by Coco Ma
Technically, he and Asterin should have been up there, too, except Asterin hated the prying inquisitions and badgering that Queen Priscilla never seemed to mind from the guests—so Orion had developed the dreadful habit of “accidentally” pouring hot tea on the lap of whomever happened to be fortunate enough to be sitting next to him when Priscilla insisted on their presence.
The general caught him staring, and he quickly looked elsewhere, unnerved by the intensity of her cool gray eyes.
“How close were you to actually killing her?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth.
At that, Asterin smirked. “Pretty damn close.”
Sweat poured down his neck as Orion sparred with Asterin the next morning, her bedchamber dusted in the pink light of dawn and his ears ringing with the dissonant clash of steel on steel.
His shirt was completely soaked through. The fabric clung to his body, and he caught Asterin stealing glances at his muscles. No distractions, he thought, and attacked with twice the brutality to remind her of it. She retaliated with vehemence, nearly skewering him with her longsword, Amoux. Distantly, he marveled at her improvement over the last few years. Though Queen Priscilla had shown nothing but disapproval of Orion training her daughter from the very start, she’d allowed it, and Asterin had defied all of their expectations. Discipline, talent, and hard work fueled by the burning desire to impress her mother had honed her into a terrifying force to behold.
But even so, he was her mentor. Her Guardian. He had taught her how to throw a punch, how to hold a sword. When she fell, he was the one to lift her back on her feet and push her onward. Faster, harder, stronger. He knew her strengths better than the back of his hand and her weaknesses better still.
And he never hesitated to use them against her.
Asterin released a sharp cry as Orion lashed out with his leg, tripping her and sending her toppling. She caught herself on the cedar chest at the foot of her bed, scraping her arm, but her stumble gave him the perfect opportunity to lunge. Orondite, his own blade, shrieked through the air and met Amoux with an ear-shattering clang. The impact vibrated up to his shoulders. Asterin’s teeth gritted, back still braced against the chest. She lunged beneath his arms and rolled across the floor, Amoux nicking a chip off the bedpost. Too slow—he was already upon her. She barely managed to throw Amoux up again in time to deflect Orondite’s vicious arc. Orion’s biceps strained, keeping her down, but she managed to drag herself up onto one knee, and then the other, and then finally to her feet. She shoved him off and they circled one another, weighing, assessing, two predators sniffing out the other’s weakness.
Asterin dropped her guard slightly, leaving her right side wide open. He seized the opportunity, feinting left and swinging right.
That was his first mistake.
Triumph flashed across her features as he fell into her trap. He cut upward, expecting her to hook and withdraw, but instead she hooked and struck him thrice in succession, delivering each blow with blinding speed and merciless precision. His grip slackened in surprise, and she threw herself at him, a half-wild snarl erupting from her throat. Her sword sang toward him, and with the force of a dozen men, she swung.
His feet left the ground, his entire body flying backward, Orondite wrenched right out of his grip.
His head smacked into the vanity as he landed on his backside, and Orondite smashed into the wall, leaving a sizable hole in the plaster and taking down an oil painting along with it.
Asterin stepped forward, the ruby eyes of her double-headed wolf pommel glinting in the light of her victory. Wordlessly, she rested her blade beneath his chin, expression colder than the iciest of winters.
Orion shot her a feral smile, blinking the plaster from his eyes. “I yield.”
She withdrew and sheathed Amoux at her side, one hand outstretched. He grabbed it, letting her pull him to his feet.
Warmth spread through her emerald eyes as he placed a hand upon his heart and bowed. His entire head throbbed, he was covered in plaster, and he had never been prouder in his life.
Her face split into a mile-wide grin. A bubble of laughter escaped her lips. “Finally!” she said, punching her fist into the air. The rising sun cast her joy in a silhouette of gold. “I finally bested you.”
Orion shrugged. “About time. And only once, after nearly a decade.” But he laughed along nonetheless when she broke into a victory dance.
Then, as one, they turned toward the hole in the wall.
“Luna’s probably going to kill you,” he said sympathetically.
Asterin cringed. “Probably.”
CHAPTER THREE
Asterin was halfway through fixing the hole when Luna walked in and caught her red-handed with a bucket at her feet and wet glops of plaster dripping down the wall. “What have you done?”
Smiling her best smile while Luna stared in abject horror, Asterin edged toward the bathroom in case she needed to make a quick getaway. “I, uh, tripped.”
“You, uh, tripped?” said Luna, eyes wide with false wonder. “Into the wall? Through several layers of plaster?”
The smile stayed perfectly in place. “I … may have been sparring in my rooms.”
Her lady-in-waiting and best friend of ten years groaned. “Again? How many times must we go over this? What is it about not in your rooms that you don’t understand? What’s wrong with literally anywhere else?”
“It’s private here,” Asterin said, righting a stool that Orion had knocked over. “There’s plenty of room, and—”
A loud gasp interrupted her. Luna yanked her fingers through her honey-blond hair, rushing over to the fallen oil painting. “Asterin! This is a Van Ryker, for the love of the Immortals!”
“Oh, stop. I’ve already fixed the hole, anyway.” Smugly, Asterin threw the trowel back into the bucket, splattering more plaster onto the rug. “Oops.” Her work was far from flawless, but admirable, in her opinion—although Luna obviously didn’t think so. The girl shot her a fearsome glower and snatched the trowel out of the bucket and began smoothing out the clumps. While she worked, Asterin nosed into the closet and dug through a pile of clothes strewn on the floor. She emerged with Garringsford’s firestone.
Luna squinted. “Is that new?” The trowel skidded against the wall. “And is that blood ?”
Asterin discreetly rubbed out the dried specks with her sleeve. “Of course not. Our dearest Garringsford gave it to me. Supposedly, she wanted to watch me practice magic for the betterment of our soldiers, though only the Immortals know what her true intent was.”
While Luna gawked at her, Asterin strode to the other end of her bedchamber and yanked the drapes out of the way before flinging the windows open. A great gust of wind blew into the room, cooling the beads of perspiration slicking her skin.
She stepped onto the windowsill and leaned out, inhaling the crisp early spring air and sighing in contentment. Once, she’d had a lovely little balustrade balcony—until her mother had ordered its demolition after the guards kept catching young Asterin practicing handstands on the railing. So, dangling over the empty void as far as she could and straining to catch a full view of her beloved city had become her alternative. Sure, the four-story drop to the courtyard guaranteed a few broken bones, if not death, but the palace itself had been built upon a mountain in the center of the kingdom, a stunning plummet of sheer white rock rising a thousand meters above sea level.
At the foot of the mountain lay the city of Axaris, the jewel and capital of Axaria. Quadrants unfolded around the mountain like petals, dividing the city into districts—trade, entertainment, manufacturing, and business. The residential sectors encircled the quadrants in a ring, flush with greenery. Eight main roads carved through the districts like veins, each leading to different parts of the kingdom. And here, in the center of it all, a heart connecting everything to everywhere—the royal palace. Her home.
&nb
sp; Then there was the Wall—a towering slab of steel-reinforced stone surrounding the palace on all sides, patrolled by guards day and night. The only way to the palace was through the Wall, and the only way through the Wall was up the palace road, a wide marble path bordered by grass and the white rock of the mountain. The guards on the Wall controlled the magical wards, and their combined defenses shielded the palace from any attack.
Asterin counted herself extremely lucky that her chambers were just high enough to peek over the Wall. She loosened her braid and let her hair whisk into the flurry of the wind. While she already missed the sharp bite of winter, she couldn’t help but love the way spring seemed to breathe life into Axaris. Her city spread out before her, every district a precious treasure trove, winking and twinkling vibrantly in the afternoon sunshine, teasing at the riches hidden within the sprawl of winding streets. Thick plumes of multicolored smoke puffed into the sky from terracotta chimneys and the white columns of the manufacturing district, tingeing the horizon with the purple of twilight. She held up the firestone against the sky, fitting it into the outline of the sun, and pondered in silence.
At last, she hopped off the sill and flopped onto the bed. She threw an arm over her eyes and moaned, “I’m sore all over. My arms, my legs, my neck. Everything hurts.”
“I do really hope it’s only from fighting,” Luna said.
Her neck swiveled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
A nonchalant shrug. “I’m just concerned about your well-being. I mean, you haven’t requested any contraceptive tonics. It wouldn’t be fit to have a seventeen-year-old princess carrying an heir already—”
Asterin let out an indignant squawk, a furious blush rising to her cheeks. “Luna!”
“I’m only saying!” Luna exclaimed.
Asterin might have harbored a minuscule infatuation with her Guardian, and sure, sometimes she got sidetracked when they sparred, but she’d seen him shirtless before, and anyway, it wasn’t like she had started frothing at the mouth or anything. She had self-control, thank you very much. She never thought about his perfectly sculpted body. Ever.
Well, maybe once.
Or twice.
She groaned, collapsing back onto the bed and burrowing beneath the duvet, face hot, poking her head out only when a knock sounded from the door.
Luna straightened, dusting plaster from her hands. “I’ll get it.” Moments later, she returned with a garment bag. “Your new dress.”
That perked Asterin up enough to crawl out of her makeshift cave. Luna helped her first into her corset and petticoats and then into the gown, lacing up the back while Asterin ran a hand down the taffeta skirt. “It’s gorgeous,” she said. Thousands of tiny crystals had been sewn onto the bodice, sparkling like fresh morning dewdrops.
Luna made a tsk sound, pinching the back collar. “It’s a little too big around the bust. We’ll have to arrange an appointment with the seamstress.”
“Or I could just eat a lot of cake,” Asterin reasoned. Her lips pursed critically, and she motioned for Luna to unlace it. Somehow, though the dress itself was spectacular, it just didn’t look quite right on her. “Or you could! Although you’d have to eat a lot more cake than me. I bet you would look much better in it, anyway.” She shimmied out of the dress and handed it to Luna.
Luna laughed, disappearing into the closet to hang it up. “I think not.” She returned with a bathrobe, tossing it at Asterin’s head. “Imagine the fits the other court ladies would throw if they saw me wearing all those diamonds—me, a commoner! A nobody, without a single drop of noble blood in my body. They complain enough as it is that I’m your lady-in-waiting.”
Asterin scoffed. “I haven’t a care in the world for who you descend from, be it the King of Ibreseos or a troll.”
Luna perched on the bedpost across from her and laughed again. Sweet laughter, so familiar that Asterin had to smile along. “A troll, really?” Her best friend reached forward to tuck a lock of hair behind Asterin’s ear. Blue eyes the shade of cornflowers in late bloom searched her face. “Are you thinking about us again?”
“Maybe.” Luna knew her all too well. More often than she cared to admit, Asterin wondered how things might have been. Luna was more of a princess than Asterin could ever be—charming, pretty, and courteous. She was the heiress Queen Priscilla had always dreamed of. Not the sword-wielding, quick-tempered daughter she had ended up with instead, prone to dredging up trouble whether she sought it or not.
Luna sighed, heading for the bathroom. The rush of running water carried into the bedchamber, the sweet scent of winterberry and evergreen oils wafting out on curls of steam. When Asterin drifted through the door, Luna was crouched over the claw-foot tub.
Her friend glanced up. “I might not be as docile as a mindless royal,” she said, “but I’m no leader. And my magic is pathetically weak compared to yours. This kingdom needs a fighter to rule. A powerful fighter. Someone like you.”
Asterin boosted herself up onto the porcelain countertop, shoulders slouched. “I can barely even control my powers, Luna, and they’re all I have.”
Luna snorted. “What happened to beating the pulp out of guards during training?”
“Yeah, well, I get an earful from my mother every time she sees me so much as carrying Amoux,” said Asterin, turning her stare up to the ceiling. “You know … sometimes I almost feel like my mother would rather have me dead than on the throne.”
Luna clucked, dipping her fingers in the water to test the temperature. “Don’t say such things. She may be hard on you, but she’s still your mother. She loves you in her own way. And besides,” she added, shooting Asterin a sidelong look, the corner of her mouth twisted slyly upward. “She ought to die eventually.”
Once the bath had filled, Luna departed to run some errands. Asterin slipped out of her robe and stood before the mirror. Her eyes slid down the curve of her neck and hips, arms and thighs toned and taut from years of training. Her fingers brushed across smooth, unmarked expanses of skin she knew had once been scattered with scars—at least, until she’d learned to heal them, though perhaps a little too well. So many years of sparring, and not a scratch to show for it.
She eased herself into the bath, her sore muscles sighing in relief at the hot water. She plonked the firestone into the tub’s depths and watched it sink. Never had she displayed any potential in fire. It was well known that possessing two fundamentals usually allowed a wielder to unlock the two secondary elements connecting them—for example, water and earth were connected by ice and wind. So theoretically, if she did possess fire, the final affinity in the fundamental trinity, through practice and patience, she might be able to harness the power of all nine elements.
But how had she made those other stones explode? More than likely, her emotions had played a significant role—but she hadn’t wanted to hurt Garringsford. At least, she didn’t think so. Yet even then, there was no way all of the stones should have responded to her, unless …
Asterin sat up suddenly, sloshing water out of the tub in her haste. “Unless I am omnifinitied,” she whispered to herself.
Luna interrupted her wallowing to ask if she still planned to attend dinner—Asterin declined, preferring to stew over her revelation in the warmth and comfort of the water over the cacophony of Mess Hall.
Finally, when the water bordered on ice cold and her skin was as wrinkled as a prune, she stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. The sky outside had softened to a dusky orange. Luna returned, and they lounged on the bed in their dressing gowns.
Asterin nibbled on fruit and cheese, wincing while Luna struggled to comb out the seemingly infinite snarls in her hair. Asterin popped a grape into her friend’s mouth. “So, how is everything going with Eadric?”
She could hear the smile in Luna’s answer. “Lovely as always.” A pause. “He’s been so busy, though. We only man
age to see each other once or twice a week.”
Asterin gaped, dropping her melon slice on a pillow. “That is unacceptable. Come on.” She hopped off the bed, dashing for the closet.
Luna blinked owlishly. “Wha—”
After throwing on a loose cotton blouse and trousers, Asterin tutted and picked out a sheer gold dress with a plunging neckline. She brandished it at her friend. “Put this on. That’s an order.” Cheerfully ignoring Luna’s flustered protests, Asterin helped her into it and zipped up the back before diving back into the closet to find a pair of matching slippers. “These, too. Hurry up!”
A balmy breeze caressed her skin as Asterin nudged the windows open, icestone in hand. Frost crackled from the sill at her command, shooting to the courtyard far below. Notches carved themselves down the center, smoothing out into a narrow crystalline staircase. The sun had set, but the ice caught the glow of lamps, gilding the steps gold with flickering firelight.
Luna, long accustomed to her escapades, only sighed and stepped obediently onto the sill. To fill the silence as they descended, she chattered on about her latest work of art—a sculpture, one of the many displayed in the parlor-turned-workshop that Asterin had set aside for her. They were all true masterpieces, every single one of them.
“Can I commission one of Garringsford?” Asterin asked as they passed a second-floor balcony.
Luna frowned. “What for?”
“Could you give her bullhorns? And a duck’s beak. And a pig’s snout.”
A snigger. “I can’t give her both a snout and a beak at the same time.”
They hopped off the staircase and into the flower bed undetected, or at least ignored. Like Luna, the patrol guards knew better than to question the notorious schemes of the Princess of Axaria. After picking their way around clusters of fresh buds cast gray in the shadows of the poplars standing sentinel overhead, they strolled arm in arm toward the training ring, tucked behind the stables and the guardhouse. The night was pleasant, the leaves rustling and the crickets chirruping in harmony with the soft whickering of horses.