Days passed, and Keshel had a new vision of black armored men riding across a red desert. Rayghast’s men would be there soon. Time was running out.
Marai intensified their training, and became used to the routine. Training each morning after breakfast. Afternoons with Keshel, working on her control of magic. Evenings were Marai’s patrol shift.
Stay busy.
The activity kept her from spiraling, plunging into a pit of shame so deep it could burrow into the center of the earth.
Focus.
Leif needed to guard his left side. Thora and Kadiatu needed upper-body strengthening.
Stay busy.
Whenever there was a moment of peace, Marai heard Ruenen’s laughter echo through the canyon. The wind whispered Sassafras as it twirled its invisible fingers around her hair. She saw him splashing in the river, beckoning her to join, trying to get her to look.
She wouldn’t look. No, stay busy.
He’s dead. Ruenen is dead. Keshel said he’s dead.
Those words she repeated over and over until she accepted that they were reality.
Marai’s magic was still recovering. All she’d managed to conjure at her fingertips were her usual fire, a stronger shield, and a spark of lightning.
Focus on your people. Focus on training. This is the path you chose. Repent by protecting them.
Kadiatu swung her sword down, far too slow, far too cautious. As her blade collided with Marai’s, she squealed and nearly dropped her sword.
“You’re not going to hurt me, Kadi,” Marai said with an exasperated huff. “You need to put power behind your swing. Grip the handle tight. Tacorn soldiers aren’t going to go easy on you.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” said Kadiatu. She sniffed as her eyes shimmered with tears. “I’m not good at all this, but I’ll keep trying.”
Marai sighed, joining Raife in the shade, as Aresti took over with Kadiatu.
Nearby, Keshel, Leif, and Thora were working together. Leif’s pride was wounded from Marai beating him so many times. He was the most animated for training every day; first to wake and last to sleep.
“You’re not a very understanding instructor,” Raife said.
“If you’re too soft, people die,” said Marai, watching Aresti pivot effortlessly and cut across, forcing Kadiatu to duck and fall onto her tailbone.
Aresti helped her back up. She and Kadiatu laughed at the large red spot of dirt on her rear.
“Like a giant bullseye,” Aresti said as Kadiatu brushed off the dirt, giggling.
Raife also chuckled. “Yes, but you can have the same intensity and compliment the positive things, Marai.”
He’d been teaching everyone how to handle a bow and arrow. Marai had never taken to archery. Raife was skilled; he could shoot a soaring vulture straight through the eye. He’d carried around a bow since he learned to walk. Thora and Kadiatu were more at ease in his presence than they were in Marai’s, and preferred the bow and arrow to a sword.
“In the real world, there are no compliments,” Marai told him. “There’s life or death.”
“Then I’m glad to be here for as long as I can,” Raife replied, smile fading. “I know danger’s coming, but I’ll savor every second of peace and laughter I can collect.” His gaze tracked Thora’s movements with Leif.
Marai didn’t want to admit it, but she’d been doing the same. Every smile, every giggle, every normal interaction . . . she clung to those moments. She never knew when they might be her last.
“We should begin combining our weapons training with magic,” she said as everyone took a brief water break.
“What do you mean?” asked Aresti, sharpening one of her blades with a smooth wet stone by the river.
“You’ll be the most effective if you can utilize both skills at once.”
Aresti switched to sharpening her other sword. “I thought the point was not to show our magic to humans?”
“They’ll already know we’re fae,” Leif said. He held out his sword before him, arm straight and steady. “Why not show them everything we’ve got?”
The air shifted slightly. Magic gathered within him, centering in his outstretched arm. Bright vermilion flames burst forth from his fist and skittered down the length of the blade.
Marai couldn’t stop herself from grinning. Brilliant. A flaming sword, able to slice and scorch. She’d done something similar with her lightning and Dimtoir on The Nightmare.
Fire had always been Leif’s specialty; the eternally burning fire in the cavern was his creation. Leif swung his blazing weapon back and forth, creating a trail of sparks and embers like a shooting star. Marai didn’t mind the smug smirk at his lips. It was time the fae stopped fearing their power.
“That’s good, Leif,” Marai said. “Can you lead the others in this exercise?”
Leif’s eyebrows shot up, surprised at the compliment and concession. Marai knelt on the riverbank and dipped her hands in the cool water. Behind her, she heard Leif say, “Alright, children, let’s light ‘em up.”
Flames skittered up Aresti, Raife, and Keshel’s swords. Even Thora managed to produce a few tendrils, but Kadiatu had never been able to call forth fire. Her blade remained metal, but she seemed more relieved than disappointed. Kadiatu didn’t want to complicate something that was already challenging for her.
Marai’s lips twitched into a smile. She quickly turned her head, hoping none of them saw how pleased she was. But that pride disappeared the longer Marai stared at her hands in the water. Keshel alone had seen the black skin of her fingertips. She wore her gloves at all times. Marai didn’t want to explain to the others what she’d done, especially since Leif and Aresti had finally begun to trust and respect her.
She enjoyed the company of her fellow fae. Her family. She’d missed them. This way of life was so different than her time away. But how long could this peace last?
