Page 30 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

Will was eighteen years old when he learned his mother was alive.

He had spent three years mourning her death. Three years watching his father grow colder, and meaner, and more brutal without Lorna to temper him.

He hadn’t realized how much she had done that—the tempering—until she died, and Will was faced with his father’s attention in full force.

Except she hadn’t died.

She had run away to Trahir, and she had left Will, at fifteen, to fend for himself, to weather the storm that was his father, and she did not even have the decency to tell him why .

Not truly.

There was mention of Gianna’s piousness, how the queen’s obsession with the prophecy of the Second Saint might draw unwanted attention to Lorna given her lineage. But Will didn’t know why it mattered .

What knowledge did Lorna have regarding the prophecy? And why was she so keen to keep it from Gianna?

Lorna had refused to answer.

“I’ve already shared too much,” she had said, as if she hadn’t appeared in the alleyway and scared him half to death. As if she hadn’t had her new son subdue him and bring him to her new home. “You should go.”

Will hadn’t argued.

He did not need further proof his mother did not care. He had a lifetime of it. But as he’d stormed out the door, he’d caught himself on the frame, unable to keep one last question from falling from his lips.

“Does Father know that you’re alive?”

Lorna had stared at him, a mirror of his own face reflecting back at him. “Yes.”

He’d hated how the sting of betrayal had followed him home, how the Malas had seemed grayer than usual, the bite of the air not cold enough to distract him from the fury that burned inside of him.

Lorna may be alive, but his mother …

She was dead to him.

His father, too, for all he cared.

Gale had been furious when Will returned and stated his intentions to join the Dyminara rather than take up his mantle at the head of his father’s merchant empire.

But how else was he supposed to get close to his queen?

How else was he supposed to learn why the prophecy had urged Lorna to abandon her entire life—her only son?

Not anymore , he reminded himself viciously. Lorna had replaced him as easily as she’d disappeared from his life.

The year since he’d learned of his mother’s faked death had clearly done nothing to calm the tempest of rage inside of him.

“What about you, Castell?” One of the recruits nudged a shoulder against his, jarring him from his thoughts. Will hadn’t heard the question. He didn’t care enough to have the man repeat himself.

“It’s Will,” he corrected.

The recruit smirked. “Already shedding your surname? You’re not a member of the Dyminara yet.”

“Perhaps. But I like my chances.”

Let them think it was nothing but overconfidence in his abilities; if it kept anyone from suspecting the truth—that he was counting down the days until he could leave his father’s town house for the last time—he did not care.

One more year. One more year of training, and then he would take his oath.

A scoff sounded somewhere behind him, and Will turned to find Aya Veliri shaking her head. His stomach swooped as her ice-blue eyes met his, the back of his neck going hot under her piercing stare.

He’d always found her pretty, but now, at seventeen, she was stunning. Her dark brown hair was thick and plaited down her spine, her training leathers melding to her curves like a glove.

Too bad she regarded him like the dirt beneath her boot.

He supposed he couldn’t blame her. Most people saw his father when they looked at him. Aya had more reason than most.

Yet logic didn’t lessen the pulse of irritation that ripped through him as she fixed him with that unimpressed look.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t need her to like him or even tolerate him. He just needed to observe. To watch . To see whether that nudge in his mind, the one that had him replaying the way he had not been able to feel a whisper of her that day years ago, meant anything.

But that didn’t stop him from prodding back.

His smile sharpened. “Is there something you’d like to say?”

He doubted it. Aya made it a point to speak to him as little as possible. He could count the number of words she’d uttered in his presence since they both started training for the Dyminara on a single hand.

“Drills!” Galda’s gravelly voice barked from the far side of the training ring. Aya turned away from him without a word, and the recruit next to him let out a low whistle.

“I swear that girl is an Auqin at heart. Ice runs in those veins,” he remarked.

He nudged Will again, and Will’s jaw clenched as he fought off the urge to rip his offending arm from its socket.

“What do you think it takes to melt it, huh?” The recruit bit his lip, his eyes darkening as he watched Aya take up sparring with Tova.

“Wonder if she’d let me have a chance at warming her up. ”

Will shifted out of the man’s space only to slap a hand on his shoulder, his grip tight. “Drill with me,” he said, the congeniality in his voice smooth and effortless thanks to the years he’d spent by his father’s side, catering to merchants whose egos needed stroking.

He’d come a long way from that trembling ten-year-old boy.

It was an effort to give the recruit a fighting chance. He wasn’t very good with his sword, and his shield was lackluster at best.

Will had him on the ground in less than three minutes, tears streaming down his cheeks as he trembled under the waves of pain Will sent lashing into him.

Will eased off his power and crouched down under the guise of helping the recruit up. He grasped his hand and pulled, stopping when he was fully sitting.

“I don’t think the force is for you,” Will murmured. He let his power wash over the man, let him taste every bit of the threat Will could be. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Will bit back a laugh as the man scrambled away from him, his eyes wide with fear. The recruit stumbled to his feet, his legs trembling as he turned his back and ran.

Seven hells. Sometimes it truly was too easy.

“Are you done?” Will turned to see Galda watching him, her brow furrowed.

“You would have had to dismiss him anyway,” he reasoned. He didn’t think he was imagining the way the corner of Galda’s lips twitched, as though she was fighting off her amusement. He could use affinity to sense her, he supposed, but he didn’t have a death wish.

“You need to drill with someone more evenly matched,” the trainer instructed. She kept her gaze fixed on him as she barked out, “ Aya! ” waiting until the Persi had materialized at her side before nodding her chin in Will’s direction.

“Give him a challenge.”

Will smirked, but Aya…she stayed ever cool and calculating as she took up her position opposite him. She drew her sword, her feet braced apart, her attention focused solely on him.

His pulse ticked up just as she lunged.

They’d been training together for a year, but it hadn’t taken more than that first week for Will to recognize that Aya was a deadly contender. She was fast, and fierce, and focused . Her years of training with Galda showed.

But Will had been training for years, too. As if he’d known even then, he wouldn’t follow in his father’s footsteps.

Or perhaps he’d merely hoped.

Will blocked her assault, relishing in the sound of their swords meeting. They parried, their moves quick and vicious, and Will couldn’t help the way a smile worked its way onto his face.

He actually had to try. It was a nice change.

Aya’s cheeks flushed with exertion, her affinity brushing up against his shield like a cat brushing against one’s legs.

She’d have to try harder than that.

Will sent his own affinity spearing toward her as he feinted to the left before bringing his sword down hard. Aya ducked, a frustrated noise bursting from her as she fell into a crouch, her arms shaking as her blade blocked his.

Her eyes glinted with anger, and Will felt a spark of it break through the careful cover she kept on her emotions. He pushed his affinity harder, sensing instead of manipulating, and there she was, so cold and crisp he could feel her in his lungs.

She doesn’t feel like ice , he thought. She feels like mountain air.

Like being able to breathe.

His thoughts cut short as the world tilted, the sun blinding him as Aya kicked his legs out from beneath him.

Will fell hard to the ground, and she was on him in the next instant, her body battle-warm and unyielding as she pinned him, her blade bared at his throat.

Will gripped her sword hand, his fingers curling around her wrist as he barked out an incredulous laugh between his panting breaths.

“Yield,” she demanded, her power curling around his shield. He could feel the pull of it, alluring and magnetic, and gods, he didn’t know if it was her affinity or simply her .

“I’d rather not,” he panted. He hooked a leg around hers and tried to roll so their positions were reversed, but Aya held firm, her body pressing hard against his.

It irked him.

“Fucking—”

“Yield,” she seethed, her blade pressing forward.

“Fine,” Will spat, irritation flaring as she smirked. She shoved off of him instantly, and Will’s head hit the ground as he forced a steadying breath. He blinked, taking in the brilliant blue of the sky, before rolling up and grabbing his sword.

“Best of three,” he said to Aya’s retreating figure.

She paused, her lips pulling tight as she glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’d rather not,” she mocked.

Will took a step toward her, his heart hammering in his chest. Seven hells, when was the last time he’d been this aware of the fact that he was alive ?

“You got lucky,” he goaded.

Aya pivoted slowly to face him. Her cheeks, still flushed from their sparring, darkened as anger glinted in her eyes. He could feel it stab against his affinity, breaking through the cracks in her shield.

He wondered if she even realized he could feel her.

“Or perhaps you’re not as good as you think you are,” Aya shot back. Another surprised laugh rasped out of him. Aya bared her teeth at the sound.

He bothered her.

How fun.

“Come on, Aya love,” he purred, risking another step. Her hand tightened on the pommel of her sword. He chanced another brush of his power against her, sensing.

Anger, and disgust, and…

Something else. Something that mixed with the tug he felt in his own stomach as he took another step toward her.

“Fight with me,” he murmured.

Aya hesitated only a moment more. And then she raised her sword.