Page 8 of Angel in Absentia (Light Locked #2)

GIFT OF GOLD

HERE WAS SOMETHING blessed about the woods in their most natural form.

Clea immersed herself in the thought, watching shy green leaves flicker against the ashen bark of the trees nearby.

The new growth reminded her so much of her own people’s story, the budding life small but stark against the sea of darkness beyond.

It had been two days since her return to the city, and Clea still felt more solace outside the walls.

Iris sat up in the grass beside her, dressed in a long silken skirt with a wrap that came over her shoulder and chest, leaving parts of her tanned stomach exposed.

Clea followed her eyes to the green field where Yvan and Dae sparred.

Clea had watched it time and time again, but Iris seemed entranced, a painted fingernail playing thoughtfully, as it often did, with a long golden hoop dangling from her ear.

Dae had just disarmed Yvan again, kicking up the sword blade with his foot before Yvan grabbed after it and immediately tried to wallop him with it.

Dae almost danced back, shockingly light on his feet despite his size.

Unsmiling, he hit Yvan’s sword so hard that it betrayed his lightness of foot and earned Yvan a prompt smack on the hand.

She threw the sword, frustrated, uttering a string of colorful Virdain words, to which Dae responded with his characteristic calmness as he waited for her to calm down.

“You can’t white knuckle your way through everything, Yvan,” he reminded her. “You’re tough, and it’s gotten you a long way, but you’re going to have to learn some finesse.”

“Finesse,” Yvan argued back as if the word were a foreign insult. She spat in the field, a very common and lewd Virdain gesture of disgust, and Dae looked like he wanted to groan.

“Every Lodain soldier must first learn to dance before he learns how to fight. In Virday, you know, we learn from the dirt and it weeds out the weak.” She threw a chin in his direction before kicking into the earth under her feet.

A lot of Virdain speech was accompanied by some manner of physical gesture.

“Takes more ansra to build a good barrier than it does to reinforce a little piece of steel for your Lodain needlework.”

“More isn’t always better, which is my point,” he retorted, and they took off again in a debate, going between brutish swordplay and more brutish wordplay.

Iris chuckled. “They’re quite the entertaining pair.”

“Right now, they’re being tame,” Clea replied, watching them argue. “They gave me plenty of opportunities to perform healings simply from sparring.”

“I believe it. You said Yvan grew up as a street child in Virday?”

“In a way. Many of them did. Her father was a prominent crime lord, and she broke away from the family. She joined the castle guard for portions of food and water and became a Veilin after that.” Clea twirled a piece of grass between her fingers.

“She managed to escape the city when the Venennin took over and helped stir up a rebel force. Because of her family, she already had the respect of the underground there. They were instrumental in getting us through the walls.”

“And Dae was raised in a noble house from a noble lineage in every Lodain tradition,” Iris said thoughtfully, contrasting them, and yet Clea felt the need to object, finding more similarities between them than were outwardly obvious.

“Dae and my brothers used to steal corpses from the catacombs and drag them outside as forest beast bait. They would then shoot the beasts with blessed arrows from the wall,” Clea added dryly.

“For all of Dae’s supposed polish and rigor, that version of him is still in there.

Watch long enough and you’ll see Yvan bring it out of him. ”

“From some of the stories you’ve told me about your brothers, I suppose it makes sense you can tolerate him.”

“Before the illness, they were certainly lively.” Clea sighed. “My sisters once convinced me to climb into a barrel, lit it on fire, and rolled it down the stairs.”

Clea looked up at Iris to see her lips parted slightly, her eyes narrowed under a quizzical brow.

“They told me it was the fastest way to make my ansra manifest.” Clea laughed to herself.

“They said you need to feel like you’re in danger to call ansra forth, and since ansra is often compared to fire, they felt like that would help.

You know about both my parents. Mild manners aren’t exactly common in my family.

Of course, my ansra didn’t manifest until I tried healing our dog of a longstanding illness.

I was young and gifted at it, but my parents didn’t want me to be distracted from the more critical arts,” she continued, still twirling the piece of grass.

“Though since I was the youngest and they had plenty of other children who could do weapons, seals, and expulsion, they didn’t forbid me from pursuing it on my own.

I suppose having that many talented children offset the crime of having one healer in the family.

” She chuckled. “My mother always used to tell me my natural gifts were an omen that the world might soon be ready for healing, that I was a queen destined for a time of peace after the reign of another sibling.”

Iris chuckled and then became thoughtful. “You bring peace in your own way,” she said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say having both Dae and Yvan as generals is an experiment of yours in just that objective.” She grinned, and Clea looked back out and watched their glistening bodies in the sun.

“I’m not that calculated,” Clea said with a chuckle, “but I had a good feeling, and it stood up to Dae’s reasoning, so we went for it.

Yvan doesn’t know Lodain warfare, but Dae offered to give her a passing knowledge until we could find another place for her and bring in a new general.

It’s more of a symbolic position now to acknowledge Virday’s role in our victory and promote unity as the Virdain people traveled with us and now assimilate into Loda. Dae is still the one running things.”

“That sounds extremely calculated,” Iris observed with a scoff.

“It didn’t start that way,” Clea defended.

Yvan did a performative cartwheel, insisting to Dae that he couldn’t, despite all of his “finesse.”

“Clea!” Dae said at last in irritation, picking up the other training sword and starting an angry march toward them.

“No!” Clea replied in his exact tone, stopping him in his tracks. “I trained for hours with you yesterday. I’m done. Yvan still wants to train with you. I already did about a hundred healings today.”

“Healings won’t help you!” he declared, gesturing at them with the wooden swords. “We have enough greenery!”

She and other healers, though inexperienced as they were, had been working on restoring the woods.

They’d found that if they repeatedly healed portions of the forest, not only did it expel the illusion, but it also gave the foliage a stronger chance of growing back on its own.

It was a great personal accomplishment for Clea, who had sharpened her abilities against the forest itself in recent months with success.

Dae shook his head in frustration. “Healing is for after the war is done. Right now, you need sword skills! And you need to stop healing the forest! You should quarantine!”

Clea groaned and fell back into the grass.

She didn’t exactly have an answer. She was drawn to healing with the same intensity and dedication that Dae was drawn to weaponry.

Despite it, she chuckled at Dae’s use of the word “war.” They were at war.

No longer survival, no longer struggle. War.

Was that really true? Were their chances so fair that this had gone from being a siege of desperation to an all-out war?

“I’ll train with you, Dae,” Iris said, waving at him flirtatiously and causing him to shake his head and walk off.

“You’re a miracle worker to be able to repel him so quickly,” Clea muttered. “I used to yell at him to fight fire with fire, but sometimes I think he likes being yelled at.”

Iris giggled. “Why doesn’t he go train with other swordsmen? His family is rife with talented blades, and yet he follows you or Yvan around so much, you’d think he hates being alone.”

“He already trained with his family this morning, and yesterday. He feels guilty about Achor and my apparent near-death battle with Cacivus. He’s been training twice as much, and I’m getting punished for it.

My hands were blistered yesterday,” she said, looking down at her palms. “They’ve barely healed today. ”

“I’m tired of this,” Dae declared from the center of the clearing. “Achor was more disciplined than this,” he continued, throwing the sword back to Yvan, who let it fall into the grass before picking it up lazily.

Clea’s slight smile faded, recognizing that his grief played into his frustrations, but knowing that it was rare for Dae to mention it outright.

Achor and Dae had been very similar, both born into noble houses, both boys who had grown up with Clea’s brothers.

Clea and Yvan exchanged glances knowingly.

Then Yvan returned her attention back to Dae, sword in hand.

They didn’t have much in common, but loss was something they all understood.

This time, Yvan approached without playfulness, the strokes hard and brutal as the two faced off.

The clacking of the swords now filled the field in place of conversation.

“Hmm,” Iris said thoughtfully, rolling over slightly so that she could comb a finger over Clea’s temple and push a strand of hair behind her ear. Looking down at her, she said, “You haven’t mentioned Achor at all. I know the two of you were close too.”