A tall, massive man. He is drenched in water. It drips on the stone as we stare at each other. I can’t tell who it is—it’s too dark, and a hood covers his face. He lifts his hand, and my eyes widen as a stone dragon swoops across the air over my head, pebbles falling off its enormous body into the water, and it heads straight into the man, who effortlessly jumps onto its back before it takes off into the cavern. Whoever that was, I think he just saved my life.
Chapter Thirteen
Page Thirteen.
The wedding is tomorrow, and neither of them has said a word to stop it. Has the sun given up on me, his lover? Has the moon finally seen we are more than friends?
Is loving them both my true weakness?
“You look pale today.”
Calix keeps walking, leading me up the steps towards the training room as a grey pre-dawn light shines down onto us while he repeats his statement again. The oil lanterns flicker ever so softly, and this early, all I can smell is the bread that is being baked for breakfast, along with the alluring scents of everything else cooking in the kitchens below.
Calix clears his throat and I look up at the tall man. He is in dark brown clothing this morning, and some contraption is swung around his shoulder that is covered in daggers. “I mean, you usually look a little pale, but are you alright?”
He’s noticed. I need to pray Ziven doesn’t. “I’m fine.” I square my shoulders to appear stronger, even if I’m anything but that right now. I was thankful when Ziven stormed me straight from the library yesterday into my room where food was already waiting for me, and he left me in there all night. My stomach was killing me, the cramps unbearable, and it didn’t let up. I don’t think I’ve slept at all, but it’s like this every time I get my monthlies. Thankfully, they only come once every six months. Which isn’t typical for fae, who have them every month, hence the name, but nothing about my body is normal in that regard.
A light cramp radiates from my lower stomach, and I barely wince. I’m so used to them, and this is mild. The worst cramps feel like I’m being stabbed repeatedly in the stomach, and sometimes they get bad enough that I pass out. There’s no way to make it stop, not without a healer.
The prince used to have a healer on standby for me, dead on every six months because usually it’s bad enough that Kyrell needed more help. Almost like he could sense I was going to get ill. He would be there to heal me with Kyrell, and the prince would go away while I was sick. He couldn’t stand to be around me suffering and bleeding in a way he didn’t enjoy.
I just have to get through training this morning, and then I’ll be back in my room. Hopefully, it’s not as bad as it usually is. A fresh wave of painful cramps slashes through my stomach, making my knees feel weak when I get to the top step. I’ve got pads on—several of them. I don’t know who well equipped the bathroom for fae women, but it was definitely done well. It’ll be enough to get me through.
Calix frowns at me when I take a moment to lean on the staircase before straightening up and walking with him into the training area. I’m glad it’s him who is escorting me and not Sterling like last week. I got the feeling she really didn’t like me. I’m not sure if Calix does like me, for that matter, but the scary man is kind. I can tell from his eyes, from how playful he is, but despite that, I wouldn’t want to cross him. One of his hands alone could crush me. Ziven is waiting by the start of the running track as we walk in, his thick muscles on show in a short-sleeved black shirt. Calix looks between us. “Ziven, maybe—”
I interrupt him. “Thank you for walking me here, Calix.” Calix looks like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. He snaps his mouth shut and walks away to the twins, who are practice training. There is another man with them who I don’t know, his head shaved, and he looks terrifying until he laughs as something Calix says. Another name to learn. I turn back to Ziven, who is stretching. A slip of skin shows above the waistband of his trousers when he does that, and my eyes drop to it for a moment, a shiver shaking down my spine. I make sure my tone is nothing but formal. “Good morning, King Ziven.”
“Finally, you’ve learnt how to be polite.” After his sarcastic remark in place of a morning greeting, he starts running, expecting me to follow. It’s torture, more than usual. I’m breathless after only fifteen minutes of the track. After twenty minutes, I can barely keep up to do a slow jog. By the time I’ve got around the whole track, Ziven is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and he’s frowning at me as I finally get over the finish line. Not that him frowning at me is anything new, but he looks seriously pissed. “Did your three days with Daegan consist of nothing more than dates in the greenhouse and learning how to be lazy?”
His snarl makes my hands shake, but I flatten them on my thighs. “No.”
He walks right up to me, into my space, like he enjoys towering over me. I’d bet he does. “Then why the fuck are you running like a snail who has no interest in winning the race?” I stare up at him, refusing to give an inch, refusing to tell him anything. He’ll just use my weakness against me. It’s exactly the kind of thing he does. Ziven shakes his head in disappointment. “On the mat, Storm.”
“Can I—”
“Mat! Now!” he barks at me. Hating conflict of any kind, I don’t say anything as I walk over to the mat after him. He shoves a spear at me this time. The heavy metal helps me stand a minute longer as the cramps get worse. They usually stop. They have to stop. Ziven pushes his hand into my spine. “Don’t lean on it. Stand straight and keep the spear at your side.”
It’s nearly twice the size of me and very heavy. I struggle to move it to my side without dropping it onto my toes. It doesn’t help that everything is spinning in front of my eyes and the pain is nearly unbearable. “I’m going to drop it. What’s the point of this?”
“To find the weapon that suits you,” Ziven begins, his tone nothing short of royally pissed with me. “Spear, daggers, sword, bows, and anything else I deem fit to get you trained on. I won’t have you embarrassing my dynasty by failing in every weapon training. You are fae and under my rule, and for now, that means you do as I fucking tell you.”
I’m half tempted to try to drop the spear into his stupid head, but he walks away to the twins, coming back with one of them a moment later. Astrid has nothing but a black crop top and low-cut leggings draped across her skin, so tight they do little to hide anything. I can’t help the envy that bubbles in my throat at how flawless her skin is. Not a single scar or mark anywhere I can see. I barely remember what my skin looked like before the bites. “Have you come to watch my failure with a spear?”
She matches Ziven’s frown. I’m sure he has compulsory lessons made up in his dynasty on how to scowl in the proper way at least once a week. “If I were you, I’d be learning how to defend yourself quickly.”
“From what?” I barely get the words out before she is in front of me, and Astrid moved so fast I didn’t see her until her fist is slamming into my cheek and I stumble back, seeing stars. My grip on the spear is all that holds me up.
Tears burn in my eyes as I drag the spear with me, and Astrid sighs, looking over her shoulder at Ziven. “This is cruel. I’m not beating her for the entire lesson, Ziv.”
His tone is icy cold. “She can defend herself. She is hiding it. Again.”
I hold in a scream as she goes to hit me, narrowly missing as I move out of the way, some of Ziven’s defence training kicking in. He taught me how to dodge, and if it was any other day, I might be good enough to at least avoid her. The spear drops to my feet as her leg swings straight towards me and hits me in the back. I stumble forward, the pain in my stomach so much worse, and I cry out as I fall to the ground. Astrid doesn’t move. “I didn’t hit you that hard. Get up. You’re fae, you can defend against this!”
“I can’t,” I gasp, clutching my stomach. The cramping radiates down my legs, up my spine, and tears freely fall from my cheeks.
I barely notice Ziven crouching in front of me until he grabs my chin, turning my face to his. I wait for him to shout at me, to drag me to my feet, but it doesn’t happen. His eyes glow like the moon, bright in the endless darkness that is my life. He runs the end of his finger down my cheek, collecting my tears before smearing them between his thumb and finger. “Storm,” he begins, tense and lacking of anything good. “What is wrong with you?”
I barely get a word out to him before everything spins and I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. It feels like seconds pass before waking up, only to see Ruelle standing over me as I lie in my bed. Her eyes are glowing a bright silver, no pupil to be seen in the light. The dragon markings on her hands are glowing silver too, and the light has flooded the bedroom. Her gravelly, kind voice echoes in my ears. “I’m a healer, Story. Rest.”
My heart races. A healer. She is going to know what is wrong with me and tell Ziven how weak I am. “You’re coming round and you’re safe. Calm down, I will not hurt you. No one in this room will.” He will. “Why didn’t you mention to anyone that it’s your monthlies and you have an illness that makes them incredibly worse?”
My voice is hoarse. “I didn’t want to be seen as weak.”
“I don’t know how you managed to stand, let alone run a track and fight in this state. I can feel your pain, silly girl.” Something about her ranting makes me smile. She reminds me of my mother for a second, telling me I have to slow down sometimes. I have to rest. She shakes her head at me. “I’m confused by your pain. It’s not because you’re in…” She pauses and blinks, the light disappearing from her eyes but her dragon markings still glowing, the pain still numb. “Explain to me what they told you of this illness. Was it done to you? I can feel it. It marks even your blood.”
I glance over in the corner of the room at Ziven. His arms are crossed tightly as he leans against the wall, his face completely impassive. I didn’t see him there, and my mouth goes dry. “I’m not leaving. Talk.”
For a second, I feel like I’m hearing him wanting to know if I’m okay, that he is remotely interested in my well-being, before I mentally kick myself. He calls me a traitor. He tried to kill me, and we are enemies. He just wants another thing to hold against me, and there isn’t anything I can do about it. Part of me knew I couldn’t hide this forever. It’s my curse, and it chases me. “My mother was a lessborn fae, someone without powers, and my father was a powerborn fae, someone with powers. They weren’t meant to have a relationship. It’s not against any law, but it’s frowned upon, and it makes everything complicated. Children between the two are highly frowned upon because they’re usually sick. I was found out to be sick when I went to be chosen for the districts.”
“When was that?” Ruelle questions, moving to sit on the end of the bed.
I fiddle with the sheets. “You’re selected when you’re fourteen for one of the three districts.”
“Tell me more as I finish healing what I can,” she asks. As her magic washes over me, I tell her about the sorting and about the three districts you can be sent into. She doesn’t show any reaction, but she winces every so often. I’ve never seen magic like hers. The bright silver colour she’s emitting is really dazzling to stare at. Healing magic has always been orange, like the bright fruits grown on the trees in summer. Any other magic I’ve seen outside this place is like Daegan’s, a burning yellow. “They said it was a problem with my ovaries and uterus. That it attacks me when I have my monthlies and I won’t be able to have children because of it. I admit, I tend to struggle. The pain is awful, and I lose more blood than most people do. I usually just get on with it, but then I’ve never had training.”
“I would be screaming if I was in the amount of pain you are in. Not ‘get on with it.’” She looks me dead in the eye. “I didn’t know what to make of you when we met. You are very interesting.”
