Page 25

Andor

“She certainly knows how to fight,” Solla remarks as she leans against the stone table beside me, watching as Steiner and Brynla battle it out with wooden swords in the middle of the courtyard.

It’s morning, a clear crisp day, the sun just starting to dry the overnight rain from the foliage, and Brynla’s daily training session is nearly halfway through.

“She certainly does,” I say. My eyes are locked on Brynla’s form, not just the fluidity of her movements, the way she seems to anticipate Steiner’s next move, but on her actual body.

The leather armor that Steiner engineered and had our seamstress create, crafted from none other than dragonscale, hugs every supple curve, from her firm ass to her breasts, even the soft roundness of her stomach.

I shouldn’t be watching her in this way—I should be paying attention to her strikes and her footwork and figuring out what she needs to work on—but I can’t help it.

“Though she is fighting against Steiner,” I add as Brynla knocks Steiner’s sword from his hand. “Even you would win against Steiner.”

“Hey,” Solla says in annoyance, and then wipes her hands—caked with dirt from her garden—on my sleeve.

I flick the dirt off. “Using your mind powers doesn’t count. You can’t use telekinesis on a dragon.”

“How do you know?” she asks smartly. “Have you ever tried?”

“No. And you’ll never get to try either.”

“What if I want to become an egg thief too?”

I give my sister a dry look. “I wouldn’t allow it. Your place is here, at Stormglen. Someone has to be the lady of the house and Margarelle isn’t going to be around forever.”

“As long as Brynla’s here, there will be two women of the house,” she says. I don’t like the teasing look in her eyes, the way she’s smiling.

“Brynla is a—”

“Prisoner, I know.” She lets out a long sigh and then rests her head against my shoulder.

“I’ve just never seen a prisoner treated so well.

She wears my dresses, sleeps in the nicest guest quarters, is allowed to eat dinner with us, has the seamstress making her custom attire, has a dog that’s treated better than Grandfather when he comes to visit.

She’s only been here ten days and it feels like she’s here to stay.

Not to mention the way you look at her.”

I shrug her off my shoulder. “What do you mean, how I look at her?”

“It’s disgusting,” she says, curling her lip for emphasis.

“You’re wearing the fool’s crown,” I tell her, pressing my hand against her face and pushing her away. “Go back to your garden and busy yourself. I think you’re running out of pastimes.”

She feigns fighting back, rubbing her dirty fingers on my face until I push her far enough away. Then she runs off to her garden that runs along the walls of the courtyard, giggling.

Laughing, I wipe the dirt off my beard. I bring my attention back to Brynla only to catch her staring at me with a look on her face that I rarely see.

There’s a wrinkle across her forehead, a strange longing in her gaze.

It only lasts a second before Steiner takes advantage of her distraction and slaps her on her armored shoulder with the sword.

“You’d be dead,” Steiner says. “Pay attention.”

Brynla shakes her head, looking slightly chagrined, then suddenly drops to her hands in a push-up position and kicks out at Steiner’s ankles behind her, leveling my younger brother to the ground in a heap.

“No, you’d be dead,” she says, towering over him and dusting her hands off.

Then she reaches out for his hand and pulls him to his feet, even though I know my brother doesn’t need the help. We’ve spent every moment over the last ten days testing Brynla to see if any of the suen has taken a late hold, but she doesn’t seem different, just as naturally strong as before.

“Go again?” Brynla asks him, brandishing her wooden sword as if it could slice him in two.

Steiner shakes his head, rubbing at his ass where he fell down. “I think I need a break. Andor, you want to take over?” he asks me.

“I’m not wearing armor,” I tell him, holding my arms out, but I’m walking toward them anyway. “I’m not sure I trust her not to stab me.”

“You’ll have to take your chances,” she says sweetly as Steiner tosses me his sword.

I catch it in midair, not even having to look at it. Okay, perhaps I’m showing off a little.

“You know I like to take chances,” I tell her.

“Good luck,” Steiner mutters under his breath as he walks away, the gravel crunching under his boots. “I’m going to see if Moon has come back to roost.”

At the mention of his white raven, Brynla’s face falls.

I take advantage and lunge, tapping her other shoulder with my blade. “There, you just died again.”

She gives me a pained yet annoyed look.

“Hey,” I say to her, trying to keep her focused. “Moon will be back any day now. It takes four days to fly from here to the Banished Land. There’s probably a day trying to find your aunt in the underground city, then four days back.”

“That’s nine days.”

“And it’s day ten. Give the bird a break.” I reach out to tap her again, but this time she’s quick. She swiftly raises her sword and almost knocks mine out of my grasp.

“Ah!” I cry out, grinning at her. “There we go. Give it to me.”

“You don’t want me to give it to you,” she says with a smirk, and I strike again. She grunts, twisting at the waist, her footwork smooth, keeping her just out of my reach. Then she slices down at my sword, preventing me from cutting her the other way.

“You don’t think I can handle a little blood drawn?” I say, stepping back and keeping my eyes locked on her warm brown ones so that she can’t follow my next move. An easy mistake is to let your eyes betray your plan.

“I suppose you can simply heal yourself, can’t you?” she asks.

“Actually no,” I say, ducking as she strikes with a wide swipe. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“So how does it work?” she asks, trying to slice at my neck. I block her sword just in time.

“You’re so curious about the healing,” I say. She’s been asking me about it here and there but I haven’t been very forthcoming. I’m sure she’ll find out one day. I’m surprised my uncle hasn’t trotted out my failure at the dinner table.

“Maybe I have an ulterior motive,” she says in a low voice, blocking a jab.

“Like what?”

She stares at me for a moment, opens her mouth like she wants to say something. There’s a war being waged behind her eyes and it isn’t one fought with swords. Then she shakes her head and with a growl attacks me, nearly plunging her sword right into my heart, pulling back at the very last second.

I suck in my breath, feeling the sharp point of the sword penetrate my shirt, poking the skin. Even though it’s carved from wood, I have no doubt she would have killed me if she had driven it in at full strength.

She swallows hard, eyes wide as she takes in the sight. “Sorry.” She abruptly withdraws the sword and turns her back to me, her head going side to side in a stretch, her hands on her hips.

“Don’t be,” I call after her as she walks a few steps away.

I look over to Solla, who is in her garden, head poking around an elderberry shrub and watching us intently.

She shrugs. Meanwhile Lemi, who has been dozing in the sun at the foot of the fountain, lifts up his head and watches Brynla with concern.

I walk after her. “Are you all right?” I ask, keeping my voice low and soft. I want to reach out and put my hand on her shoulder but I’m afraid she would lash out.

“I’m fine,” she says, slowly turning around to face me. She winces as she runs the back of her arm over her forehead. “Just tired.”

Right. It’s not that. Still, I tell her, “Perhaps we’ve been working you too hard. You need some rest. I forget that you’re not…”

“One of you?” she says bluntly.

I take a step toward her, fighting the urge to reach out and hold her hand, even for a moment. “Believe me, I think it’s a blessing that you’re not one of us.”

She has that look in her eyes again, the one that wants to tell me something. Why can’t she come out and say it? I’d go crazy if I had to keep my feelings inside.

“The other day,” she says in a low voice, her eyes darting over to Solla, who has put her head back down, pruning a small tree, “when you said you weren’t sure if you could fix ailments? Have you ever tried? Has anyone in your family come to you with a sore back, or a headache from too much wine?”

My throat thickens and I struggle to swallow down the shame. “No. They haven’t.”

“Really?” she asks, a sheen of hope in her eyes. I don’t like that look.

“Really,” I tell her. For good reason.

“Then how do you know you can’t?” she asks, her gaze imploring and intense. “Listen, I saw what you did to Lemi. I don’t know if he was truly dead when that dragon pinned him down, but I saw you heal him. I just didn’t know it at the time. If you can do that—”

“He’s just a dog.”

Her stare turns acidic. “He’s not just a dog.”

“You know what I mean. He’s not a human. On top of that, he has suen abilities. That makes us harder to kill regardless.”

“You healed him,” she says. There’s a gravity to her voice that pulls at something inside me, something soft, something hidden. “So maybe you can heal me.”

I blink at her in surprise, then look her up and down, as if I’ll see some obvious wounds. “Did you hurt yourself or—?”

“You know what, forget it,” she says quickly, turning and walking away.

This time I do reach out and grab her by the forearm, forcing her to face me. I pull her close to me, enough that she lets out a small gasp, but I don’t let go and I don’t care if I’m being pushy.

“Tell me what’s wrong with you,” I say, my voice coming out gruff and impatient. “What needs healing?”

Indignation sparks in her eyes. “Unhand me,” she practically growls at me, writhing in my grasp.