Page 22 of Vicious Princess (The Trials of Death and Honor #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I barely get any sleep that night. I consider going to meet Daegel, listing all the ways it will benefit me in my mind:

Daegel will help me nail my training.

Nailing my training will get me into the Order of Ezkai.

Becoming an Ezkai—one the Ezkai General notices—will give me power and resources.

Power and resources will help me avenge my family’s death.

Bonus: Daegel is hot and fucks great.

Just as I’m about to make the final decision on why I need to go meet Daegel, I change my mind. Then I spend an enormous amount of time listing all the reasons why I shouldn’t go:

It’s dangerous.

Others might find out something happened between us.

He’s hot and fucks great.

I might not be strong enough to survive his training, and then I’ll fail.

I don’t know who invented a pros and cons list and said it was the most useful way to make a decision. All this back-and-forth doesn’t help me at all.

Yet, hours later, here I am. Pulling on my leather pants and lacing up my boots ten minutes to three. Some of the cadets went to sleep only an hour ago, and I’m already up and ready to seize the day.

“This better fucking work out,” I mutter to myself as I march through the square with the fountain, towards the training hall.

The air is cool and crisp, soothing against my skin that’s been burning since Daegel told me he’s been thinking about what happened between us that night at the bar.

I crack my neck, roll my shoulders, and pull the handle. The heavy door creaks, echoing in the silent training hall.

He’s already here, leaning against the open archway that leads to the back garden.

My steps halt. I’m not sure what to say.

Eventually I settle on a simple “good morning.”

My voice is rough from the sleepless night.

“Your skills with the blade and in combat don’t worry me as much as your relationship with your bow,” he says, without turning to look at me. “I hope you brought your weapon here today.”

“Of course I did.” The quiver rests across my back, and my bow is on my shoulder.

Daegel turns his head to the side. Even his profile is damn hot. It’s not fair he’s blessed with such gorgeous facial structure.

“Get outside, then. What are you waiting for, princess ?”

He doesn’t say the pet name in a sweet nor familiar way. Not like a gentle tease when Roman uses it. Daegel says it with the same amount of disdain as when he calls me human .

Cursing him in my mind, I look toward the sky above the ceiling.

Everything is for you.

Inhale. Exhale.

“Let’s do this,” I say to myself.

Fae might have superior hearing, but I don’t care. Let him consider me a barbaric yrathi for talking to myself.

Passing him without a look, I go into the back garden. The same targets are scattered along the perimeter of the training space. Some are farther down this time than last, though. A few are also higher, all the way at the top of the tree.

It’s dark at this hour. No sign of the sunrise on the horizon. I’m sure to Daegel, it’s no issue. Fae see better than dwarves; dwarves see better than humans.

Love being at the bottom of the food chain.

No matter. It will only make the steep climb to the top all that much sweeter in the end.

I don’t complain to Daegel. I can see the bright middle marks on every target well enough to shoot.

“Before we can hone your affinity, you have to work on mastering your bow,” Daegel says. His voice is low and husky. Each time he speaks, it sends a shiver down my spine.

He approaches me but remains standing behind my back a couple of steps away. “An archer and their bow are partners, a unit. Just like you chose your bow from a weaponsmith because it called for you, the bow must choose you.”

“I know that,” I snap, frustrated. “The man who made this bow and sold it to me said that. I don’t know what that means . In Wetra, bows are just bows. And this one… Sometimes it lets me use it, and then sometimes it burns my palm where I hold it. It cuts into my fingers and makes me bleed.”

“That’s because it’s rebelling against you.

It has every right to,” Daegel says, his voice a bit closer to me than last time.

“Imagine if someone took you against your will and made you bend to their whims and desires. Without introduction, no time to warm up or connect. Without an opportunity to feel each other out. To see if you’re even compatible. ”

My heart skips a beat, and a hot wave of anticipation washes over me, reaching all the way to the tips of my toes. I clear my throat.

Once more, he gets closer. The heat radiating from his chest presses into my back.

“It’s no way to treat your bow. And you’re in Ekios now.

Things work differently here. Our culture is nothing like what you’re used to.

We pray to different gods. Forget everything you thought. This is your new normal.”

“Got it,” I say. “Tell me how I coax my bow into working with me and not against me.”

Truth be told, I miss that feeling of my bow being an extension of me. Something I can trust to have my back, no matter what.

Right now, it feels like a tool. Something I use. That’s not how it’s supposed to feel.

An archer without mastery of their bow is just a fool with a weapon.

“Aim at the targets, starting from that first one, all the way to the last one at the very top of the tree,” Daegel says. “Don’t rush. This is not the same drill you had in the last lecture. When you feel the bow is ready to misbehave, pause.”

I give him a curt nod and get into position in front of the first target.

“You might want to learn how to shoot from any angle, Wildarrow.” Daegel’s voice has an edge of mocking. “During a mission, or in a battlefield, you may not always get a chance to align yourself perfectly in front of your target.”

I bite my tongue and lift my bow. As I draw the string and align the arrow, I face no resistance.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Let go.

The arrow whizzes through the air and hits the target at the very center. Daegel says nothing. As I draw the second arrow and prepare to hit the second target, I remain rooted in the same spot.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Let go.

No resistance. The arrow lands in the very center of the second target that’s a bit farther down than the first one. The desire to turn to look at Daegel with a smug smile is overwhelming.

But I resist.

The third target is a walk in a park, too. But as I draw the string of my bow the fourth time, it’s suddenly too damn sharp and cuts into my flesh. With a hiss, I let go of the string and put the bleeding finger into my mouth.

“She’s got an attitude,” Daegel says, then chuckles. “You should have picked one with less character.”

I glare at him over my shoulder. With a smirk, he shakes his head.

“I’m glad at least one of us is enjoying this.”

Daegel arches an eyebrow and looks me up and down. Heat surges to my cheeks, and I’m grateful for the night and the darkness. Even fae can’t see me blush at this time of the day.

“I can tell she’s a sassy bitch,” I say quickly, not wanting this tension between us to continue building as the silence stretches.

“I actually like this bow more than the one I had before. It’s…

unique, different. Absolutely stunning craftsmanship.

” Daegel nods in agreement. I grip the bow harder. “How do I make her my friend?”

“There are two ways you can do that. First, through brute force. If you persevere through pain and bloodshed, eventually the bow will give in. You can tame it like a wild horse and show it who’s the master.

Or you can listen to what the bow is trying to tell you and earn its respect.

In a similar way to how you would form a partnership with a dragon. ”

My head whips all the way around. “ What? I can have a dragon, too?”

“Not right now you can’t. Maybe never. I can’t tell you for sure. Not every Ezkai has the honor of bonding with a dragon.”

If I become an Ezkai with a dragon…I will burn King Francis’s castle to the ground. Give him a taste of his own medicine, see how he likes it when his wife and kids scream while they burn to ash.

This thought gives me a new sense of purpose and determination.

I turn back to the targets. “How do I listen to my bow? Don’t tell me that in Ekios, objects talk.”

“Not in the literal sense of the word. But our weapons speak to us in their own language. Try again and focus on how the bow feels in your hands, against your fingertips. Shut out any other noise around you.”

I exhale and then draw the bow again. I don’t let go of the arrow, trying very hard to ignore the stinging cut on my fingertips and listen to what my bow has to say.

I listen.

Listen.

And listen.

The string turns sharp again and makes a new cut. Blood trickles down my hand, and I bare my teeth.

Then, all of a sudden, a thought comes to me: Too hard.

Ever so slightly, I loosen the taut string. It’s such a small change, I can barely feel it. But it makes all the difference.

Suddenly, the bowstring is blunt, and I swear to the gods, the bone in my hand hums, the vibrations reverberating up my palm and wrist.

What on earth!?

Inhale.

Exhale.

Let go.

The arrow hits the mark.

Chest swelling with excitement, I whirl on my heel. Daegel’s lips curl upwards. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he looks…a tad proud.

“I listened,” I say. “I felt it hum. Like actually vibrate under my palm. What sort of magic is that?”

“The kind only the weaponsmiths possess, one that allows them to craft the deadly weapons Ezkai use.”

Unfathomable. I can almost understand why fae in Ekios are so proud and arrogant. I would be too, if weapons sang to me and dragons soared the skies so freely.

“Do you think that’s all? That you nailed it once, and now you’ve mastered your bow?” Daegel crosses his arms over his broad chest. “One success doesn’t win you a war.”

I turn my back to him and aim once again. The second time around, I get the tautness right, and the bow is steady. Right until the last moment when I let go of the arrow.

I miss the target completely. With cheeks burning from shame, I try again. This time around, the bow behaves.

Once the arrow lands in the middle of the target, I lower the bow. “It’s mocking me.”

“Definitely looks like it,” Daegel says and comes to stand next to me.

We’re shoulder to shoulder. “That’s what makes it so dangerous, not being bonded to your weapon.

Your bow is unpredictable, and that makes you unpredictable.

You may have a thousand lucky shots, which may help you graduate and join the Order.

But what happens when the thousand and first is the one when your bow chooses to misbehave, and it costs one of your fellow Ezkai their lives? ”

I nod gravely. Until I master this connection, I’m an unreliable soldier, a weak link. Affinity, or no affinity.

“What’s a Phantom Ranger?” I ask. “I’ve been asked if I am one, but I have no clue what that is.”

“It’s what we call those who have the affinity for a bow in Ekios. Look it up, Wildarrow. We’ve got a library for a reason. Now, keep practicing. Those targets are not going to hit themselves.”