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I deepened my stretch, accepting my little assignment even as I wanted to growl in frustration. I knew Rhyan was right—I was still the slowest one out there, and it irked me every time I had to be reminded of it.

But I kept remembering what he’d said about gryphons. When they were babies, they were too weak to break the ropes holding them down. And when they got older, when they were strong enough to break free, they wouldn’t, because they didn’t realize they were stronger. No one had told them—they’d never had the opportunity to see their own growth, to understand the true power they possessed. Their reality was constantly reflected back to them—gryphons of all shapes and sizes and strengths were held down, so they never learned they could break free.

Yes, I was still woefully behind. I was still in great danger of failing whatever test the Emperor threw my way. But I remembered how I’d felt the first time I’d stepped onto the track. How my body had felt, how slow I’d been, how excruciatingly painful and embarrassing it had been, and the way I’d retched afterward. If I could travel through time and race myself from the first day, I could see clearly in my mind how much faster I’d be now, how much surer I was of my footing and pacing. I was stronger. The ropes that had bound me were starting to unravel, if not tear apart completely. I was no longer the girl I was a month earlier.

After my third loop around the arena, I did outrun another soturion. Twice.

Rhyan ran past me, winked, and sped forward.

Soon the weeks began to blur, each one passing more swiftly than the last. The days were shorter, the air crisper, the nights longer and colder, until another full month had passed.

Only two months remained before my test with the Emperor. Unsure what I might be asked to do in the test, Rhyan introduced wooden swords for us to spar with so I could become comfortable wielding weapons. These were only practice swords, not able to do any real damage other than the blunt kind. But they were heavy. It didn’t take long for my smooth, soft noble hands to feel nearly as calloused as his.

Every night after our formal training ended, I stayed late through dinner, and we picked up the wooden blades. I’d needed tons of breaks at first when my hands and arms had grown tired from holding the swords after only a minute. Rhyan patiently gave me those breaks, though he always pushed me to make up for them. But soon my strength began to increase, my fingers stopped cramping, and I held the practice sword higher and steadier as the weeks went by. What I’d barely been able to grip on day one was now beginning to feel like an extension of my arm—I could swing with force and hit my target as precisely as I would with my finger.

Over the course of that month, I established a routine with Rhyan. Coffee and meditation every morning. Running, classes, training. Then we both stayed in the Katurium through clinic or late-night training before I was escorted back to my apartment—often by Markan while Rhyan watched in the distance. We kept exploring options for training on the weekends, but with the shifting schedule of my escorts and the whispers growing again of Emartis activity, we stuck to our training room after I did solo runs on the track with Rhyan guarding from afar.

A few nights—the nights I had no clinic—I made it out to dinner with Tristan in the city. But since I’d drunkenly straddled him in the carriage after the Cresthaven dinner, we’d almost completely stopped being intimate. At least, not in the way we had been before. We kissed when we were together, sometimes a lot. But his kisses had changed. They used to be flirtatious, hot, possessive. Now, they felt almost like a question. Like he was unsure if this was what he wanted. He still told me he loved me, and he still held me fiercely, but he was no longer spending nights in my bed, and we were no longer exploring each other’s bodies in every way possible without getting fully naked. He always said it was fine, he didn’t want to take away from my time training.

But I was worried. I knew without a doubt that if Meera hadn’t also revealed vorakh all those years ago, I would have ended things with Tristan immediately. I could have taken the heat for being sympathetic to vorakh if it had just been about Jules. She was gone—we’d let her go, performed our role flawlessly—and if not for Meera, we would have had nothing more to hide.

Being with Tristan had always been about protecting Meera.

Over the last two years, I’d wished so many times that Meera hadn’t had her vorakh, but for selfish reasons. So I could have grieved. So repairing our reputation wouldn’t have been all on me and wouldn’t have been so urgent. So I wouldn’t have these damn scars.

Keeping the eye of the vorakh hunter on me and off my sisters was my duty. The only problem was I wasn’t sure I was doing my job well anymore. Even if Tristan had never outright said anything, I knew it in my gut Rhyan was coming between us.

The rumors have already started. They’ll reach Tristan soon. Or worse.

My feelings for Rhyan had been a shadow over my heart for years. Some part of me had been claimed from that first kiss between us three years ago. If Tristan suspected Rhyan had any role in our relationship falling apart, the consequences would be just as deadly as if he’d discovered Meera and Morgana’s vorakh. So I kept plastering on my smile, kept initiating touches, and kisses, but there was a split between us—one that would not easily heal. One I wasn’t sure I wanted to fix.

The days and nights were all seamlessly spilling into each other. I’d been meditating, running, and sparring with the wooden blades every day. When just over one month remained before my test with the Emperor, Rhyan deemed me ready, and we switched to swords with dulled blades during our sessions.

He had me memorize choreography until I moved across the room like I was dancing with the sword, changing positions with each step. Every day, we added onto the choreography so I could hold the sword without thinking, so I could use it relying entirely on muscle memory, and feel as if it were an extension of my arm.

While I gritted my teeth and cursed him under my breath, the training was working. My arms had been sore as fuck when we’d begun, but soon there was only a dull ache in my muscles after each session. I noticed a change in my arms. In fact, a change was happening over my entire body.

This change had been subtle, both to me and to everyone else at the Academy, especially since the colder days and nights meant I covered up more of my body. Even in the baths, it had become an unspoken agreement that no one talked to or looked at me, not out of respect, but as if I’d been shunned. Even Haleika, who I was still on shaky grounds with, barely acknowledged me beyond what was polite. But on a rare night back at Cresthaven, preparing for another mindlessly boring and highly stressful formal dinner, Morgana walked in on me changing.

I stood in nothing but my undergarments, staring at my wardrobe and trying to decide on a dress. None fit right. They were too loose where they used to be too tight or too tight where they used to fit comfortably.

“Holy fucking Auriel’s balls,” Morgana said.

“Get out.” I glared.

“Meera!” she yelled. “Look at Lyr.”

“Why?” I asked.Morgs, stop gawking at me!

“I can’t hear you!” she sang.

Morgana marched into my room—without an invitation—followed a moment later by Meera, who also stared at me wide-eyed. “All right there, Arkturion,” Morgana said.

“Stop it!”

Neither of my sisters listened. They each grabbed one of my arms and dragged me before my full-length mirror.

“Lyr, those are muscles! You have fucking muscles,” Morgana said like she could hardly believe it.