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My fingers were digging so hard into one another it hurt, clasped in my lap. I refused to look up. I didn’t want him to suspect for one moment something had happened, something was going on, endangering Rook or me.

“When will you announce the next trial?” I asked in a small voice.

Theron said nothing, and it took two minutes of deeply uncomfortable silence for me to raise my eyes to meet his, to see if he was even going to respond. He smirked at me. “The next trial is in four days,” he said, rising to his feet, “and you will be good and ready by then I hope.”

“Is it my father? Please, at least tell me that.”

Theron approached me slowly, slinking across the room towards me. He stopped in front of me, and raised an icy hand to my face. He gently traced his fingers along the scar on my jaw. His eyes were almost kind for a moment, just a moment. “You are beautiful, dear one. So tender, so fragile.”

I said nothing, willing myself, telling myself not to react. I stayed perfectly still.

“It is your father.” He said finally. “Let us hope you can win his freedom just as you did for your mother.” He turned on his heel and left the room without another word.

I slumped down in my chair, exhaling heavily. My father. He had my father. I had a chance to save my father now, and I would be more careful this time. More alert. I’d be able to save him.

Just like I’d saved my mother.

Chapter18

Elara

Rook laughed as I landed on top of him with a heavy thud. “Well done! Got me again.”

I leaned down over him, lowering my mouth to his ear. “I know you’re letting me win.”

“And why would I do that, princess?”

“So you end up under me like this.” I squeezed him with my thighs.

He sucked in a breath. “You’re going to get me in trouble with the guards if you keep doing that.”

I shook my head and climbed off him. “I can’t be rolling around with you like this. The trial’s tomorrow.” I rose to my feet and eyed the battle ax leaning against the wall. “How do you swing that thing one-handed?”

Rook shrugged. “I’m strong.”

I rolled my eyes. “Lots of warriors are strong. It has to be a skill, how did you learn to do it?”

Rook walked over to the ax, picking it up and swinging it deftly in his hand. “Balance. Knowing where the center of your weapon lies is important. You trained with a long sword, you should know that.”

“Arankos and your ax are not the same, the ax is much heavier.”

“Ah, but that’s not what you asked,” Rook said with a grin. “You asked how I wield my weapon one-handed, meaning you want to know how to wield yours one-handed.”

“Didn’t have you pegged as a pedant, Rook.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “So all I need to do is balance Arankos in my hand, and I’ll be able to wield it one-handed?”

“More or less.” Rook swung the ax, twice, three times, then slammed it down into the ground, the impact sending the muscles in his arms and back rippling. “You need to trust your weapon, and trust yourself.”

“Trust myself,” I sighed. “Yes.”

“You still don’t.” Rook narrowed his eyes. “You took off into battle without a second thought, and you still stand here and wonder whether you could do it. Whether you’re strong enough, or brave enough.”

“I’m afraid, alright?”

“Fear is one thing,” Rook said, taking a few steps towards me. “Trusting yourself is another.”

I looked up at him, at the beads of sweat that shimmered on his brow in the brilliant summer sunlight. “It’s my father.” I didn’t know if he already knew, somehow.

“Ah.” Rook grimaced a little. “Sorry. Bad memories.”