Page 108 of Blackheart

I would not watch day by day, eating tarts and sipping tea as training went on for a war that I’d helped start. Death had come close to stealing me away too many times to trust that I was safe. Never again did I want to feel as pathetic as I had in the Waywards, sitting in my own vomit, my best friend fleeing while a Sapphire was ready to make his kill.

He took in my dress before running his eyes over my neatly brushed hair. “You don’t have to wield a sword to be useful, Elora.”

“Is that a no,SirRiven?”

Shaking his head, he conceded. “Fine.”

He set off in the direction of the training grounds, flicking a blade in his hand. “Let’s go.”

Oh.

He thought I’d meant immediately.

Chapter 33

I’ll tell you everything

“The Crow’s Whisper is the most elite of shows in Eiden. Tell us, dear reader, are you fortunate enough to attend?”

—Excerpt from The Castivian Chronicle

Xavian and Lady Jocelynnsat across from each other on the terrace, equally disturbed. They both sipped ale in horror as I tried for the twenty-second time to raise a sword and perform a singular slice through the air.

It was too damn heavy.

“Try the wooden pell instead,please.”

Riven had been begging for me to give up on the actual sword since attempt number four.

“No,” I hissed. The children were training with wooden pells. That would be more embarrassing than failing a hundred times.

Xavian had yet to say a word, but I could sense his disappointment. His skills were marveled at across the kingdoms, while I was only suitable for being struck by arrows.

Riven just wanted to help me. He would lift the sword for me if I would let him.

But that would defeat the purpose.

“It’s because of this vexing dress,” I insisted, gripping the hilt of the sword once more, the pointy end dragging against the grass. “And I refuse to ruin it.”

“I see.”

He didn’t seeshit.I would like to see him do anything worthwhile in a gown.

I tried once more to lift the sword, but again, the weight of the bladed monstrosity dragged my arms down.

A chair screeched, and Xavian's voice barked across the training grounds. “Lift the goddamn sword!”

He had roared the command so intimidatingly that my pathetic arms found it in themselves to rise.

I cried out as I leaned into my swing. My muscles whined, but I held that sword up all the same, arms shaking.

I smiled. “I’m doing it.”

A small boy with a wooden pell ran up, laughing as he hit my sword with his, knocking it to the ground.

Mother of fucking Moons.

The brunette child giggled as he ran off with the other little gremlins. I faced the terrace, fists clenched. Xavian’s face was blazing red. He rubbed his hand over his beard and turned to Lady Jocelynn.