heir. I’d be a queen, eventually. There was no way I’d be able to convince the Turians to let me arrange my own hair.

  The shorter seamstress pursed her lips, still staring at the neckline like she hadn’t heard my reply, and started unlacing the fine silver chain at the front of the bodice. “Miss Aleinn, could you help us?”

  My mouth went dry. “Wh-why are you unlacing?”

  They all ignored me.

  “The glass beads on the bodice were imported from the Continent and chosen specifically to match your eyes,” Aleinn said as she came to stand behind me. “They’ll be wasted if your hair covers them.”

  I’d been told I had my mother’s eyes—ice blue with a ring of navy around the iris. The beads glimmered with the same intensity.


  “We need to see where your hair falls at the back,” the seamstress said, nodding to Aleinn, who reached for the tie at the end of my braid.

  “I know the most wonderful style that would suit this dress perfectly. Perhaps I could arrange your hair—just for tonight, since it is your birthday,” Aleinn said. “We’ll make sure no one can resist you,” she added with that new knowing gleam in her eyes again.

  I did want to dance with Cris, but with Ren’s fresh warning, I knew I couldn’t let my secret out, even if I was leaving tomorrow.

  My breaths came fast as I tried to think of an excuse that wouldn’t raise more suspicion. A strange feeling started between my stomach and my rib cage. It was almost like the sensation you get from sitting too long on the hard chairs in the library. Like when you land on your back with the wind knocked out of you. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it startled me enough that I sucked in a breath and lost my balance on the stool. Time seemed to slow as I fell, and the strange feeling spread.

  “Easy, Princess. You won’t get out of it that easily.” The taller seamstress caught me before I made a complete disaster of everything. And with her words, the strange feeling dissipated like smoke in the wind. It had felt so substantial, yet it fled like a dream.

  All the blood drained from my face. Aleinn gripped my arm, holding me steady. “We can leave her hair as it is for now. The princess needs to rest before tonight.”

  Relief washed over me until the taller seamstress huffed.

  “If you are finished, you are dismissed,” Aleinn said with a wave of her hand.

  But the shorter seamstress wasn’t done. “We have been commissioned by King Shraeus to…”