I didn’t return to Briar’s room. She could handle a few seamstresses on her own. Instead, I veered down a covered walkway and out to an open courtyard. The simple bench seats and weapons racks told me enough—these were training rings. If the space was for royalty, there’d be flower beds and fountains, but there was only a patch of dirt, marred by the divots of many boots.
The space was blissfully empty.
I shielded my eyes as I stared up the ivy-clad walls to the sun high above and ran my other shaking hand through my curls. Taking deep gulps of air, I paced back and forth, following the tread of boots along the dusty earth. This panic would help no one. Marching to the weapons racks, I pulled a heavy wooden sword from its hooks. My muscles strained as I swept it left and right, testing it in the air. If I couldn’t slow my racing heart, then at least I could work with it.
My boots carved a pattern in the dirt as I practiced my footwork. Block, block, strike. Block, block, strike. The steady rhythm focused my mind as the memories of the King’s office flashed through me. I should’ve known better, shouldn’t have believed that Gods-forsaken faery for all her wishy-washy promises. A pack, a family . . . No, this was just another type of cage.
My cheeks flushed, a mop of sweat breaking out on my brow as I swung the heavy sword. I’d been so hopeful—too hopeful—and for what? Even if King Nero had embraced me with open arms, the shadows I once reveled in were now my ultimate trap—unable to lead an army, unable to save my fallen kingdom like I’d trained for my entire life, watching as my twin and Grae married, started a family, and found some kind of happiness.
The sword whipped through the air faster, my shoulders burning as I pushed harder. Grae was the part that hurt most of all. I wished he’d never visited us, never wrote those letters, never pretended to care. It was the worst kind of cruelty—pretending to be kind—and I’d been the fool who’d fallen for it.
The sound of heavy footsteps made me whirl, and the three guards on the walkway halted. Sadie, Hector, and Maez glanced at each other and back at me. My boots were now caked in dirt, sweat stained my tunic, and I was certain my face was a startling shade of red. Whatever surprise was on their faces vanished in a blink.
“Oh good,” Sadie said, as if she were expecting me. “Now we can pair off.”
They must’ve known—must’ve seen the pain bleeding from my every breath—but they ignored it, and I was grateful. I wondered how many times each of them had found solace in a training ring. How many times did they find peace at the tip of their blades?
Hector unclasped his cloak and hung it on a hook. “I don’t suppose you had many sparring partners in Allesdale?” he asked, rolling his shoulders.
“Only the ones Vellia could conjure,” I replied, resting the tip of my heavy sword on the ground.
Maez’s eyebrows shot up. “Now that I would’ve liked to see.”
Hector rolled up the sleeves of his tunic. “What kind of creatures did she conjure?”
“All sorts,” I said with a shrug. “Snakes, soldiers, creatures of her own making.”
“But if they were conjured, could they actually land a blow?” Maez asked.
I pulled the neckline of my tunic wide over my shoulder, where three raised scars clawed over the joint and down my chest.
“Gods,” Hector breathed. “What did that?”
“A mountain cat,” I said, quirking my brow.
“And shifting didn’t heal the wound?”
The magic of changing forms could heal almost any wound, if done quickly enough. Every time we shifted into our furs and back again, our bodies were rebuilt, wounds healed, sore muscles eased. It was why Wolves lived nearly twice as long as humans; the shift seemed to fend off old age. There was something sacred about that moment between one form and the next—when we were both and neither. That was the magic the humans prayed to—the magic of change.
“I didn’t shift for two weeks,” I finally said, meeting their gaping expressions as I pulled my neckline back into place. “I wanted this one to last.”
“I think I’m going to enjoy having you on our crew,” Sadie said with an approving grunt, unfolding her arms and heading to the weapons rack. “Here.” She tossed a wooden dagger to me and I caught it in midair. “That sword is too big for you.”
“I know.” I scowled. “I was just building my strength. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Come to vent?” Maez asked with a knowing smirk. “We’ve all had those days. I can’t imagine meeting King Nero helped.”