Page 13

I descended the marble stairs, the early hour dragging a deafening yawn from deep in my chest that mimicked the cry of a wounded animal. I’d been summoned to Mother’s office, though I was not given a reason. Surely, she wouldn’t expect me to entertain some insufferable son of the Adored aristocracy at this ungodly hour. I winced as I landed on the last step, my shins still sore from a recent growth spurt.

“Your Grace,” an Unseen servant greeted me at the bottom of the staircase, the outline of their body pulsing with a dim spectral energy. My tutor once spoke of the Unseen and the magic that allowed them to render themselves invisible. It was attached to their instincts, they told me. Some primal urge that magic enhanced after the Awakening blessed them. The tutor also explained that the Unseen had to spend their entire lives resisting their primal urges, or else they would be no better than beasts.

I had difficulty believing it. All of the Unseen here at the Chateau were just as proper as the rest of us.

“Good morning, Ferrin,” I replied, following him over to the entrance of Mother’s office. The Unseen hooked a padded hand over the doorknob, pulling it open for me.

“My child, how lovely it is to see your face before the dawn.”

I stifled another yawn, bowing my head as Mother greeted me. Another woman sat across from Mother, her ostentatious blue garb spilling over the arms of the chair and pooling on the floor.

“Source’s blessing on you, young one,” said the Cardinal. Beside her, a boy with fiery red hair tied back from his face stared at the bookshelf behind Mother, either oblivious to or completely ignoring my presence.

I had a pretty good hunch as to which. It wasn’t the first time I’d been snubbed by the acolyte, Cirian.

“Good morning, Mother,” I greeted her in return, then turned to honor the Cardinal with the same half-bow. “Saint Sancha. It is an honor to welcome you to Chateau Greene.” My gaze lingered on the boy with scarlet hair, waiting for him to acknowledge my existence, but he seemed entirely disinterested in pleasantries. “Was there something you wished of me, Mother?”

“Indeed, there is,” Mother replied, rapping a long nail against the desk. “Young Cirian here is training under Her Eminence and has shown an impressive interest in the study of the blade. While the Cardinal and I discuss matters that would lull her acolyte to slumber, I hoped that you would take him to the gardens and have a friendly bout?”

“Really?” I questioned, unable to keep the surprise from my face. “You want me to spar with him? I would think Lynette more suited for the sport ? —”

“He has requested you as his bout mate,” Mother answered, her voice adopting a tone that communicated her displeasure in being questioned. “Does this not please you, child?”

“Apologies, Mother. This pleases me very much.” I turned my attention to the boy once again. “I would be delighted to spar with you, Cirian.”

The boy rose from his seat, finally turning to face me. The years between the acolyte’s visits to Chateau Greene were clearly marked in the staggering height difference between him and myself. Cirian stood a remarkable foot taller than the last time I’d spoken with him, looming under the statue of my great-grandmother.

“I look forward to meeting you on the strip,” said Cirian, the hint of a smirk building beneath his usually stoic expression.

“Likewise,” I replied, my drowsiness dissipating more and more by the second. “I hope to provide you with the challenge you seek.”

Cirian’s smile finally bled through. “I doubt it.”

“Cirian,” the Cardinal addressed him with a quiet timbre.

The boy nodded toward the Cardinal, wiping his expression clean. “Apologies, Your Eminence. I will try harder to curb my competitive nature.”

“Do give him a good showing, young Master Greene,” the Cardinal continued, turning her attention to me. “I’m afraid there are few at the Cradle who can stand against Cirian these days. Adversity inspires growth, and as my acolyte, he still has much growing to undergo.”

“I’ll do my best, Your Eminence.”

“Yes, yes,” breathed Mother, flicking her hands at the wrist. “Off with both of you, now. We are not to be disturbed until we send for you, is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Cirian said, showing Mother more respect than he did the Cardinal. In my opinion a wise decision. The Cardinal seemed much milder in temperament. He turned and strode past, not even bothering to wait for me as he headed out into the foyer.

“Good day,” I addressed the adults, giving one more bow before following quickly behind Cirian. Once the heavy doors were shut behind me, I hurried to close the distance between us, falling into stride with Cirian.

“If I behaved as you did, Cirian, my mother would have cut out my tongue ages ago.”

“If you behaved as I did, Toto,” Cirian scoffed, “then maybe one day you’d make something of yourself instead of hiding away in this palace of pomp and circumstance.”

“That’s rich, coming from the Source’s chosen whelp. Not all can be so blessed.”

I worried for a moment that I’d overstepped the line of playful banter, but the smirk that twisted Cirian’s lips put my mind at ease.

“That is true. There are few who compare to me.”

“Few who think themselves so low?” I interjected, taking the lead and crossing the foyer to the large ornate doors. They swung open without a sound, and the Unseen servant guided us down the stairs and toward the garden. It was still dark, so the lamp posts guided our way, the warm firelight catching on the mist that clung to the ground.

“I haven’t thanked you properly for disturbing my slumber this morning,” I said as we rounded a row of hedges, entering the garden proper. A large fountain built from polished stone engraved with colorful gems sprang from the center of the garden, the sound of trickling water filling the peaceful space. “Do you prefer to be struck across the face or in the gut?”

Cirian huffed a laugh, already moving to the opposite end of the strip that had been hastily assembled beside a row of Mother’s cherished rosebushes. A mask and padded vest awaited us on either end and one of the staff, an older mortal man with grey-streaked hair and jowls that hung like a hound’s, stood in the center of the strip, ready to serve as the judge.

“Feel free to land a blow wherever you like, Toto. If you can, that is.”

I pulled on the white vest, fastening it around my back with a quick tug and knot. “The gut it is, then. I do hope you abstained from breakfast.”

Cirian pulled on his mask, flipping the faceguard up to give me a bored expression. “Well, do hurry up, man. I want to break a sweat before the sun rises.”

Donning my own mask, I retrieved the fencing saber from the holster. With a flick of my wrist, I slashed the air in front of me, testing the balance, then headed to the starting place. Cirian mirrored me, lowering the mesh covering over his face as we squared off.

The grey-haired man stepped between us, holding his hand out. “The first combatant to five points will win the match. Are the combatants ready?”

“Ready,” we responded in unison.

“Begin.”

Cirian body was a blur of motion, the blade of his saber nearly invisible with its speed. I hardly had the opportunity to parry, and even as I swiped my weapon downward, the tip of Cirian’s saber struck me in the hip, pain flaring at the impact.

“Point to Master Cirian.”

“Apologies, Toto.” Cirian’s muffled voice sounded amused. “Are you still asleep?”

“Your company is rather dull,” I replied, letting out a yawn. “I’ll make more of an effort to stay awake this time.”

“Ready?” the judge asked.

We took our positions once more.

“Begin.”

Another flurry of motion from Cirian, but I was ready on the defensive. I stepped back on my left foot, parrying the quick thrust and directing it away. Cirian staggered a bit, his momentum diverted, and I seized my opportunity. Lunging, I drove the tip of my saber toward Cirian’s chest, but the other boy was faster, knocking away my riposte with ease after regaining his footing. We squared up, the ends of our blades crossing as we tested each other’s defenses. It became quickly apparent how disadvantaged I was. Cirian moved with a practiced grace that made it nearly impossible to glean his next maneuver. Not only that, but he also had the advantage of height on his side, his limbs longer than mine. But most troublesome was the ferocity of his strikes. Each parry sent a shockwave down the hilt of my saber, numbing my hands. I had to focus on not losing my grip.

It took only a few more exchanges for Cirian to overwhelm me again, knocking aside a misplaced parry to find a second touch, this time against my shoulder.

“Second point to Master Cirian,” the man announced as we took a step back from one another.

“Come now, Toto. You can’t seriously expect me to believe this is the best effort you can muster?”

I gritted my teeth behind the scrim of my mask. Anger flickered in my gut, and I took a deep breath, reining in the emotion before it bubbled to the surface. Mother had drilled into me from a young age the importance of controlling one’s emotions. They were a vulnerability to be used against you with the greatest of ease.

We stepped back to our starting positions.

“Ready?”

Two nods.

“Begin.”

Wanting to bank on the element of surprise, I lunged first, stamping my foot against the ground as I thrust my blade, aiming low on his torso. For a fraction of a second, I knew that I’d made contact, but then Cirian’s body blurred, and my assault was halted by the tip of a blade pressing into my stomach.

“Point three to Master Cirian.”

With a grunt of frustration, I turned from him, stalking back to the starting position once more. Heat simmered in my gut. I knew Cirian was toying with me. I shouldn’t have let it bother me like this, but the more I pictured that stupid smirk under his mask, to more I wanted to abandon the blades and tackle him outright.

“What’s the matter, Toto? There’s no need to get upset over a little bit of sport.”

“Why do you insist on calling me that?” I spat, the edge in my words evidence of my slipping control.

Cirian took his stance once more. “Does it bother you?”

“Would you care either way?”

“Ready? Begin.”

Another onslaught of quick thrusts erupted from Cirian, but I was able to deflect them, only giving a few steps back as collateral. As Cirian regained his footing, having covered a long distance in his advance, I saw the opening and struck, managing to clip him on the side, the tip of my blade sinking into the fabric of Cirian’s vest.

“Point to Master Greene.”

Cirian flipped open the visor, a wide smile spread across his lips. “My, my, what a surprise. Have you finally decided to give winning a try?”

“Anything to wipe that smug grin from your face.”

He barked a laugh, lowering the screen back into place.

“Ready? Begin.”

Our sabers collided with a deafening clang! And I broke the stalemate by stepping backward, renewing my attack with a thrust that Cirian deflected with ease.

“Where did your rage go, Toto? You’ll never hit me again without it.”

I struck at him, and Cirian knocked it away with a disappointed huff.

“Come on! Show me more!”

I sucked in a steadying breath, willing myself to ignore his goading. Mother had been clear—true power came from giving nothing control over you. Even your own emotions. One more deep breath and I deadened the anger in my gut, smothering it like a wayward spark.

Cirian advanced on me once more, his weapon nearly invisible with speed as it clashed against my saber again and again, shockwaves of numbing pain shooting up my arm.

“Is that the best you have?” Cirian questioned, his onslaught relentless.

Gritting my teeth, my foot slid from under me, setting me off balance, and I tried to knock away another thrust, but the tip of Cirian’s saber struck me in the hip. I sucked in breath as pain radiated down my leg.

“Fourth point to Master Cirian.”

Cirian pulled his blade back, letting his stance fall as he pushed up the scrim. His usual cocky smile was absent this time. “Tell you what, Toto. If you can manage to win this bout, I’ll tell you why I picked that darling little nickname for you.”

“How kind of you,” I scoffed, massaging the soon-to-be bruise on my hip.

“I’m serious,” Cirian replied, taking up his position once more. “You have the ability. Don’t hold back, and you’ll get the reward you’re seeking.”

“Ready?”

Not sure if I believed him, I took my place quickly, eying Cirian.

What was his angle?

“Begin.”

I stuck first, swirling my blade in a quick flourish and thrusting. Cirian deflected the attack, responding in kind, but I quickly sidestepped the attempt. Our blades met once again, exchanging glancing blows back and forth. Sweat built on my brow as the bout stretched on for longer than any previous, neither of us giving the other an opening.

“Come now, Toto,” spurred Cirian, a ferocity in his tone that sunk into my skin. “You can’t expect to win with timidity. Show me your mettle!”

A grunt of frustration escaped through my lips as I whipped my blade haphazardly. Cirian easily evaded the clumsy haymaker, disarming me with a blow to the back of my hand. The saber clattered to the ground as Cirian gently pressed the tip of his sword to my chest.

“The point and the bout go to Master Cirian,” the grey-haired man announced in a dull tone.

Still panting from the effort of the bout, I wiped my brow after removing the mask, the sting of embarrassment lingering in my cheeks from my childish outburst. He’d defeated me in more ways than one.

I swore he’d never do it again.

The red-headed boy sheathed his weapon, lifting up his visor to give me a small smile. The first streaks of daylight broke through the foliage, transfiguring the sheen of perspiration on his face to a glistening dew that twisted my insides the longer I stared. There was something almost sad in the way he looked at me, but the emotion fluttered away as he spoke.

“Better luck next time, Toto. Want to go again?”

* * *