Page 50 of The Spark that Ignites (Shattered Soul #1)

T he Fallen Equinox loomed closer, and each night Emmery laid awake until the morning sun drew her bleary-eyed ass from bed. That damn heaviness in her chest wouldn’t cease. And it all seemed pointless now—the training, the effort, this place that was, and couldn’t be, home.

It would all be over shortly, and at least her sister was safe, happy, and at peace. And she would see her again soon. Permanently.

Emmery had barely seen a glimpse of Vesper, let alone a solitary word, since they summoned Maela.

Their only interaction was a single rib crushing hug, that lifted her feet off the ground, before he sprinted to a meeting he was already late for.

The unearned sentiment had caught her off guard and left her with tears brimming her eyes and festering guilt in her chest.

But training kept her troubled mind distracted. And with Briar’s help she could now form barriers and shields with her khaos flame. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to practice her healing. Briar promised they would, but Emmery knew they’d soon be out of time.

Meanwhile, Callias begrudgingly taught her combat.

They began with basics—punching, kicking, and where to strike to make it hurt.

They then moved to defensive manoeuvres and counterattacks, all of which Emmery suffered through.

And when it came to dagger and swordplay, she quickly discovered she was awful at both.

How she made it this far without dying was nothing short of a miracle.

As she danced across the training room, wincing at her stumbling footwork, her body cried with fatigue. It was too fast. And she was too damn clumsy, like a newborn fawn walking for the first time. Gripping the broadsword with frustration, she fought through each movement.

Callias impatiently tapped his foot, scrutinizing her with his stormy gaze, before stalking away with a grunt. It was truly inspiring mentorship. Although Vesper was adamant of Callias’s soft heart, she hadn't glimpsed it. Not between his blunt comments, jagged glares, and sharp words.

“No, no, no ,” he scolded, throwing his hands up. “You’re holding the sword wrong. And you’re going to hurt yourself. Again.”

Emmery winced. Yes, alright, she cut herself that one time.

One time. And it wasn’t even that bad.

He marched up behind her, towering from his massive height as his worn leather and black pepper smell assaulted her.

Everything about him was aggressive. Including how he grasped her elbow in one hand and braced the small of her back in the other, while he guided her feet into position with his booted toe.

Emmery’s breath hitched and her heart roared for release. His molten touch practically burned through her sweaty tunic, authority radiating from every pore in his body.

His presence screamed warrior. To bow. To fear. And Emmery willed herself not to flinch from his touch, but her body betrayed her.

When he noticed, his lips pressed into a line and his hold softened, then released. “You cannot fold like an ape if you want to keep up.”

“Right,” Emmery murmured, her face heating as she bit back a venomous retort. He didn’t need to be so damn rude about it. “Straight, solid, fierce.”

“Once more,” he commanded, though it was never just once.

Emmery swiped at the practice dummy, once, twice, thrice.

Gods, she hated that fucking thing with its creepy faceless gaze and gouged wood that shot vibrations clanging up her arm.

She swung, sloppier with each slice of the sword.

It was too damn heavy. Her arms screamed for relief, and she growled between clenched teeth, refusing to be weak or let him see it.

But the sword slipped in her sweat slickened palm, and she panted, “I need a break.”

“We’ve barely been at this an hour.” Callias’s blue-grey eyes narrowed on her, his stare expressive yet guarded like his emotions bled through even when he spent every moment reining them in.

She saw it in each longing look shared with Briar.

And as he looked at Emmery, like every other time, there was pure resentment.

As if she was some plague sweeping over the population.

“To improve you have to push through the fatigue. Fight the sore muscles.”

Angrily swiping sweat from her brow, she groaned, “I know my form is rubbish. Maybe if I catch my breath, I could keep my spine straight and not hunch like an old lady.” Her eyes slid to him. “Doesn’t that sound nice? Not having to correct my stance every three seconds?”

“Fine.” Callias grunted again, this time with an added eyeroll. “Drink some water.”

He chucked a bottle at her and, luckily, she caught it before it shattered on the training room floor. As she gulped it down her parched throat, she leaned on the disgustingly white wall beside him. Someone really ought to paint this room. All that white hurt her eyes.

Callias focussed ahead, feet folded at the ankle, and arms crossed.

Gods, his biceps were massive . They strained against his short-sleeved tunic, veins bulging savagely, his deep skin tone and bronze vestige offset by the oatmeal fabric.

His boots were immaculately buffed and dark brown trousers pressed to perfection.

He didn’t acknowledge her presence, keeping his attention on the open window.

A cool, fresh breeze grazed her hot cheeks.

Emmery released a cleansing breath, choosing to play nice. After all, he was helping her. Even if he was a prick about it.

Clearing her throat, she said, “So, Ves tells me you were trained in combat at an early age.”

“I was.”

Fighting the urge to press her palms into her eyes, Emmery studied his cleanly shaved square jaw and blond hair knotted with a leather tie at the nape of his neck.

His skin had returned to a healthy tawny glow since his injury although his pale, bloodless face still occasionally flashed through her mind.

But she was quick to chase the image away.

Emmery spotted the faint blood stain on the tiled floor and shivered. “Did you like it?” she asked.

He nodded but offered nothing further.

“What, um—” She nervously coughed. “What did you ... like about it?” Gods, this was more painful than plucking out her fingernails. More like crawling nude across broken glass.

Callias sighed, clearly irritated. “It keeps you disciplined. It’s important to keep both your body and mind sharp.” He scrutinized her. “But some of us are more athletically inclined.”

Emmery narrowed her eyes. “Not all of us can be the size of a bear and hit like one.” She envied Aera curled up in her bed enjoying the day, not being berated by a giant blond man with the charm of a mountain lion.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He almost smiled. “And that’s why you’re using light weapons.” He uncrossed his arms. “You need to be fast and precise. You don’t have size to use to your advantage. You must be smart. Not fumble a blade and hope for the best.”

Her blood boiled at his curt answers.

It had been weeks since they had their little spat and this tension between them continued to rise, resentment brewing in every interaction with her.

She was damn tired of it.

And it was time to put it to rest.

“Look,” she said. “I know you were upset when I assumed about Briar, but I already apologized. I’m not sure what else you want from me, but I’d like to move past it. Be adults.”

Callias snorted. “Don’t lecture me about being an adult. I accepted your apology.”

“Did you?” He gave her a side glance, and she ground her teeth. “Because if you did, then I don’t want to see what you’re like when you truly hate someone. Look, I’m not daft, Callias. I see how differently you treat me.”

He turned at that, his brows shooting to his hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Did I do something to you? Some abhorrent act that made you hate me?” She clutched the bottle fearing it may shatter under her hold as her hands heated.

Emmery squeezed her eyes shut, willing her khaos flame to play nice too.

“You’ve barely said two words to me since arriving here other than your heated lecture and relentless berating during training.

I don’t know if some people like that, but it certainly doesn’t motivate me. ”

His blue stare scorched her, but face remained impassable. “You misunderstand.”

“Then what is it?” Her voice rose an octave.

“Is it because I used my magic on you? I know you were the castle healer, and I never wanted to take that from you. I couldn’t even heal Aera’s wing, so clearly, you’re better.

But I couldn’t let you bleed out and you weren’t exactly conscious to consent.

But next time, if you prefer, I can leave you for dead. ”

He shook his head. “No, Aera’s wing was a unique injury.

That web she tangled in was cursed. The balm I created works from the inside out and counters what you cannot see.

I never did ...” A sound escaped the back of his throat resembling a stifled gag.

“I never did thank you for healing me. I should have said it earlier.”

Emmery frowned. It wasn’t exactly gratitude, but it was close enough. Probably the best she would get. At least he was trying. “You would have done the same for me.” Although as she examined his cold face, she wasn’t certain. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t like owing people things. And you”—his turbulent gaze devoured her as he scrubbed at his cheek with a massive hand—“set my nerves on edge.”

“You don’t owe me anything. And as far as I’m concerned, your hours of training have more than paid back for my one-time dose of magic.

” Emmery leaned into the wall wishing she could disappear into it.

“I don’t know how to fix your ... bad feeling.

” She sighed, releasing the tension living in her shoulders.

“But I want to try.” But did she? Why did it matter? She would be gone in a week's time.