by Lucy Roy
The pheromones that Freya’s blood was giving off—thanks to his magic—were incredibly potent in the air, allowing her to effectively turn his own power against him. And, based on the grumbles from the shifters around them, it was having quiet an effect on the other students as well.
“What’s wrong, highness?” She cocked a brow when his jaw clenched. Even a warlock wasn’t immune to a scent that strong. “Haven’t you fought someone who knows how your kind works before?”
“You’ve grown cunning,” he commented, giving her a lopsided grin. “A wonderful quality for a —”
Freya launched herself forward, grabbing him by the arm and spinning him around in one quick motion. Before he had the chance to struggle, she yanked his back against her chest and pressed the tip of the feather to his throat.
She put her lips to his ear, then grinned when she saw Lea’s exasperated glare. “Now that we’ve established I can handle your magic, care to take me on in a real fight?”
He chuckled. “I was so hoping you’d ask.”
With a growl, he latched onto one of her wings and flipped her onto her back, slamming her to the ground and pinning her torso between his muscular thighs. One hand held a wing down, the other pinned both of her wrists to her chest. His power washed over her in waves, causing her to squeeze the still-healing wound on her hand to keep her centered.
Someone—Myria, Freya realized with annoyance—let out a whooping cackle, and a few other snickers rose around her.
Steeling herself, she let her magic surge forward, forming a protective barrier against his, then she pretended to falter as he hit her with another dose of his power. Dragging her lower lip through her teeth, she arched her back as though struggling through the lust he was forcing on her. Which, if she was being honest, was a bit hard, even with her magic shielding her. He was far more powerful than the spirit users she’d faced in the past.
He nearly faltered as she pressed against him, but set his jaw and tightened his grip on her wrists. “What were you saying about—”
Before he could finish, Freya snapped her wings upward, using all her strength to hit him square on the chin with the rigid arc of one and taking him off balance when he lost his grip on the other. She threw her fists up, cracking them against his jaw and shattering his hold on her. Grabbing his shoulder, she gave her wings another heavy flap and flipped him over, reversing their positions. Using her thighs and just a touch of magic to pin his arms to his sides, she touched the tip of her feather to his cheek, dragging it lightly across the smooth skin until it was pressed to the underside of his chin. His entire body stilled as annoyance flashed through his eyes.
“I was saying that you seem to rely too much on your power and not enough on your strength.” She wrapped her magic gently around his throat and pressed lightly, relishing the wide-eyed unease that had replaced the smug attitude of moments before. “Have you forgotten I have six limbs and a boatload of magic to contend with?”
A slow smile curved his lips, but before she could react, a fresh wave of heat shot through her, nearly obliterating the shell of magic she’d put up around herself. She was slammed with the sensation of hands gliding across her body, teeth running along her neck, fingers sliding—
Growling, Freya pressed her magic harder against his throat. “Nice. Try.” With a huff, she pushed herself off him and stood, then cracked her neck to try to get rid of the residual lusty feelings he’d planted in her mind.
Aerelius stood and dusted off his pants, then gave her a crooked smile. “You could have at least helped me up, my lady.”
“So you could pull me back to the dirt again?” she scoffed. “I wouldn’t have fallen for that trick when we were children, and I’m certainly not going to now.”
Shooting a glare at her father who was watching their exchange in amusement, she strode past the prince and hopped up onto the wood rail that surrounded the training floor, studiously ignoring the stares of the students who were slowly returning to their sparring.
Aerelius walked toward her, stopping a few inches from where she sat. Plucking the canteen from the post she’d hung it from, he handed it to her, then leaned down and put his lips to her ear. “That was a good fight, Valkyrie. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
Unable to suppress her grin, she pressed a hand to his chest and gently shoved him back. “Anytime, highness. Just be forewarned, I won’t go so easy on you next time.”
He tapped her nose and gave her a sly grin. “I’d expect nothing less.”
She frowned curiously. “How did you mask your scent, anyway?”
His lips tilted up. “My mother taught me. I’m sure you’ve done it a time or two.”
She took a swallow of water and handed him the canteen. “Yes, but I’m a full halfblood. Your power is too… specific for something like that.”
With a shrug, he drank, then twisted the cap back in place and gave it back to her. “My power lets me fog minds. Masking my own scent to allow for the element of surprise is a facet of that.”
“Switch out!” Officer Ristheld called.
With a huff, she shook her head and grinned. “I’ll get you back for this, Aerelius Harridan, mark my words.”
“I look forward to it,” he said, before turning to walk toward Lazarus, who stood on the other side of the floor.
And despite her annoyance, she couldn’t help but smile a little at the retreating back of her old friend.
Her smile broadened when she saw Collin approach, his red hair slicked back with sweat and his cheeks pink from exertion.
“You look like you need to work off some steam,” he commented.
Freya snorted. “You can say that again.”
He grinned when he looked over at where Aerelius and Laz were squaring off. “Laz and I had Aerlius use his power on us once, just to see what it felt like. I’ve always heard you don’t know what spirit users feels like until it’s too late, and I wanted to know what to expect.” He leaned against the fence beside her and folded his arms. “So, I understand. You feel… twitchy, right?”
“That would be one word for it,” she muttered. Deprived might be another.
“You need to burn it off, then,” he told her. Holding out a hand, he tugged her down from the fence, blue eyes twinkling. “And considering your father just revealed you to everyone without your permission, I’ll even let you get a few good hits in.”
“Let me?” Annoyance with the prince suddenly gone, Freya narrowed her eyes at Collin. “I just beat Myria and the prince fairly well.” She put her hands on her hips and tilted her chin up a fraction. “Why are you so confident?”
“Despite her demeanor, Myria doesn’t know how to fight dirty, and Aer relies far too much on his ability to emotionally manipulate his opponent.” He flashed his teeth in a smile that was both amused and wicked; surprising, considering his relatively subdued nature. “I can’t do the latter, but I’m quite skilled at the former.”
“So says you,” she countered. “But I’d like to see what you’ve got.” Stepping back, she flared out her wings and lowered into a crouch.
Collin laughed. “Well, then, come on, my lady. Let’s see if you can get the drop on me.”
Chapter 10
After handing a thorough beating to Collin fueled largely by her annoyance with the prince, Freya sparred with a handful of other students before her first Combat class at Aldridge finished. By the time Ristheld dismissed them, she felt as though she’d gotten a good feel for the skills and weaknesses of her fellow classmates. Of the ten she faced off with, seven—including Collin, Myria, and Aerelius— all seemed to have fairly honed physical combat skills, telling her she’d likely end up grouped with them once Ristheld split them up. She was all but certain the other three had let her win.
Once they were released from the yard, Freya didn’t hesitate in taking to the sky and flying off. She didn’t care who saw or what their reactions might be; she just wanted to be alone, away from her friends and, eve
n more so, her father.
As she glided high over campus, taking in the breathtaking landscape that surrounded it, she questioned whether her annoyance with him was truly justified. When King Salazar, a longtime friend of Byrric’s, requested he retire from the Allanorian Army eighteen years ago to take on the task of commanding Lindoroth’s Royal Army, he’d leapt at the opportunity, citing the social and financial benefits for his family as his reasoning. Cina had always supported him, despite Freya’s frequent protests at her father’s absences. Her mother took her to Iladel each summer to spend the season with Byrric and the royal family, but he rarely returned to Allanor for more than a few days at a time.
After Cina died, just before Freya’s thirteenth birthday, Freya had hoped it would bring her father home or, at the very least, encourage him to bring her to live with him at Court, but neither of those things happened. He’d hesitated when she expressed interest in working with the marshals, but relented, with the stipulation that her time with them would end once she graduated. He’d balked slightly when she insisted on glamouring her appearance after they moved to Watoria, but she’d made it clear that wasn’t a battle he would find worth fighting. With Byrric gone, she was guaranteed to receive unwanted attention from others, but all she wanted to do was learn and work.
She huffed out an annoyed breath as her feet touched on the warm sand at the lake, then sat down and spread her wings so she could soak in some of the late afternoon sun. As far as anyone else knew, her father had sent Freya to live in Iston, a small region that straddled the border between Allanor and Caelora where there was a high population of Valkyrie. For her own security, the general field marshal of Watoria and a select few of his subordinates were aware of her true identity, and as Freya wasn’t an uncommon name in the Western regions, she’d been able to remain fairly hidden in plain sight.
Several minutes went past as she sat in silence staring out at the water, watching as the sun glinted off the rippling surface, reflecting off the scales of a school of fish zig-zagging just beneath. A large seahawk swooped down and dipped its feet in the water, then flew off, clutching its dinner in its sharp talons. She smiled at the beauty of it, the deftness with which the raptor swiped and pivoted before any of the cinderfish—small black creatures with a bite so painful it seared its victim’s insides—could latch onto its feet.
There was a heavy thump beside her. She let out a quiet breath as she registered her father’s scent.
“Your mother and I used to come here.”
“I told you I was going to drop the glamour in my own time,” Freya snapped, ignoring his attempts at small talk.
He sighed and sat down, then leaned back on his hands. “And I was tired of waiting. You’re my daughter, Freya, and you’re incredibly powerful. Those aren’t things that should be kept hidden.”
Freya picked up a small twig from the sand in front of her and began to twirl it between her palms. “All I asked for were a few days. Just a few days to establish myself here as Freya, not your daughter, not a Valkyrie halfblood.” She tossed the stick away and rested her arms on her knees. “I suppose that was a fool’s dream.”
“You have a future, Freya, and it’s not something you can escape. Hiding beneath magic won’t change that.”
“I’m not trying to escape anything. I’d just hoped to avoid it a bit longer.”
“You think the friends you’ve made—”
“You mean the ones you provided me?”
“Are you saying Lazarus, Collin, and Lea aren’t your friends? That Aerelius isn’t still your friend?”
“No, I’m not,” she admitted sullenly. “I think Lea, Lazarus, and Collin are quite wonderful, to be honest. As for Aer… I suppose we’ll see.” The uncertainty of that statement made her heart clench a little. She certainly hoped they would fall back into some semblance of their old friendship, but it was hard not to wrestle with the question of whether or not they’d both changed too much to find it.
With a huff, she leaned back on her hands, mirroring his position. Glancing up at him, it was easy to see that they were related, even despite the hair and wings. The shape of her eyes and mouth, and even the way she carried herself, were inherited directly from him. While there was an unmistakable resemblance to her mother, it would be clear to anyone with eyes that he was her father.
The two were silent, sitting almost companionably as the sky began to shift toward sunset. She didn’t dislike Byrric or his company, necessarily, but he tended to be more of a political pragmatist than a father, something she still struggled with. Although she wasn’t terribly vocal about it, she rarely disagreed with the decisions he made, including those that involved her. He raised her to ask questions, to push back, even with him, something she was sure he regretted once she came into her ability to reason.
“You did well today,” Byrric said after a moment. “Officer Ristheld was quite impressed.”
“I suppose when your father puts a sword in your hand at age five, impressive skills are inevitable.”
He gave her a disparaging look. “Please, Freya. It was a dagger.”
“Maybe to a grown male,” she said with a laugh. “I was hardly three feet tall!”
“And you wielded it proudly,” he replied. “Those skills have gotten you far in this life.”
“I know.” She turned her head to face him. “And despite what I might say, I’m appreciative of that.”
“That’s good to hear,” Byrric said. He stood, then held out a hand to help her up. “I acknowledge that our relationship is not so typical, but please trust that I have always had your best interest at heart.”
Freya dusted the sand from her pants and hands before responding. “I know you did—do. I’ve never questioned that, only your methods.”
“You needed to stay in Watoria to grow,” Byrric told her. “I do not regret leaving you there. After Cina died, your aunt did far more for you there than I could have here.”
“Would life in Iladel have been so bad?” she asked. For a moment, she almost felt like a small girl again, saddened to watch her father leave, knowing she’d only see him a few months out of the year.
“They’re a different sort here, Freya. You would not have grown into who you are had you been raised in this world. Your mother chose right when she decided you would stay in Allanor after I took my post here. There, you had family, friends, the ability to pursue your own interests. Here, you would’ve had governesses and a father who was routinely away from home.”
Freya thought back to her lengthy visits to the capital. For those few months of each year, she’d been subjected to formal dinners in fancy dresses with the royal family, throwing knives and swords with the prince and pages in the palace training yard during the day, along with the occasional magic lesson from the queen, who was gifted with earth magic. She’d always loved the way Queen Ordona would dote on her, sneaking Freya and Aerelius cookies and milk late at night to eat on the palace steps, long before the sardonic smirk and matching demeanor had become a permanent fixture on his face.
But there had also been times where the lovely queen’s features and words had turned cold, projecting an air of unrelenting authority. There were times the king had chastised Aerelius for not exuding behavior befitting his station, when her own father had instructed her on how to perfect being seen and not heard. Freya and Aerelius were frequently left to play on their own, their shared love of mischief often landing them in trouble with one of their parents or another. They’d become friends, and good ones at that, although her six-year-long absence had likely damaged that friendship a good deal.
“Aer didn’t turn out so badly, did he?” she asked, unable to help smiling at the memory of their younger years. “Prickishness aside, of course.”
Byrric ran a hand over his face and groaned. “Freya, I know you were close with the prince when you were children, but please take some time to get to know him again before assuming anything about his… demeanor.”
�
�I think his prickishness was demonstrated quite fully today.”
“That was a person feeling out their opponent, and you damn well know it,” he replied, his tone a warning. “Before you make rash judgments about anyone here, watch for a bit. Get to know the school, the city, the students.”
“Despite our lacking relationship, I am still your daughter,” Freya said tiredly. “Assessing my surroundings was one of the first lessons you and Mother taught me. Although that might be a bit difficult, now that you’ve shined a damn beacon on me.” Freya bit her lip and averted her eyes, staring out across the water as she wrestled with the question she had hoped to avoid asking. Resigned, she looked back at Byrric “And the other students?” She shook her head and groaned. “I know I shouldn’t care what they think…”
“There were a few who made comments regarding the benefits of befriending a Valkyrie, especially a halfblood who has me for a father,” he said without a hint of arrogance. “By and large, they were impressed, perhaps a bit intimidated, and more than a little intrigued.”
“About?”
“What you can do,” Byrric replied. “There are very few Valkyrie who venture this far from Iston.”
She huffed out a laugh. “So I’m a shiny new toy, then?”
“Look at it this way.” He picked up a rock and sent it skipping along the rippling surface of the lake. “You know the espionage skills you and Aerelius tried to perfect as children?”
“Yes, of course,” Freya replied, smiling. One of her fondest memories of her summers in Iladel was when Aerelius had snuck her into the palace’s labyrinth of secret passageways. The spy holes and secret chambers had fascinated them both, and they often stole away after their parents tucked them in at night to slip through the castle unseen and pilfer treats from the kitchen or play tricks on the palace guards.
“Well, view your popularity as a means of honing those skills by infiltrating the myriad social groups that exist here at Aldridge,” Byrric continued. “Watoria is behind you now. Start to form new connections, get to know the students, their families, their goals. You’d be surprised at how useful that information might be in the future.”