by Alex Lidell
The foot of air between us heats, crackling with an energy that prickles along my skin.
Coal swallows. “I wanted to say . . . I wanted to thank you, mortal.” His large, calloused hand reaches for my face, pulling away into a fist without ever making contact. “For—”
I grab Coal’s wrist, saving him from finishing his sentence. “Walk me to the practice arena?”
He gives me a grateful nod and starts us into motion, his eyes never stopping their assessment of me. “Don’t worry about the chill. You’ll be warm enough once training starts.”
Right. “So”—I make my voice light—“anything you want to tell me about this training of Tye’s?”
Coal puts his hands behind his back, considering the question a great deal longer than I thought he would. “No,” he says finally. Several steps later, he adds, “Only that you should not expect to do well.”
15
Lera
Coal leaves me at the wall of the practice arena and I climb the steps up and the ladder down myself, discovering the round space empty. A horizontal bar is set up in the center, along with several paper targets and a dozen armed crossbows braced on metal stands. The latter point at the horizontal bar as if taking aim, an arrangement that cannot possibly be safe.
I’m about to turn away to look for Tye elsewhere when I realize that the horizontal bar is flexing slightly, as if holding a phantom yet shifting weight. I take a step toward it. A heartbeat later, Tye appears out of thin air, rotates a full circle around the bar, and disappears again.
I jump back, my hand going to my mouth, my heart slowly remembering how to beat. The Gloom. I swallow, watching Tye materialize in midair, release the bar to tumble head over heels, and grip it again with smooth precision before disappearing once more. The male is not only moving in space but also in and out of the Gloom as he does it.
“Bloody burning stars,” a male voice utters behind me. I turn to find a squat, tan male in the orange tunic of Malikai’s quint. The male’s eyes are riveted to the bar, where Tye now balances upside down, rings of fire encircling him like flaming snakes. “Has someone called the damn circus to town?”
“Aye, Blayne,” a second male answers, now joining us on the sand. Tall and willowy, this one has dirty-blond hair and two runes decorating his neck. “And you’re invited as its ass. Down!”
I hit the sand just as a flicker of Tye’s magic makes the crossbows start firing in a chain, each deadly bolt aiming for the bar where Tye tumbles. My pulse rushes so quickly, the world blinks around me, but Tye never slows, never breaks the dance of power and precision. One arm drops to let a bolt fly past. The other. The male launches himself off the bar, a third bolt piercing the space his head occupied only a heartbeat earlier.
Snap, snap, snap. The release of each crossbow sings through the air, each bolt in turn just missing Tye’s perfectly moving body. His bare torso and red hair reflect flashes of his fire, the light and shadow sculpting each perfect, lithe muscle into ethereal, deadly beauty.
A gong sounds through the practice arena just as five crossbows all fire at the same time. Tye spins through a final, gravity-defying sequence and lands directly in their path, a column of flames around him. I twist to see where the arrows hit and come up short.
“Good stars, that isn’t a shield,” the tall second-trial whispers. “He . . . he incinerated the arrows.”
“Of course he did,” someone else replies. “Haven’t you ever seen a flex tourney, Yalis? That trick’s a mandatory element for fire affinities.”
“Not at any tourney I’ve ever seen,” Yalis mutters. “They only do it at Realm Championship meets.”
Tye’s fire dies down, leaving the solitary sound of two hands applauding. “Quite the demonstration, Tye,” Klarissa calls musically as she strides across the sand, her golden dress streaming behind her. “Though most instructors prefer to wait until after the students have arrived.”
“It was a warm-up, not a demonstration.” Tye blinks, his brows rising in mild incredulity as he marks the gathered crowd. As if he’d truly not noticed eight male trainees, two elders, and one mortal until just now. Though shorter than River, Tye still stands above the other trainees, his carved muscles and latent power making some of them look like spindly teenagers. His emerald eyes are all too serious. Dusting a white, chalky powder from his hands, he grabs a gold-colored vest from the base of the horizontal bar and pulls it over his arms. The sleeveless piece hangs open down his chest, leaving his corded arms bare and the smooth skin of his abdomen rippling with each motion. The loose black pants hanging on his hips are the only echoes of the trainee uniform.
“Why is everyone here so early?” Tye’s rich voice rumbles through my core. Power, the kind I’ve not seen rolling off the male before, now burns up all the air in the arena. Judging by the other males’ lowered gazes, they sense it too.
“Because we are all eager overachievers,” I say, closing the short distance to Tye and poking him hard in the ribs, catching his emerald gaze. I little care what response Tye gives me—a smile, a curse, an insult—so long as I can glimpse my Tye again. Just to make sure he is my Tye. My voice drops. “And you scared the hell out of me, I’ll have you know.”
The male catches my wrist, his grip firm. Not painful, but hard enough to tell me he finds the jest unacceptable. “Fall in line with the others, lass,” he says, his eyes already on the nine of us making up the class. On Klarissa in the back, standing with her arms crossed.
I feel cold as I step back, the second-trial Yalis moving over to make room for me. As if I’m suddenly more aligned with him than with my own quint mate.
“Wait,” Blayne calls out again, this time stepping forward and taking in both Tye and the trainees with his gaze. “Are we actually here for flex instruction? For stars’ sake, someone tell me why.”
“Don’t look at me,” Tye says darkly, crossing his arms over his chest. “This wasn’t my notion.”
“You are here learning flex for two reasons, Blayne,” Klarissa says, strolling forward and smiling at the stout male, who has the good sense to blanch. “First, control of body guides control of magic, and flex represents the ultimate mastery of this connection. Second”—Klarissa reaches out and straightens Blayne’s collar, her long fingers moving gracefully—“you are here, Blayne, because I ordered you to be here. Fail to perform to your limit, and you can take a rest against the flogging post. Does that help?”
“Yes, Elder. Thank you, ma’am.” The apple of Blayne’s throat bobs as he swallows.
Klarissa’s eyes flow from him to me to Tye, silently making sure we all received the message.
Cold fear clutches my chest and Tye’s jaw tightens, his green eyes flashing for a split moment of raw fury before a cool mask snaps into place.
“By demanding simultaneous mastery of both physical and magical power,” Elidyr says, walking up to stand beside Tye, “flex allows for feats that would be impossible to achieve using muscle or magic alone.” The elder wears black pants and a vest cut in a similar style to Tye’s, though his is a shimmering silver fabric instead of gold. His usual long brown braid hangs down his back, the calluses in his wide palms belying his passion for horses. “They are all yours, sir,” Elidyr says to Tye, bowing with a mix of respect and suspicious familiarity.
As if the two know each other well. Or did.
Tye nods and straightens his back. “Today we’ll be working toward a core exercise in the flex program for fire.” His smooth, lilting voice fills the air, sending a shiver down my spine. Replacing the crossbow stands with two targets twenty paces apart, Tye stands directly between them, beneath the horizontal bar. “Elder Elidyr, if you could assist?”
Elidyr, whose magic seems to have an air affinity, snaps his fingers. The targets begin to turn to the rhythm of his snaps, facing Tye then swiveling away a heartbeat later.
Without hesitating, Tye flicks his hands and two small spheres of fire whoosh from him in opposite directions, each st
riking its target’s center.
“This is what we’re working toward?” Blayne says, just loudly enough to make ignoring him impossible. “A most effective use of time, to be sure.”
Tye turns to the squat male, studying him silently before sighing and stepping out from beneath the horizontal bar. “The sooner you pass this exercise, the sooner we can be rid of each other.” He motions for Blayne to take his place between the targets. “All you must do is strike both targets, the right and left, simultaneously. The targets are turning in unison, so releasing your spheres at precisely the same time will be the only way to accomplish this goal.”
“What’s the catch?” Blayne asks, frowning suspiciously.
“The time limit.” Before Blayne can ask what Tye means, a neat wall of fire flares to life in front of Tye and moves steadily toward the trainee. All the while, Elidyr’s snaps turn the targets in a steady rhythm, facing Blayne then blading away.
Face. Blade. Face. Blade.
I hold my breath.
On the third swivel, Blayne confidently presses outward with his palms, great flaming spheres shooting from his hands . . . and hitting the wall. He curses. Glances at Tye’s approaching flames. Watches the targets.
Face. Blade. Face. Blade.
Blayne’s next strike hits only the left target. His third attempt strikes only the right.
By the time Blayne readies himself for a fourth attempt, his chest heaving with the effort, Tye’s wall of flames is but a pace away. Spheres of fire fly from the trainee, as if quantity could make up for precision. Except even I can tell that the shots are wild, draining Blayne’s power as quickly as he can summon it. Sweat stands out on his brow.
Face. Blade. Face. Blade. The targets keep turning, their pace mockingly steady, though Blayne no longer can spare the time for them. Not as Tye’s wall of flame approaches, ready to burn Blayne alive.
I gasp, letting out a relieved breath when a shimmering shield springs up around Blayne, encircling his body just as Tye’s fire catches him.
Magic crashes into magic. And shoves.
Another gasp escapes me. I hadn’t realized Tye’s fire could push as well as burn. By the wide look in Blayne’s eyes, neither had he. Now Tye’s magic forces the trainee back. One step. Two. More. Until Blayne’s back is against the stone wall and the flames surround him in a cocoon.
His scream pierces the air and Tye flinches, even as his fire holds. The scream sounds again, morphing into a choking cough. Only when silence reins does Tye’s fire dissipate to reveal Blayne’s body, curled up and whimpering on the ground.
I swallow, not knowing where to look. Klarissa strides up to Blayne, the silver shimmer of her healing magic washing over him while Tye returns his attention to the rest of us. As if nothing unexpected took place.
Perhaps nothing unexpected did.
“Simultaneously striking two targets at a wide angle demands flexibility and precision in your magic,” Tye tells our silent group. “It’s the magical equivalent of doing a split, and until you can do it with your body, you will be unable to perform it with your magic, which must be anchored to your core.” Tye lowers himself to the sand, his legs stretched left and right in an impossibly straight line. “Today, therefore, we will work on flexibility. Attempt to anchor your magic to your muscles as you work. Once I feel you are stretched enough to attempt the exercise that Blayne failed, I will let you know. Pair up.”
A beat of awkward silence hangs in the air. Casting a long look at Blayne, the other trainees decide to go along with Tye’s instructions, sitting with their backs against the arena wall while their partners pull them forward by the hands and simultaneously push their legs outward. In moments, groans of pain fill the air. None chose to work with me.
Left by myself, with neither magic nor partner, I settle to stretch as well. With my legs spread as far as they can go—a shape that resembles a wedge of cheese rather than the line Tye demonstrated—I watch the male I thought I knew walk down the row of trainees, the angles of his beautiful, sharp face in a shape I’ve never seen before. He goes to every pair, makes corrections to every other being in the arena, before finally stopping in front of me. A stunning, lithe fae warrior, with a mop of red hair and too-serious green eyes.
“I didn’t have a partner,” I say stupidly.
“I’m your partner.” Tye sighs, glances at Klarissa, who stands watch over by the horizontal bar, then crouches in front of me. Close enough that he could brush a hand along my hair, though he does not.
A chill runs through me, Coal’s words echoing in my memory. My mouth is dry, my heart racing no matter how many times I tell myself that it’s Tye—Tye—who sits beside me. “What are we going to do?”
He does touch my cheek then, brushing his thumb across it gently before sitting down with the soles of his boots pressing against the insides of my shins. With my back against the wall and Tye’s legs braced to push mine farther apart, there is suddenly no place to go. No escape. Grasping my elbows with his large hands, Tye meets my gaze. “I’m going to hurt you, lass,” he says softly. “And it’s all right if you need to cry.”
16
Tye
Tye was going to kill Klarissa, he decided as he watched Lera sob in pain. He was going to tear the whole damn world apart for making him do this to Lera. For putting the lives and safety of others beneath his care. For making him re-taste a world he’d shut the door on centuries ago.
“Focus on your body; the magic will come later,” Tye said, feeling the stream of power she radiated twitch and retreat beneath the strain. It was amazing, truly, to sense her echoing his own power, the feeling of it as palpable to him as his own. The key difference being that Tye enjoyed pushing his body to its limits. “Let your muscles yield to the pressure.”
The lass was shaking now, thinking herself at a limit that she was still far from. The hitched sobs escaping her throat seared right into Tye’s soul.
Tye felt Klarissa’s eyes burning into his shoulders. Especially with Elidyr here, the elders would know if he let Lera off easy—and the retribution would not be pleasant. Klarissa had made that point clear enough.
And the day was already bad enough without that. The mere sight of the familiar equipment, the soft grunts of athletes, the smell of the chalk he’d used to help keep his grip on the bar, flooded Tye with memories he’d worked hard to push away. Made his body thirst for more, even if that more was poisoned.
“Tye, stop.” Lera’s words escaped between desperate pants. Her beautiful fiery brown hair was in wild disarray, some tendrils plastered to her face with sweat. Her creamy skin was blotchy with exertion. The magic was slipping away from her, but her muscles couldn’t escape Tye’s pressure.
“Easy, lass. Take a breath.” He tried to make his voice soothing, the only comfort he had to offer her as, instead of doing as she asked, he pulled her arms further toward him. “It’s better if you breathe.”
He doubted she could hear him just now, likely busy as she was planning his demise. The worst part of this damn morning was that it was working. Lera’s supple curves responded beautifully to his demands, her magic and muscles yielding better than anyone he’d ever worked with. Not that she’d think so.
Lera sobbed silently, her back arching in a fruitless attempt to escape the burning agony. Her body begged for a reprieve, but although Tye could see the words forming and reforming on her lips, they never came. Not because Lera trusted the exercise, but because she no longer trusted him. She’d asked once. She knew that he knew her request—and was ignoring it.
Tye’s jaw tightened. No one sane ever coached a lover, and this was why. Another minute, Tye decided, and then he’d let her rest while he ran the others through the earlier target exercise. At least two of the remaining seven fae had a chance of passing it.
They didn’t pass, though one—the tall second-trial named Yalis—came close on his second try. Yalis now studied the course for a third attempt, a spark of intrigue flashing in his ey
es. The trainee was starting to feel the point of it, no longer trying to brute-force the throws and focusing on precision instead.
At least Tye didn’t have to punish anyone else the way he’d punished Blayne—there was little need to repeat that point—but all the trainees wore a few burns to show for the attempts. Stars. This was like herding cats. Cats with candles tied to their tails while running through straw.
“I wager that your brute of a trainer would have left you wearing those burns the whole practice, just to deter sloppiness,” Elidyr said, coming up to stand beside Tye as he watched Klarissa tend to the latest burn victim—this one having scorched his own thigh.
Tye crossed his arms, his jaw tight. “I was in that training arena by choice. None of them are.”
“The quint magic chose them.” Elidyr’s voice hardened. “Just as it chose you. You are not doing anyone any favors by pretending that fighting the qoru is all stolen wine and dandelions.”
“Why are you doing this?” Tye asked, without turning his head. “And don’t start on the virtues of flex for a warrior, Eli. These are beginners; the specific magic affinity matters less than basic strength and flexibility at this stage. You could teach this class with your eyes closed—you little need me. Or did you think I’d enjoy this for old times’ sake?”
“I’d say your probable lack of enjoyment was more of an inspiration than a deterrent.” Elidyr plucked a blade of hay from his pocket and chewed on the end. “Klarissa wished to remind your quint commander that his choices have consequences. I steer clear of that relationship, but I agree that the weaver needs to be pushed—and your more enjoyable methods are likely to lead to a different type of exercise.”