Page 31 of A Touch of Stars and Stones (Kirrian #1)

I force my eyes open and see the usually pale green colour of them replaced by such darkness that it threatens to pull all the light from the room and snuff it out. I blink it away, the darkness clearing like shadows and the usual barely-there colour returns.

Has that happened before? No. And there’s nobody to ask.

I turn around, frightened to stay looking at the reflection and glimpse my boots peeking out as I eye the bedchamber.

I’ve missed training.

Training is what I need more than ever if I want answers, if I want to gain control, and if I want to get back to Lyle.

An echo of longing pangs in my chest, jarring at that thought of leaving Kirrasia, and I wonder if something snapped inside of me during the Transference, and now I belong to Kirrasia.

Lyle was Kirrian and lived for years outside the protection and shield of the borders. Why can’t I be a Watcher like her?

I grab a shirt from my drawer, pull it over the small cami top, and then yank on the trousers I’d worn for training. Grabbing my boots, I stuff my feet into them and leave, not wanting to waste another second here and needing to clear my head.

There is no sign of the heavy atmosphere that greeted me on the walk back from the Transference, but as I continue my march, a hush starts to grow, and people stop what they are doing, pausing in their everyday work and life to watch me pass.

My irritation spreads to anger as I wind down the gentle slope and then finally out of the gate, the forest, river and training rings all before me.

My legs want to break into a run with the need to escape the silent questions and looks, as if I were a problem.

As if I had any say in what happened to me.

But I keep a brisk pace until I’m watching the rest of the trainees gather at the edge of the closest circle.

My footsteps quieten as I approach and watch.

Crimson and Ten are prowling around each other, a blade in each of their hands.

I run my mind back over the training I’d started—the very basic training I’d only just begun—struggling even to hold the blade comfortably, let alone wield it.

Looking back now, the last few weeks were child’s play compared to what will be expected.

Even the glimpses of full-on training sessions were lighter than what I now watched.

Both look at ease, even enjoying their game. My eyes trace over Crimson first, her tall frame and lithe, powerful body clear to see in every inch of her, her arms tense and strong, honed from years of practice, no doubt.

She lunges, fast as the wind, but Ten anticipates and takes a step to the side, spinning out of the reach of the silver tip of her blade and making his own strike.

But she’s too quick, blocking him. The clash of metal rings out over us all.

She grins at him, toying with him, and my eyes narrow on her.

He lets her in close, still holding her blade clear away with his own, before they both move, twisting and lunging, slicing through air as they both dance around each other. It’s hypnotic and deadly. Ten’s concentration is clear as he keeps his eyes pinned on Crimson.

Her name suits her. And I see the Warrior she is—in every graceful, deadly move.

And then, in a blink, Ten takes her wrist, twists, and captures her against his chest, the dagger now resting at her throat as she leans back in his hold.

“Took you long enough,” she purrs.

“Careful, Ten. She’s going to be out for blood next,” Calix calls from the sidelines.

It appears they haven’t noticed my approach.

Until Ten raises his eyes and looks right at me.

His hold on Crimson loosens, and he steps away, Crimson nearly falling a step, with his weight removed from holding her upright. She looks at Ten, tracks his gaze, and replaces her smile with a grimace. “How nice of you to join us.”

The rest of the class all look at me, a rustle of unease as people shuffle and adjust their steps.

Well fuck her and fuck them.

“What’s the aim? Disarm? Hurt or wound?” I ask, talking directly at Crimson.

“Oh, I doubt you’d be able to do any of those things. Ever.” Crimson’s cruel smile curves over her beautiful face. “But if you’re offering to be my next opponent, I accept.”

Ten whispers something to her, but I can’t hear. And further along the arc of the ring, Calix looks edgy.

“You shouldn’t bait her. She’s mean.” Micah is at my side, warning shining in his eyes.

“I can be mean. Besides, I’ve been waiting for this. I was told no physical training until after the Transference. It’s time.” My words sound far more confident than I thought they would, so I draw the memory of the pain from last night and leash it around me, keeping me bold.

“Yeah, but that’s before we knew you were a Fifth. Zuns, we don’t even know what that is. What you’re capable of.” Micah’s voice is hushed on the second sentence.

“It’s your choice, Ever.” Rowan seems to emerge from the line. “And Crimson, if you’re sure. This isn’t what I’d condone for training, but keeping with everyone’s wish not to single Ever out…”

“Bring it.” She swirls the dagger in her hand, the blade glinting in her hand as it rotates as if stuck with glue, before slipping back into her grip time and time again.

“I don’t have a blade.” I’d never done more than practice with the wooden versions.

“Fists, blades, I’m sure I can do the same damage to you with both,” she gloats.

“Leave it, Crimson.” Ten steps between us, glaring at her.

“Don’t worry, Ten. I’ll leave her in one piece. If you ask nicely.” She sashays back and flicks her sunny blonde hair over her shoulder. Her brother has crept up to flank her on the edge of the ring, and the rest of the trainees move around, spreading out to get a better view, perhaps.

“What are the rules?” I turn to Rowan.

“No rules. You can make physical contact. First one to yield or draw blood.” His face is emotionless as he lays it out, unfazed by what is about to happen.

“And if she sticks that in my side?” I nod at the knife in her hand.

“Perrin is an incredible healer. Amongst other things.” The older Custodian nods to me.

Great.

Ten moves closer and holds a blade out for me to see before twisting it, angling the blade inward towards him.

“It’s not designed for you. It will feel wrong, but use it.

She’ll be fast. Lightning quick. Don’t give her a second.

Don’t hesitate. Grab her on the left as soon as you can.

” He rests the hilt in my palm, and I stare at the silver blade, feeling the weight of it.

“Ever? Do you understand?” An order. My eyes snap to his, and I nod.

For a second, I search for the Ten who promised to help me under the stars that night.

He closes my fingers around the hilt, touching me, skin to skin.

I brace, but nothing. No pain, at least.

Only that warmth. That heat, as if something raw, now flows through my veins. And I can feel his heartbeat. Pulsing. Darkening. Like a shadow creeping through the forest.

He looks at me, and the depth of colour in his eyes seems to go on forever. They look different, somehow. Or is it that mine have changed?

“If you don’t mind, I thought we were training,” Crimson calls.

I pull my hand away, the touch releasing whatever it was, clouding the edge of my mind. One look at Ten, and I know he felt that too, maybe more than me.

My hand clenches around the hilt, and I storm into the circle, not waiting for anyone to give me the go-ahead. I stride straight for Crimson and her smart mouth.

She has the decency to look a little startled now that I’m heading in her direction, but she corrects quickly, and I see the move before she even starts.

I dip, my feet moving, and she misses. Re-positioning, she comes at me again, lightning quick, a blur, striking one way then the other.

My heart begins to thump, the confidence now warring with the adrenaline.

I just need to make contact… twist, move, but she’s already there, the arch of her arm, pulling out of the space I reach for.

My feet stop moving, baiting her, and she buys it, her smile giving her away.

My hand grips the top of her left arm as she lunges for the spot I was in a split second ago.

My fingers tighten, and I can feel… power snake out over the connection, dwarfing her, looking for control over her. She thrashes against me, but I easily angle her out of the way when she whips her free arm out and around with the blade. I knock her back each time, Ten’s blade repelling hers.

And still, she baulks, fighting our contact, as I smother her. Her movements grow sloppy and groggy, and the speed and agility she showed so perfectly with Ten are gone.

My own power is absorbing hers. And I’m very much aware of it slipping through my skin.

“Yield?” I ask, with nothing more than a tight clasp of her arm.

She doesn’t, though. She drops to her knees, falling from my grasp and kicks back at me, sending me off balance.

With the connection gone, she seems to regain some of her power and strength, but as I reach out and stabilise myself, I can feel her speed within my limbs.

Just like the obstacle test when I leached power from Calix.

I surge forward and thrust the blade in front, forcing her to defend. I arc my arm one way and the other. There is no grace or skill in my movements, maybe in time, and with a lot of practice. That’s what I tell myself. Give me time.

I keep advancing, slicing towards her, not giving her an opening. On a wild swing, the tip of Ten’s blade slices through Crimson’s arm, drawing blood. The red slash leaks one full drop of blood, running down her toned arm, and I smile.

Cruel and calculating, like the look of victory she would have given me.

And my feet and body stop moving because I’ve won.

Her face is rigid with fury. Not only have I bested her, but I also made her look like a fool in front of her peers and friends. If the roles were reversed, I’d hate me, too.

And then I look at Ten, my eyes keen to see if he approves or if he’s concerned for his friend.

He has a slight smirk on his lips as he assesses me and offers a small nod. I walk to him and place the knife back in his hands, this time without letting our hands touch.

Noise, chants, and claps erupt around, and the reality sinks back into my bones as my arms begin to shake.

Micah joins me at my side. “Quite impressive.”

“Thank you.”

Perrin, the Natural Custodian, walks through the ring to where Crimson is speaking with her brother.

“I guess that’s the fun part of training over. Want to see your room?” Micah offers.

I nod.

The adrenaline and… anger, hurt, everything… that seemed to surge together with me in the ring is now slipping away, and I feel raw and exposed, drained in a way that doesn’t make sense after what we just did.

As we walk over to the residence building, I remember how Micah didn’t stop talking the last time he showed me here. He’s quiet, in contrast, which only weighs down my mood, and it makes my skin prickle with concern.

Our footsteps echo down the hall until he pauses and thumps his door as if reminding me that he’s only a few doors away, and then pauses at mine. And pushes it open.

It’s similar to my previous room, but with subtle differences.

It’s now adorned in an assortment of dark, nearly black colours—the colour of my Order—although I’m not sure if I have a true colour.

The darkest grey material has been used over the bed and the small chair.

An edge of purple in some, and blue in others, like the stone in the centre of my necklace.

Stopping in front of the wardrobe, I open it to find several items, including both dresses I’d already worn and a host of training gear. Some items seem casual, some more formal, and there is even a set of inky black leathers, which I pull out and feel.

“Kyra wanted you to be prepared,” Micah says.

“For what?”

“It’s the Warrior uniform.”

I’m not going into battle. “Not red?” I question.

“The red is represented, they say, by the blood of their enemies on their blades.” Micah smirks, and I drop the clothing.

“Seriously? Kind of fitting, I guess.”

“I know, right. I’ll let you… settle. Dinner won’t be until dusk. There’s no chance I’m missing that after today.” I appreciate the change in conversation.

“Thank you,” I offer as he closes me into my new room.

Silence blankets me, and I look around again until my eyes find my few possessions laid for me on the small table next to the bed.

The teacup, with a selection of fresh flowers, decorates the plain room. I wonder if I’ll have to replenish those now that Kyra won’t be here. I always let them dry out back home, but Kyra always captured something colourful in them. She’s arranged the pebble and brooch neatly next to the cup.

My collection.

And on the bed, the books I still hadn’t returned to the off-limits library.

And I know what I’ll be doing for the rest of the evening.