But that was a dangerous line of thought, fraut with fear and possible heartbreak, so Evelayn cut it off before it could fully form.
“We’re going to have you utilize your new abilities to begin target practice,” Kel finally answered, though his eyes were still slightly narrowed. “I want to give you the opportunity to feel just how much power you have access to now, and this is one of the best ways to do that.” Kel gestured to the two other Draíolon. “You remember Dela, and I’ve also asked Tanvir, High Lord of the Delsachts and an incredibly proficient marksmale, to join us today to help me.”
Evelayn knew she should be focusing entirely on Kelwyn, but instead she couldn’t tear her attention away from Tanvir. He was a High Lord? What had he been doing in the forest this morning—and why was he helping with her training?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.” She hoped she was the only one who noticed the hint of wryness in his tone as Lord Tanvir stepped forward, the scent of citrus and spice growing stronger with his proximity. He bowed to her a second time. When he rose, their eyes met again and this time a little thrill ran through Evelayn’s body. There was something about the directness of his gaze that was disconcerting and enticing all at once.
But she’d met plenty of attractive nobles before, and very few of them had remained attractive to her once she’d had the chance to get to know them better—and they’d had the chance to show their eagerness to be Bound to the next queen of Éadrolan. Normally, she would be considered far too young for such a thing … if she’d been anyone other than the only living daughter of the king and queen. Her sister had died during birth, her mother had never conceived again before the king was killed, and she’d never been willing to be Bound again afterward. Evelayn was the only heir to the crown—and the power—of the Light Kingdom. Which meant there was quite a bit of pressure for her to be Bound and produce another heir as soon as possible.
So it wasn’t hard for her to nod at him coolly, despite the slight increase in her pulse, and murmur, “The pleasure is all mine, Lord Tanvir.”
“Please, just call me Tanvir,” he quickly requested. “I still haven’t become accustomed to being addressed so formally.”
“You’ll find that you and Lord Tanvir have much in common—including the tendency to despise formal titles and formal manners.” Kel shook his head, but the look he gave Tanvir was more fond than annoyed.
“It’s true, I generally can’t abide any formality,” Tanvir agreed. “Though I admit myself surprised to hear that the princess shares the same vice.”
Again, there was that wry turn to his words, forcing her to recall that morning … and the complete lack of formality of their first “meeting”—if it could even be called that. “If that’s the case, then it is truly a surprise that you were chosen to assist in my training.” Evelayn was better at keeping her own agitation from her voice, maintaining her cool demeanor instead, even though she loathed having decisions that directly affected her made without her knowledge or consent. Such as summoning a High Lord from the front lines of the war to assist in her training. “Kelwyn has worked so hard to impress upon me the necessity of proper decorum, after all.”
“Lord Tanvir was a leader in my battalion and impressed me with his skill and ability. But he is also young and has only recently inherited his title. And this is his first time at court. He will soon learn.” Kelwyn gave her a look that clearly indicated that she should help persuade the High Lord of the Delsachts that Kelwyn was right.
Evelayn acknowledged his unspoken request with a slight dip of her head, all the while turning over in her mind what little she’d discovered about the mysterious Draíolon. He was attractive, had only recently become High Lord, which must mean his father had passed away not long ago—a blow she could well relate to—and he was apparently young. One curse—or blessing—of the Draíolon’s long lifespan was the challenge of ascertaining age when meeting someone for the first time. It was rather difficult when they looked mature by the time they came into their full power at eighteen, and then didn’t show any signs of aging until late into their second century, sometimes even third.
“Let’s get started,” Kelwyn finally announced, much to Evelayn’s relief. “I asked Lord Tanvir to come help demonstrate what I wish you to do, and to assist in your training. As I said, he was considered one of the best marks in our armies, before he was called back to his family’s holdings to take up the mantle of High Lord. You will soon see why.”
Ah, so that was why he’d come—or at least one of the reasons. He was being presented at court as a new High Lord.
Kelwyn turned to Dela, whose mauve hair was pulled back in a severe braid. “Will you fetch the targets and place them in center field, please?”
“Of course.” Dela turned to walk away after flashing a smile at Evelayn, her teeth shockingly white against the pale cerulean color of her skin.
When she had finished her task, four wooden targets cut in the shape of Draíolon males and females stood across the large field from them. They seemed really far away but Evelayn kept her face impassive, refusing to give any sign that she was nervous or uncertain. Kel nodded at Dela and then turned to Evelayn.
“Up until today we’ve only worked on minor skills,” he began, “but now that you have come into your full power you are capable of so much more. Not only will I expect you to be able to hit those targets, I want your aim to be perfect. Many Draíolon struggle with that. They can achieve distance with their attacks, but they struggle with precision. As the princess—and someday the queen—you must be the exemplar in every way, including this.” Kel gestured at Lord Tanvir. “If you please, go ahead and take out the first target.”
Lord Tanvir nodded, all trace of amusement wiped away, replaced by a collected concentration that started in the narrowing of his eyes and extended all the way through the suddenly tense lines of his body. He was a predator ready to pounce, his muscles tightened in preparation. Evelayn studied him, analyzing his stance, the way he rolled his shoulders back and down, the sudden sharp scent of what she could only describe as anticipation in the air, how he lifted his hand and exhaled slowly …
And then a blast of light—very similar to the lightning that sometimes tore through the sky—rent a hole in the first target, right where the heart would be, had it been a real male. A tendril of dark smoke drifted up into the otherwise clear morning sky. The smell of singed wood and ozone filled the air, burning her nose.
“Excellent. Now again—but this time, aim to injure the target, not to kill.”
Lord Tanvir repeated the entire process, but this time he struck the target in the bicep, just above the elbow, barely leaving the rest of the arm attached.
“Do you see that, Your Highness? The control and precision. He makes it look easy, but as you will soon find out, it is anything but. You must take into account tiny fluctuations in the wind, the amount of force to use for any distance, and many other factors. And of course this is all compounded if your target is moving. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Kelwyn raised his voice and gestured at Dela. “Get ready, I’m going to have the princess try now.”
Dela nodded while Evelayn struggled not to scowl. Most Draíolon had the same skills—Light could manipulate and summon heat, sunshine, and light, while Dark could manipulate cold, shadow, and darkness. But occasionally some would exhibit an extra ability. Dela’s particular affinity was with water—she could control and direct it. A rare and useful skill, especially if one was expecting to put out a fire, for example.
“I want you to face the target fully. This is not so very different from what we’ve already been practicing—though it requires more power and more control, as you have learned in your lessons the last few years. You are probably feeling somewhat off-balance with all of the additional input you’re receiving from your heightened senses, but you will soon learn to control them and pay attention only to what is necessary.”
Evelayn did as he instructed,
squaring her feet and settling into her stance as she’d watched Lord Tanvir do. She tried to block out everything else—all the extra scents and sounds that tempted to distract her. This was nothing like the minor skills she’d worked on with the limited access she’d had to the Light Power before now. Shooting a jet of light at a target hundreds of feet away was much more difficult than creating a spark to start a fire or summoning a ball of light to hover above her hand to light a darkened hallway. Yes, she’d studied tome upon massive tome about gaining her full Light Power and how to wield it, but that wasn’t the same as actually using it—as she’d learned that morning.
But she did her best to keep her face expressionless, refusing to give any sign that she was nervous or uncertain.
“When you reach for your power, you will feel the difference—you’ll sense the well of power you now have access to. You must learn to call only as much as you need, not too much or too little. If you summon too much you will take from others who might need it and you run the risk of injuring yourself or others unintentionally. And if you don’t summon enough you will fail at your task and waste the power you called upon.”
Evelayn nodded, even though Kelwyn was only repeating what she’d heard a hundred times before.
“Clear your mind and focus.”
She stared at the target across the field and took a deep breath. Not too much, not too little, Evelayn coached herself as she lifted her hand. Aim with precision.
She called upon the power that had always been there, deep inside her. Only it wasn’t the same at all—it was like comparing the trickling of a tiny stream to the rush of a torrential waterfall. The tidal wave surged within her and out of her hand in a blast of light that exited her body with such force it knocked her backward off her feet, to land unceremoniously on the ground, breathless and embarrassed.
But also exhilarated.
That morning she’d been too overwhelmed, too shocked, to truly take in what she had access to now. But this time, she’d felt it—she’d felt all of it. There was so much power. Far more than she had ever imagined. And despite her ignominious start, Evelayn couldn’t keep herself from laughing with a surprised joy that filled her entire body.
“Are you all right, Princess?” Lord Tanvir was there, holding out his hand to help her up. But she ignored it, climbing to her feet on her own.
“Quite all right.” She grinned, even though Dela was standing across the field, directing a jet of water from the bucket at her feet up into the tree where Evelayn’s first attempt had gone high and wide, setting a branch on fire.
Kelwyn smiled back at her, for once not lecturing her on proper behavior. “Isn’t it marvelous?”
“I had no idea,” Evelayn agreed, still slightly breathless. “Let’s do it again.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” Kelwyn agreed. “But first, let’s discuss what you did wrong.”
CEREN PACED THE LENGTH OF THE LUNCHEON ROOM despite the irritated looks her mother kept flashing her from where she sat, eating with a large group of the royal court. They looked like a brightly arrayed flock of birds gathered around the table that ran from one end of the room to the other. But Ceren had finished her meal long ago and there was still no sign of Evelayn. It was unusual for the princess to miss a meal, especially on a day like today; but if the quiet mutterings at both breakfast and luncheon were true, the queen hadn’t returned from the warfront yet, and Ceren knew how excited Evelayn had been at the prospect of seeing her mother. She’d been more excited about that than the fact that she would be coming into her full power.
Ceren was certain Evelayn’s full power had come with the breaking of the dawn, but the queen hadn’t, and she also was certain that the queen’s continued absence had probably devastated her friend. However, rather than letting her go search for Evelayn, Ceren’s mother had forced her to come to luncheon with the rest of the court, claiming that Evelayn would send for her if she wanted company.
The noise of the conversations flowed over her as she marched back and forth, her own one-person rebellion, so that she only caught snippets here and there.
“—they say that ten more from the same battalion died of their wounds the next day—”
“—can’t honestly believe that color of fabric is attractive, can she? Yellow is never a good idea with green skin—”
“—noticed a difference, but Prinlor claims that he’s felt his power diminishing slightly every year that this war continues and—”
“—her infant is already talking and she thinks that means she’s going to be—”
Ceren could barely keep from scowling at the ridiculousness of it all. The mundane mixed with the vital, neither seeming to have greater import to the members of the court. As if a fashion faux pas is just as troubling as the death count from the warfront, she thought caustically. Which was all too easy for them to discuss as they ate their fruit salad, vegetable soup, and fresh rolls in the comfort and safety of the castle, far from the horrors Ceren imagined existed on the borders of their kingdom where so many priestesses and Light Draíolon fought to keep the wards up and the Dark Draíolon out.
When the door opened and a page entered the room, holding a tray with a white card, Ceren nearly closed her eyes to pray it would be for her, but there was no need. He searched the room and, as soon as he spotted her, brought her the tray. She recognized Evelayn’s writing and the tightness that she hadn’t even realized was squeezing her heart released slightly.
My dearest Ceren,
Please attend me in my private quarters for luncheon. I apologize if you have already lunched, but pray that you will still indulge my request.
Yours,
Princess Evelayn of Éadrolan
“If you will please excuse me, the princess requests my presence.” Ceren curtsied in the general direction of her mother and then hurried to follow the page out before anyone could ask her to deliver a message to Evelayn or otherwise delay her.
A few minutes later Ceren burst into Evelayn’s outer chamber to find the princess sitting at her table, with more food than one person could ever hope to eat spread in front of her. The sunlight reflected off the hint of lavender in her pale blonde hair, which was intricately arranged around the small diadem for the ball that night. But she still only wore a day dress, not the elaborate gown the castle seamstresses had been working on for weeks in preparation for the celebration.
“Ceren!” Evelayn turned at the sound of the door with a smile on her face, which released the tightness in Ceren’s chest even more as she hurried forward to embrace her friend.
“Happy birthday, Ev,” Ceren said as she took a seat across the table from her. “I’m so sorry about your mother …”
She almost immediately regretted bringing it up when worry clouded Evelayn’s face momentarily, but then she shrugged and picked up the roll she’d been eating before Ceren’s arrival and took another bite. “There’s nothing to be done about it now. She must have had pressing business to attend to at the warfront. I only hope she’s safe.”
I’m sure she is. The words were right there, ready to be spoken, but Ceren merely nodded, knowing that with this war, there were no guarantees. She remembered all too well the day Evelayn had learned that her father had been killed in battle. But surely the queen was still alive—they still had their power, after all. “I’m sure she would have come if it were at all possible.”
“I suppose this means my aunt Rylese will have to escort me to the ball now.” Evelayn made a face. Ceren didn’t know King Drystan’s older sister very well, but she knew Evelayn was often irritated with Rylese for lecturing her and treating her like she was still a youngling.
Ceren reached for a few grapes. Now that she was with Evelayn her appetite had returned. “Maybe she’ll treat you differently now that you’ve come into your full power?”
“Maybe,” Evelayn echoed unconvincingly, but then her violet eyes lit up. “Which reminds me—Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell
you what?”
“About the power! About how incredible it is.” Evelayn’s food lay forgotten as she leaned forward. Her conduit stone—the diamond that she’d been born with, embedded about an inch below the center of her collarbone, just like her mother—flashed in the sunlight. “That’s why I missed luncheon. I just couldn’t bring myself to stop training. By the end I summoned my first sun-sword, and I was even hitting the targets consistently. Not as well as Lord Tanvir, but considering it’s only my first day, I think they were impressed.”
“Lord who? And I did tell you, it’s just not the same as actually feeling it.”
“Lord Tanvir—the new High Lord of the Delsachts. I’d never seen him before I ran into him in the forest this morning—well, technically, he tried to come to my rescue, which was absurd—but then he was at my training today, and he’s an excellent marksmale—”
“Wait—what?” Ceren cut in. “You ran into him in the forest? When he tried to rescue you? From what? Or who?”
“Myself, I suppose. Though he didn’t know that. He said he was good with wounds from being on the warfront. And, as I said, he’s a very good marksmale; apparently that is why Kelwyn asked him to help with my training, because of how skilled he is.” Evelayn continued, talking so fast Ceren couldn’t help but laugh, resigning herself to questioning her friend for details later, when she’d calmed down a bit. This was the Evelayn she knew and loved—the one almost no one else ever saw. When other Draíolon were around, she was demure, collected; she tried to be the perfect princess everyone expected her to be. But in private, she was still the same girl Ceren had grown up with. The girl who had raced through the castle halls, and explored the forest for hours with her, heedless of their dresses—until their mothers saw the damage they’d done and halfheartedly scolded them.
Dark Breaks the Dawn Page 2