Triad (The TriAlpha Chronicles Book 3)

by Serena Akeroyd

  Rafe snorted. “Don’t tempt providence, Theo.”

  His smile was sweet as he murmured, “Not tempting, just daring Thalia.”

  10

  Thalia

  The training room was half empty. She guessed it was more of a gymnasium and in there were around two hundred Fae.

  She wasn’t sure why only some of them had been invited to the orgy they’d left behind, but these obviously were not considered special enough to take part in such a display of excess.

  Thaila, truthfully, preferred the giant quarters to be empty. At least she wouldn’t fall on her ass when she wielded the heavy sword for the first time in front of a room of people who’d titter and gossip about her failure.

  Everything in this world seemed to be crazily big. This went beyond supersized. It went to the realms of being a cellmate to Hannibal Lecter kind of nutty. She’d never seen as much space, and from a distance, while she’d seen the palace, she hadn’t realized how much territory it covered because the magic of the place had only ever let her see the front façade.

  A clever piece of magic, she supposed, but it would have given her a better idea of the size of the palace.

  These training quarters were like no other though. There were free weights and treadmills, there were contraptions that reminded her of ancient torture devices, and huge fenced in areas with walls that soared forty feet into the air.

  Figuring that was so people could fight and fly at the same time, she felt very weak and very humble as Theo guided her into one section with Rafe and Mikkel at their backs.

  Theo waved a hand at them and suddenly, they were all in protective gear. Her toga and their fancy Kurta and pants had disappeared and been replaced with black silk, loose yoga pants and a tightly clinging top that reminded her of a fancy Henley.

  “Silk went underneath the chainmail of knights in the past for a reason,” he explained. “But that was human silk, and not that of the Fae.” Then, he clicked his fingers once more, and out of nowhere, they were covered in chainmail. It shielded their torso, throat and back, while leaving their arms and legs free for ease and range of motion.

  She shook her head as she peered down at herself. “I swear, I’ll never get used to glamor.”

  He grinned. “Give it a few thousand years. I promise, you’ll appreciate it more and more.”

  Laughing a little because she could easily believe that if she were being honest, she murmured, “Where did my sword go?”

  Another click of his fingers and the sword in its scabbard appeared in his hands, and he tossed it at her.

  “That’s hardly safe, is it?” Mikkel scoffed. “If any Fae can grab it from her with glamor…”

  Theo shook his head. “This fence is spelled.”

  “How?” Rafe asked, frowning as he peered around the walls that shifted and swayed as though there were a faint draft in the room.

  “An instructor can command even the most powerful of weapons and remove it from their trainees if they believe someone in the ring is in danger,” Theo explained.

  “Makes sense,” Mikkel said with a satisfied nod.

  “Glad you approve,” Theo said drily.

  “Are you an instructor?” Thalia asked, cocking her brow.

  “Yes,” was all he said.

  “A trained one?”

  His lips curved. “Yes.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Man of few words.”

  “Only sometimes.” His smile was pure sin.

  She huffed an agitated breath and hefted the sword in her hand. It was definitely a heavy piece of equipment and only her inbuilt strength made it so she didn’t feel the weight too much.

  “Unsheathe it,” Theo instructed, so she placed her hand around the hilt and slipped it from its scabbard.

  The sound was a bit like nails on a chalkboard. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but neither was it too shrill that her ears protested. If anything, it stirred something inside her that she recognized came from her She-Wolf: the need to fight. To harness her power and best anyone in her vicinity who was weaker.

  It wasn’t a particularly nice trait, but neither was it something Thalia could help. The Alpha in her wanted to make those weaker than her submit, and that was a part and parcel of being Lyken.

  Rather relieved that she hadn’t lost every instinct her beast gifted her, she lifted the sword to study the lettering that had etched itself onto the blade.

  The sight of it made her smile because, to be honest, it was fucking cool. There was so much cool shit on this realm, that it was a wonder she didn’t spend half her time gaping at the myriad things around her.

  She could actually understand the wonder the kids in Mary Poppins had felt.

  This realm was like walking into a living, breathing Disney flick.

  The blade flashed in the light that came from the wall of windows behind her. It overlooked a world of clouds, which meant this part of the palace was high up in the sky—not that they’d climbed any stairs to get here. As far as she was aware, it was on the same level as Theo’s rooms, which were ground level. Regardless, though that had snagged her attention for a while, it was nothing to now. She bit back a gasp as in the gladius’ reflection, Thalia didn’t see herself there. There was no blond hair, no blue eyes. There was a white wolf.

  Her She-Wolf!

  A choked breath had her coughing as she let the sword fall from her hand. It clattered against the ground with a nasty crash, and she jolted again.

  Theo strode forward. “Thalia? What is it?” he demanded, leaning down to pick up the sword. This time, however, when his hand curled around the hilt, he swore, “Fuck!” And he too dropped the sword. Then, he shook his hand as he hissed. “That fucking hurt!”

  She blinked at him, wincing as he cradled his fingers to his chest.

  “Theo? What is it?” Rafe asked, leaping to his feet and rushing toward them. Before Theo could say a damn thing, he’d grabbed a hold of the Fae male’s hand and closed his eyes.

  The tension that strung Theo’s body taut began to abate as Rafe worked his magic and eased her mate’s pain. When Theo released a deep breath, Thalia licked her lips and asked, “What happened?” She stared down at the blade and bit her lip.

  “It gave me an electric shock. A nasty one,” Theo tacked on grimly. “But what about you?”

  She didn’t take her eyes from the weapon on the ground. “I-I…” She shook her head. “N-Nothing.”

  “Bullshit, Thalia,” Mikkel grunted as he strode toward them. He didn’t make the same mistake as Theo did, but he toed it with his booted foot. Kicking it toward her, he asked, “What happened?”

  Rather than answer and tell him something that went beyond insane, she reached down once more. The hilt didn’t give her a shock, and she had to wonder if that was because it was her weapon. Because that made sense in the crazy way that was perfectly normal here in Heden, she wasn’t afraid about getting shocked. She was just freaked about her not having a damn reflection.

  She hissed when, yet again, she saw the She Wolf in the blade. Turning her head away, she felt herself freeze in place as she stared at Rafe with pleading eyes, “Please, Rafe, tell me I’m not going insane.”

  He scowled at her. “Of course you’re not.”

  She licked her lips, feeling the pull and tug of dry flesh to dry flesh. “Look at my reflection, baby.”

  Though startled by the request, it didn’t stop him from stepping closer, rounding her so he could stand behind her and peer over her shoulder. “What the fuck?” he spat.

  “She’s there, isn’t she?” Thalia whispered, knowing she wasn’t crazy if Rafe could see it too, and unsure whether to feel delirious with joy or paralyzed with fear by what she was seeing.

  “No. She’s definitely there,” Rafe whispered.

  “Who is?” Mikkel bit off, his agitation making his question more of a growl.

  “My She-Wolf,” Thalia breathed, and when her other mates jolted in surprise too, they did as Rafe had done an
d rounded her to look over her shoulder.

  “That’s just fucked up,” Mikkel snarled.

  “Sweet Gods,” said Theo on a low hiss.

  Blinking, she turned to Theo and asked, “What does this mean?”

  “I don’t know. It’s…”

  “Let me guess,” Mikkel groused. “Unprecedented?”

  Theo’s sigh was heavy. “Yeah.”

  Rafe’s hand came up to cup Thalia’s shoulder. “Look away, babe.”

  “I-I can’t.” What if this was the only way Thalia would ever see the beast again?

  Though the thought filled her with dread, it made her want to stare at the She-Wolf for eternity.

  She wasn’t sure where the beast was. Trapped in her or trapped in the sword. Though the former made more sense, the latter did too because when the sword had bonded with her, the She-Wolf had stirred, hadn’t she?

  Maybe the two were in communion? And even Theo didn’t exactly know where her She-Wolf had gone when he’d healed her. He just said it was the Cosmos, but where the fuck was that?

  She sucked down a sharp breath, then whispered, “Is she trapped in there or something?”

  Theo, his reflection normal in the blade, shook his head. “No. I don’t think so.”

  Gulping back her irritation at how much he didn’t know, then accepting that he wasn’t a fucking Oracle and that all of this was as nuts to him as it was to her, she blew out her anger on a strong, gusty breath.

  “Let’s train,” she said, her voice thick.

  “No, Thalia,” Rafe argued. “This is…”

  “Too much? Yeah, I know, but it just makes me want to kick the shit out of someone all the more.”

  Theo wrinkled his nose. “Great.”

  Despite herself, and despite the frustrating emotions bubbling in her veins, she huffed out a laugh. “I’ll go easy on you.”

  “Thanks,” he told her, his tone drier than salt.

  She snickered a little and forced herself to lower her arm, and to lower the sword.

  The act was nearly painful, so desperate was she to see her beast again, but she made herself do it. The She-Wolf wasn’t there for her to count on anymore, and Thalia was weak and defenseless in a realm of supernatural creatures without her. An untenable situation that had to change.

  “Mikkel, Rafe, go and sit on the stands.”

  “Mikkel needs to learn how to shoot his bow,” she argued.

  “And he will. I’ll arrange an instructor for him.”

  “You don’t have to stay, Mikkel. If you don’t want to?” The last thing she wanted was him snickering at her if she made a fool out of herself with the sword—and he was enough of a shit to chuckle at her expense.

  The jerk.

  As though he knew what she was thinking, he smirked at her. “Nah, it’s okay, this will be more entertaining.”

  “I wish I could train on you,” she groused. “That would be far more fair.”

  Theo laughed. “Yes. It would. However, I’m the one who’s an expert on swords.”

  She blinked at that. “You are?”

  He nodded. “Why do you think I’m instructing you?” He quirked a brow at her. “As is the case with Mikkel, I’d appoint you an instructor who has a high expertise in fighting with that weapon.”

  She pondered that a second, realized it made sense, but just mumbled, “I thought you were trying to protect me.”

  “Oh, make no mistake,” he told her, dipping down to press a kiss to her lips. “I am. But protecting you means putting you with the best. And that’s me.”

  “Big head,” Mikkel grumbled as he stepped back towards the side of the walls where a bench had appeared out of nowhere.

  Rafe just laughed and, clapping Mikkel commiseratively on the back, headed over to the seat with him.

  Theo backed off and clicked his fingers. She wondered if, à la Bewitched, there were Fae who wriggled their nose like Samantha, but she stopped thinking and started focusing when Theo started the lesson in earnest.

  He showed her the proper way to hold the hilt, showed basic stances and the best way to position her feet. He rarely touched her, kept the lesson clinical and sterile, which was a good thing because, armed with a sword and looking like some fucking angel-pirate combo that got her so hot she thought she’d combust, Thalia found it was easier to concentrate.

  “Now, we put that together like a dance,” he informed her quietly, and with a smile, showed her with sweeping waves of the sword as he parried and lunged.

  She watched him through it all, admiring him yes, but also learning, picking up on his stances, using the abilities the She-Wolf had granted her—the one that enabled her to see weaknesses, and calculate where to strike.

  It was then she realized that wasn’t a talent that was founded in the She-Wolf but in herself.

  What that meant, she wasn’t sure, but when Theo invited her to mimic him not just to watch and learn, a strange daze came over her. Not in a bad way, just… it was like her focus went beyond the regular.

  It even went beyond hyperfocus.

  Things slowed down. Everything from the words that spilled from Theo’s lips as he instructed her to the breaths that soughed from Mikkel and Rafe’s chests.

  As she parried and lunged too, following Theo’s teachings, she felt the play of her muscles, sensed the sweep of the blade as it cut through the air with a powerful slice.

  It was then she realized that the sword had slowed time.

  She hadn’t. The sword had.

  It did more than that, though. The hilt burned in places, urging her to tilt her hand for maximum power, informing her better than Theo had, encouraging her this way, improving her that way. The pressure and weight changed when it urged her to strike, when it wanted her to thrust. And she followed its teachings, leapfrogging off what Theo had taught her and making it her own.

  Slowly, gradually, time began to speed up. Mikkel and Rafe’s breathing started to return to normal, and as Theo spoke, the words no longer came in slow motion but went back to a regular pace.

  Her hand and arms burned from the control the sword had over her. And it did. Of that she was aware. The sword held sway, and that meant one thing and one thing only.

  Theo was about to go down.

  11

  Thalia

  “I want to parry with the little Lyken.”

  The words pierced Thalia’s eardrums with all the precision of a butcher’s knife through a joint of meat.

  She froze at Isaura’s biting tone as they echoed around the gymnasium that had become her home for the last two weeks.

  She’d spent hours here. Not just with Theo, but a varied amount of instructors. Learning the art of the sword from males and females Theo considered good enough to impart their wisdom onto her.

  To say she’d taken him aback that first lesson was a bit of an understatement, Thalia thought, utterly pleased by that.

  She’d managed to knock him on his ass and stun not only him, Rafe, and Mikkel, but the rest of the gym too.

  Turns out the only person who’d managed such a feat was his father.

  And that had only happened once, because usually, the two of them called a stalemate. But when she’d overpowered him, snatching his weapon from him at the same time, Thalia had realized one thing and one thing only.

  She loved him.

  And the reason for that was manifold, but the one thing that had made the realization hit home was his reaction.

  He could have been a sore loser—exactly like Mikkel would have been, she thought drily—he could have been nasty about it, and with his ego damaged, might have found it necessary to fight her at every corner, trying to take her down, make her feel small.

  But he did none of that.

  Instead, he beamed at her. Proud as punch at her capabilities that had blossomed out of nowhere.

  He’d jumped to his feet, strode to her, then had picked her up and swirled her around. His glee had overwhelmed her, his contentedness at her
gift with the sword, so evident at that moment, that there was no way she couldn’t love him.

  And then, she’d fallen harder because he’d drafted in more instructors, some just on par with him, most of them not so good, but each with a fighting technique that was different to his own. From each Fae who gave her lessons, they imparted a different skill, and she soaked it up.

  Or, that’s to say, the sword did.

  Because the sword was in charge.

  Not her.

  She wasn’t sure whether to be pissed off about that or relieved. It felt wrong to say that she was doing this on her own when, to her, the sword was at play; but whenever she told Theo that it was the weapon which made all the moves, he’d just shake his head and say, “And who chose you if not the gladius?”

  Like that meant anything, she thought drily, as she rubbed her forearm over her sweaty forehead.

  The fence that separated her sparring ring from the rest of the gym, and made sure their fight was contained, had a large gathering around it.

  The Fae were a healthy lot and with each passing day, as her skill increased, the audience did too.

  She was growing used to the crowd, if she was being honest, and felt no shame as they watched her and clapped and cheered at her knowledge with the weapon.

  But, now, like the parting of the waves, a large channel had grown in one quadrant, and Isaura and Kane stood there, watching the goings on in the ring.

  How long they’d been standing there, Thalia didn’t know. But she felt uneasy.

  The Queen would only want to ‘play’ if she was any good, and Thalia wasn’t sure if it was wise for her to throw herself into such a challenge with every ounce of her ability. Was it wise to piss off the beast that was Isaura? The bratty fifty-thousand-year-old Fae female who had the temperament of a toddler in the throes of the terrible twos?

  Though she wanted to gnaw at her lip, Thalia faced the royal couple and swept herself into a low curtsey.

  Isaura smiled smugly, seemingly contented by Theo’s apparent instructions on the rules of Court. It grated on her to have to bow and scrape—not because she wasn’t used to having to do that—but because Isaura made it so evident that she enjoyed it. And that enjoyment made Thalia feel as though she was submitting when she’d never submitted to anyone in her life.