Birth Stone: Hidden Gem Series Book One

by Kate Kelley

  Lyra’s heart filled with gratitude.

  No wonder the girl was tired. She’d been working like mad to finish the training outfit for her. That still didn’t explain why she was constantly afraid these days, though.

  “Thank you, Poppi. Really. You didn’t have to--”

  “But I did, didn’t I?” Poppi’s voice took a strange cadence, her eyes glossing over.

  Lyra sighed, pursing her lips. “You don’t ever have to do anything for me, Poppi. In fact, I release you from your work. I don’t want you to have to wait on me or sew my clothes. I want you to focus on dressmaking for yourself--for your own profession.”

  Poppi’s eyes snapped back into focus, her hands clutched tightly. “No! No, please, don’t release me. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--”

  Lyra shushed her as she took her hands from across the wooden table. “I don’t know what you are thinking, Poppi. You have to tell me. I’ve grown to really like you, like a sister. I’ve never had a sister. I just want to help. Just tell me what you need.” Lyra begged, trying to make eye contact with her but Poppi’s gaze remained downward, a tear rolling down her cheek. Wiping it away and sniffing, she pulled her hands back in and crossing her arms.

  “If only you could read my mind, right?” The flat tone sent a shock down Lyra’s spine.

  Does she know about my powers? How could she know?

  “Right…”

  Poppi stood. “I assume I’m released from my post then?”

  Pain and anger pierced Lyra’s heart. “Only if you wish.”

  Poppi fled down the hall, rushing out of the room.

  ✽✽✽

  Lyra had returned to her room after breakfast only to return to bed. The cool blankets carried her to sleep like a cloud across a rainless sky. When she awoke, the shadows in the room were longer, and Lyra’s body felt almost fully recovered, though her muscles were still a little sore from the dancing.

  How pathetic. Let’s hope I find my strength soon.

  Sitting up in the bed, she let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Across the room she noticed a pile of clothes she hadn’t seen before. Crossing to them, she unfolded them, her jaw dropping. Glancing at the clock, she swore. Quarter to 7. She was late.

  After rushing to the lavatory to relieve herself and splash water on her face, she tugged into the clothes Poppi had made for her training, barely taking the time to assess how they fit. She mostly guessed how they were supposed to go on. Glancing in the mirror, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Skin tight black pants, which resembled the tights men wore of old, except they were a thicker material. Lyra guessed it was leather, though she’d never felt such buttery soft leather before. They stretched with her movements. She tested this theory by kicking a leg up into the air. Her hamstring pulled, but the material didn’t rip. Her top was a thin, flowy, hunter green blouse with sleeves that reached her elbows and v’d low at the neck. She had layered a black leather vest over top the blouse, lacing the stays in the front until it fit snug. A chunky belt went around the smallest part of her waist, two sheaths sewn into it each side. Lyra highly doubted she’d need weapons to go into them. At least she hoped. She thought of the knife from the thief a couple weeks ago, the feel of the hilt in her hand, smooth and light. She didn’t think she would be able to use one.

  Poppi thought of everything.

  It irked her that Poppi knew how to make such an outfit in the first place.

  As soon as I’m more practiced, I’m going to read that girl’s mind and find out what she’s hiding from me, morals be damned.

  Lyra bent to grab her ankle boots when she noticed a pair of taller black boots sitting beside her chair. She supposed those were intended for her. Sighing, she tugged them all the way on--all the way up to just under her knees, and laced the stays.

  Ridiculous.

  Braiding her hair quickly on each side of her head, she secured them tightly with a couple scraps of thin black ribbon and ran out the door.

  She passed Silo on the stairs, and could only glimpse his shock out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t have time to witness the fullness of his outrage. She giggled nervously as she raced the rest of the way to the throne room. When she reached the room, the doors were uncharacteristically closed.

  She knew that she must have been at least thirty minutes late. Entering the room, she saw that it was dark, no candles were lit. She cleared her throat, the sound echoing off the stone walls. She stood still, waiting for Terrin to pop out of the shadows like he normally would. A minute ticked by. She adjusted her belt, feeling ridiculous, and hoped no one else would come in.

  Gods, that would be mortifying. Silo was enough.

  Another few minutes ticked by.

  Well, perhaps he forgot. No skin off my nose.

  Turning, she made to open the door again when a growl caused her to turn with a gasp.

  “Damn it! Why must you always sneak up on me!” Lyra exclaimed, clutching her chest. Terrin stood in front of his throne, arms crossed, coated in shadow. The last rays of sun barely illuminated the room through the thick stained glass windows.

  “You’re exceedingly late.”

  Lyra huffed. “You weren’t here on time either. Or were you hiding in the shadows that whole time?”

  “I was waiting.”

  “For what?”

  “I was waiting for you to call out my name.” His voice had turned into that growl again.

  Lyra glared at him. “Stop the growling, you sound like a beast.”

  “I am a beast. Come here.” Terrin stood rooted to the spot, gesturing for her to come to him. Butterflies erupted.

  Damn him.

  She walked to him, stopping a couple feet away. His eyes lowered to her outfit, lingering over her legs for a long time before trailing up and meeting her eyes.

  “Who made the outfit?”

  “My lady’s maid, Poppi.”

  He looked at her legs again. “It’s good.”

  Lyra shifted. “Where are we training?”

  Terrin tore his gaze away from her legs. “The room, of course.”

  He meant the clearing in the woods. “But it’s cold outside. And dark.”

  “I have a way around that.”

  ✽✽✽

  When they landed this time, they were upright, Lyra curled tightly around him, one leg wrapped around his. As soon as the world stopped spinning, she hastily withdrew from him. Soft moonlight touched the planes of their faces. The forest around them glowed a soft blue. An owl hooted nearby. A sharp wind whipped her cheek.

  “It’s still too dark. And freezing.” Lyra complained, rubbing her arms through her thin blouse.

  “It’s not freezing. And shush.” Terrin walked away from her, and Lyra could only make out some of his movements as he stood near the border of the forest.

  An orange light sprang to life next to him. He was starting a fire...no, he had a candle somehow attached to the tree...He walked a foot away from the first candle and hung another. As Terrin moved around the perimeter of the clearing, bursts of fire sprang to life, and as the light grew, Lyra was able to see that they were not attached to the trees. They were floating candles--no, just orbs of fire--appearing out of nowhere as he walked the circle, stopping briefly and muttering some indistinguishable words. When he was done, the circle was alight with the orange glow of fire.

  “You can create fire out of nothing?”

  Terrin smirked. “I have many abilities.”

  Lyra rolled her eyes, but spun around to take in the floating fire balls, and she had to admit, she was truly impressed. She was already warmer, too.

  “I admit, I’m impressed. But why do we have to train at night? Wouldn’t it make more sense to just do this during the day?” Terrin walked up to her, standing before her, giving her a condescending look.

  “My job can be a little demanding,” he deadpanned.

  Lyra blushed. “Oh yeah,” she replied dumbly.

  “To that end, let’s not
waste time.”

  Trepidation coursed through Lyra.

  “As a beginner, we need to first work on your stance. Right now, you’re off balance, one hip cocked. That wouldn’t do when facing an opponent. Spread your legs, balancing the weight evenly between the two. That’s good. Now, ground yourself, bring your shield down. Good. You’re listening. Keep it up.”

  Lyra blushed again. She felt ridiculous.

  “We are going to work on a few different basic moves. Our goal with this training isn’t to turn you into an expert fighter--that’s impossible with what little time we have.”

  He just presented me with a challenge.

  “The point to this training is to keep you alive should you need to fight someone.”

  “And you expect I’ll have to?”

  Terrin shrugged. “I don’t know what we’re up against. All I know is that you’re our best chance.”

  Right. Okay.

  “We’re going to start with the palm strike.” Terrin approached her, taking her hand. “Hold your hand open, and use your palm to make a hit.” He held her palm, thumbs light.

  “Put your whole body into the strike. Don’t simply swing with your arm--feel the energy start in your feet and lift yourself upward to create the force. Focus on striking the head, chest or back of your opponent.”

  Lyra nodded, sure she got the gist. “Now, try it on me.” Lyra hesitated. Grounding her stance, she used her energy through her feet and struck toward Terrin’s chest with her palm. The contact sounded with a thud. He didn’t move an inch.

  “Good. Again.” She repeated, except this time went for his head. He immediately blocked the blow with his forearm.

  “Again.”

  She repeated her blow again, he blocked.

  “Why are you blocking me?” she asked, exasperated.

  “Because that’s what your opponent will do. Now, add a layer to it. Step on the foot of the opponent while using the palm strike simultaneously to the inside or outside part of the knee. Your hand is your weapon. Don’t hold back--summon all your energy and drive through.”

  Lyra nodded, gearing herself to make another blow. She eyes his leather-clad legs, huge as they were. She summoned her energy, feeling the glow in her center ignite, warming her. Stepping hard on Terrin’s boot-clad foot, she struck his knee with her palm, her aura striking out through her hand with the blow.

  Terrin grunted.

  Lyra smiled, straightening.

  “Impressive. I didn’t think you could combine your aura with your blows just yet. That was going to be next week’s lesson but it appears, as always, you are an exceptional student.”

  “Yet you consistently doubt me.” Lyra countered. Striking him felt good, the power she felt over him making her giddy. She swayed her body, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Heat lit up Terrin’s eyes.

  “You like this,” he drawled, eyes sweeping her, “Minx.”

  “Careful,” Lyra threatened.

  He chuckled. Sobering, he continued his lesson. “The body has many different points throughout that can cause tremendous pain when hit. Many of these points, as you may have guessed, are your energy points, also called pressure points. A direct hit on these areas can falter your opponent easily.”

  He reached his hands to her collarbones, lightly grazing with his thumbs. Goosebumps washed over her skin. “Striking the collarbone with sufficient force can break it, thus disabling your attacker completely.”

  He moved a palm to her forehead. “A blow that lands here can knock a person’s head back, causing whiplash. Hitting the eyes of course is a good way to damage a person’s vision. Punching the nose, exceedingly painful.” He touched a finger to her nose.

  “A kick to the knee or groin. All prime pressure points. Acting and reacting fast is essential to survival. Don’t let your opponent gain the upper hand.” His hands returned to her collarbones. The goosebumps returned. She tried to hide her shiver. Terrin’s hair was tied back with string again. She liked being able to see all of his face, his strong jaw.

  “Now, attack me," he ordered.

  Lyra took a deep breath before stepping hard on his foot and striking toward his collarbone with her palm. Terrin stepped out of range for the second blow, grabbed her arm and twirled her around, putting her into a headlock. She struggled, stomping down on his foot. Terrin grunted but held her in place, his body like a wall she was trapped against.

  Lyra’s mind scrambled, trying to think of a way to get out of the attack. Terrin lowered his head and spoke into her ear, tickling her with his breath.

  “The neck is a highly sensitive pressure point. If I Increased the pressure here,” his nose grazed the side of her neck where her pulse beat wildly, “I could incapacitate you and bring you to the ground. You would pass out.”

  Lyra felt an instant spark between her legs at the light touch. She growled low in her throat. Terrin’s lips moved close to her ear again.

  “Turn your head toward my inner elbow so you can breathe. Grab my arm and squeeze the pressure point there. More than likely, they will let go and you can escape. But you must be quick. You could faint before--” Lyra brought her head back forcefully, smacking her skull against Terrin’s nose. A sickening crack sounded and he released her instantly.

  “Fuck!” Terrin swore.

  Lyra fell forward onto the cold ground and crawled away until she could stand, then jogged until considerable distant separated them. She faced him, breath coming hard. She stretched out her arm, ready to strike with her aura. Terrin held a hand over his nose that now seeped dark red blood, glaring at her from across the clearing.

  “Or you can do that,” he deadpanned.

  Lyra grinned wickedly. Her hair was mussed, several ringlets escaped her braids, and a gleam shone in her eye. She knew she looked crazy, but she didn’t care. The power felt good.

  Terrin reached to the edge of his black shirt and pulled it off, causing Lyra to drop her arm. Perfectly sculpted cords and sinews of muscle gleamed in the firelight, and Lyra couldn’t pull her eyes away. He used the shirt to wipe the blood from his face.

  “You’re lucky it’s hard to break my bones.”

  Lyra swallowed, forcing her eyes to stay on his face.

  “You heal quickly. Like the knife wound from the thief.”

  “Yes. And age slowly too, if you haven’t figured that one out yet.”

  Lyra scowled. “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s just say I’m much older than you.”

  “How much older?”

  “A century or so.” He shurgged.

  Lyra’s jaw dropped. “How--are all mages like this?”

  Terrin stared at her for a moment before answering. “Yes. After their magic comes in, the aging process slows down. You’ll look 26 for a long time.” The thought was pleasing to Lyra, if not a little troubling.

  “I guess I won’t have to worry about being an old spinster after all. I’ll just be a young spinster.”

  Terrin didn’t laugh. his eyes zeroed in on her. “I thought you had a beau--Edwin, is it?”

  Lyra closed her eyes. “He hasn’t been replying to my letters. I doubt he..I doubt he wants to move forward with our courtship.” Bitterness rose in Lyra, but it surprised her just how much she had forgotten about the man. If she saw him now, would she even want to be with him? Maybe it was better this way.

  “No marriage, then. Hm. Spinster indeed.” Terrin’s tone was teasing.

  “And what of you? I didn’t hear any marriage plans for you,” she retorted.

  Terrin’s eyebrows bunched together as he walked toward her. “If you’d been at the dinner this evening, you would have heard just that.”

  A block of ice dropped into Lyra’s stomach.

  “Heard what?” She feigned ignorance.

  “Navi and I are betrothed.” Terrin moved into a fighting stance, and Lyra quickly followed suit. They began circling each other, slowly, the circle getting smaller and smaller. Terrin waited for her
move.

  “Congratulations!” Lyra blurted as the width of her boot came into contact with Terrin’s shin. He grunted and bent to one knee before standing again. Terrin countered with a palm strike to her shoulder--”Thank you!”--and another toward her head--which she blocked with her forearm and countered with a strike to the chest, bringing her aura in to strengthen the blow.

  Terrin nodded, silently praising her. They continued their sparring, exchanging blows and blocks, kicks and aura blasts, until the night took on a deadly chill two hours later. Not that they felt it too much. They were both sweating, Lyra much more than Terrin.

  Finally Lyra collapsed onto her backside, signaling her tap out.

  Terrin joined her, sitting next to her. His chest gleamed in the firelight, dewy with sweat, rising and falling rapidly. And Lyra could smell him--his scent intensified by the exercise.

  Lyra rolled her eyes at herself. Her spent body still used energy to lust after him. In fact, the sparring seemed to heighten her draw to him, constantly touching his skin and being touched by him--however harsh the contact--was not conducive to ignoring that attraction. He stared into an orb of firelight.

  “You did well. Exceptionally.” Terrin said.

  Pride swelled through her at his words. “It wasn’t as terrible as I thought it was going to be,” she offered.

  “You enjoyed it, Lyra.”

  Her body stirred. “Maybe,” she admitted.

  They sat for a moment in silence, their breathing returning to normal, their hearts slowing to a resting rate. It was a comfortable silence for once, and Lyra felt she could lay down right here and fall asleep. Finally rising, Terrin helped Lyra to her aching feet. When they returned to the castle, Lyra’s body weighed her down. She needed sleep desperately.

  “Goodnight, Lyra. See you here tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow?” Lyra asked, incredulous, “I’m going to have bruises all over me. My body isn’t going to let me repeat this tomorrow.”

  “You haven’t been paying attention. Your body will heal more quickly. You’re a mage. Oriel can help you learn how to crystals to heal even faster if you wish.”