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Chapter Twelve

I marched into the training yard, ignoring the biting chill of the air and the snowflakes beginning to drift lazily from the sky.

Nessira had insisted I dress warmly before storming out of my rooms, her stern words forcing me into thicker leggings, a fur-lined vest, and sturdy leather boots.

The cold bit at my face and hands, but the fury in my chest burned hot enough to keep me moving.

Rankor was demonstrating sword techniques to two young boys as I approached him. His thick coat was hardly battle-ready, but he moved with the easy confidence of someone who had wielded a sword in far worse conditions. When he caught sight of me and grinned, his breath fogging in the crisp air.

“Thea!” he called, sheathing his sword with an exaggerated flourish. “Perfect timing! These boys could use a lesson from someone with real skill.”

“Sure,” I muttered, my voice low and cold.

Without hesitation, I planted my feet, balled my fist, and twisted from the hips just as he’d taught me—then I punched him square in the jaw.

Rankor stumbled back with a strangled noise, clutching his face. “Ow! Ow ! What in all of creation was that for?” He pulled his hand away to inspect the thin trickle of blood on his lip and gawked at me like I’d just set him on fire. “You punched me? In front of the children? ”

I glanced at the two boys, who stood frozen, their wooden practice swords dangling from their hands. “Leave.”

They bolted, their weapons clattering to the ground. Rankor gaped after them. “Cowards,” he criticized before turning back to me. “You know, most people start a conversation with words .”

“Pick up a sword,” I ordered.

“What?” His brows furrowed. “I’m not fighting you, Thea.”

“Pick up the sword,” I snapped, magic flaring beneath my skin.

Rankor let out a long, suffering sigh. “Thea, I’m a Brawn . You can’t outmatch my strength, and we both know it.”

The sword at his feet jerked into the air, hovering ominously before whipping toward him. Rankor let out a strangled yelp and dodged just in time.

“You might be stronger,” I said, my voice like ice, “but I’m more powerful.”

Rankor muttered something under his breath that sounded like a prayer before bending to retrieve his own blade. “Fine, but make a note that I think there are several other ways we could entertain ourselves that do not risk bodily harm.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I yanked the floating sword back into my grip and swung at him with a heavy downward stroke. Rankor parried, but his stan

ce was cautious, his movements slow.

“You knew,” I hissed.

His brow furrowed. “Knew what ? That you’ve finally snapped? Because that’s becoming quite clear.”

I struck again, forcing him back. The realization dawned in his eyes, followed by regret.

“So" he drawled, "I take it you met Elaina? ”

“All this time, I couldn’t figure out why you and Clay were fighting so much. How long have you all been keeping this from me?”

Rankor raised his blade defensively. “Clay wanted to tell you himself. He thought it would be better coming from him.”

The pity in his tone made my rage flare. I swung harder. He deflected the blow but staggered back, his boots skidding in the snow.

“Clay didn’t tell me,” I spat. “Elaina did. When she opened his door half-dressed.”

Rankor groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “ Gods above, man, ” he hissed, as though Clay could hear him across the palace. He barely dodged my next strike, his movements growing more frantic.

“Thea, why don’t you put the sword down and we can talk about this?”

“Fight me!” I shouted, aiming a kick at his ribs.

The impact sent him stumbling, and he let out a wheezy laugh. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit down and breathe deeply first? Maybe count to ten.”

I advanced again, blade at the ready.

Rankor held up a single finger, backing away. “I’m beginning to think—hear me out—that maybe, just maybe , you should do some inner work on how to process difficult feelings.”

Irritation flushed through me. I didn’t want to talk or process my feelings. I wanted to punch and kick and hit away all the anger and sadness that felt like it was eating me alive.

I slashed my blade towards him. He barely avoided it.

“Or,” he panted, ducking another strike, “perhaps a sparring match is exactly what you need. A controlled sparring match. With rules .”

I lunged again, and he dodged dramatically, twisting his body like he was performing some kind of elaborate dance.

“Are you mocking me?” I snapped.

“Only a little bit. ”

I swung again, but this time he miscalculated, his boot catching a patch of ice. With an undignified squawk, Rankor went down, landing flat on his back. He blinked up at me, stunned, then groaned, sprawled in defeat.

“Well,” he huffed. “I hope this was cathartic for you.”

I pointed my sword at his chest. “Get up, Rankor. You’re a war-hero. Stop pretending like anything I’m doing is actually hurting you.”

He faked another wheeze. “Or I could just stay here and reflect on my life choices.”

I jabbed the blade forward an inch, and he sighed dramatically before dragging himself to his feet.

Before I could swing again, Kent’s voice rang out across the yard.

“Enough!”

The sharp command cut through the cold air like a blade. I turned, startled by the raw authority in his tone. Kent never raised his voice. From across the training yard, he approached us with measured steps, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with an anger I had never seen directed at me before.

“Take the boys back to their lessons,” he instructed Rankor without breaking stride.

Rankor hesitated, his gaze flicking to me. For once, he didn’t have a quip. With a frustrated sigh, he handed his sword to Kent and gestured for the boys to follow him toward the castle. Their protests faded quickly, leaving Kent and me alone in the yard.

I squared my shoulders. “If you’re here to lecture me—”

Kent didn’t let me finish. Without any warning, he swung the sword mercilessly toward me.

I barely managed to parry. The impact sent a jolt through my arms, and before I could reset my stance, he struck again—fast, sharp, relentless. I moved instinctively, forced to react with more precision than before. Unlike Rankor, Kent wasn’t holding back.

“You’re angry,” Kent said, swinging the blade toward me .

“Obviously,” I snapped, deflecting another blow.

“And you’re lying to yourself if you think this is just about Clay.”

His words hit harder than his sword. My grip faltered, my arms dropping slightly.

He took advantage of the opening. With a swift step, he hooked my ankle and swept my legs out from under me. I landed hard, the breath knocking from my lungs. The sky spun above me, framed by the snowfall.

“You rejected him,” Kent reminded me, his voice implacable.

I gritted my teeth as I pushed myself upright onto my elbows. “He lied to me.”

“No, he didn’t,” Kent countered, his blade steady at his side. “He made no claims about not having the same restrictions that you have when it comes to romantic entanglements. In fact, at least he was honest about his feelings for you. Can you claim the same?”

I rolled to my feet just as he leveled his next strike at me and his blade grazed the ends of my hair. Frustration boiling over, I lashed out wildly, my form unraveling.

“Now you’re just sloppy,” Kent observed, deflecting each strike with ease. “Did I strike a nerve?”

I had never seen Kent like this. He was always so reserved, so careful , always tiptoeing around emotions to keep from upsetting anyone.

He certainly wasn’t being reserved now.

Right now, I didn’t want to hear his logic, though. I wanted to be angry. To stay angry. I wanted to drown in my rage because as long as it consumed me, I wouldn’t have to face what was lurking beneath.

If Kent refused to give me that, I would just have to find somewhere else to direct my fury.

I let the sword slip from my grip, turning on my heel toward the castle.

“We’re not done here,” Kent called after me.

“I am ,” I snapped, yanking my arm free when he reached for me.

His voice softened, but his words carried weight. “You’re projecting, Thea. You have been for months. It’s time tofacewhat’s really going on inside of you.”

No.

I couldn’t.

I couldn’t think about all the secrets I was keeping, all the pain I had caused, the pain I had yet to cause if that prophecy was true.

I couldn’t let myself dig into the feelings that were clawing at my ribs, because if I did they might just break me apart from the inside out.

Salty tears blurred my vision as I shoved him away, my magic lashing out instinctively—erecting an invisible barrier between us. As if pushing him back physically could keep him from sensing too much .

“Stop reading my emotions!” I shouted.

Kent flinched, his expression shifting—like I had just struck him with something far worse than magic. His eyes darkened, a rare flash of emotion passing over his usually measured features before he forced his focus back on me.

“I wouldn’t have to if you just opened up to me - to any of us,” he insisted.

“What do you want me to say, Kent?” My voice was hoarse now.

“We can start with why you’re feeling so guilty.”

The breath locked in my throat.

Guilt.

Of course, I felt guilty. I had so much to feel guilty for. So much that no one else knew about.

“Lorelai’s death wasn’t your fault,” Kent called after me as I started marching away. “None of this has been your fault.”

But he was wrong .

It was all my fault.

Lorelai’s death .

The monster I had summoned last night.

And when Hyrax walked the Mortal Realm again, that would be my fault, too.

I had no right to feel betrayed by Clay.

Not when I was destined to betray them all.