Kastali Dun

Claire wasn't prepared for what she had to face, not even by half. But she had no choice after stupidly making an Unbreakable Promise to defeat Kane, Dragonwall's infamous Asarlaí. It didn't matter that she had found allies like Desaree and Saffra. They couldn't fight this battle for her. Neither could Dragonwall's king. This responsibility was hers—hers alone. And she wouldn't last a minute facing off against Kane. Especially when she could barely handle magic. Or a weapon, for that matter.

But perhaps there was another answer, somewhere in her blood. Something in her that was Sprite. Something that would make her stronger—

"Would you stop that!" Jovari's voice cut through her thoughts, reminding her that they were supposed to be sparring. His command sharpened her senses. "You are too distracted today. Focus. Feet first, remember? Feet first and then you take your swing."

She glanced around, recovering her bearings. They were on the practice grounds—second level of the keep. It was early morning, the air crisp as it filled her lungs. The grounds were already full of others doing much the same.

Jovari came down on her, swinging his practice sword overhead. She defended, just barely, meeting his weapon with her own. The grip slipped beneath her sweaty hands. She clenched her teeth, tensing her muscles to hold against him.

"Breathe! You are not breathing!" Koldis shouted from the sidelines. She glanced at him. He stood, arms crossed, tunic stretched tightly across his shoulders and chest—

Smack!

She groaned and spun away. That one was deserved. She knew better than to take her eyes off Jovari for even a second.

"You left your back exposed." Jovari smirked. "What happens when you leave your back exposed?"

"Ugh!" Frustration bunched her shoulders. "I was too busy focusing on my feet and Koldis's words." Several strands of hair had come undone from her braid. She brushed them away from her face, glaring at both her trainers. "How am I supposed to focus on everything all at once?"

"Practice—that's how." Jovari had the audacity to wink. She wanted to smack him for it. If only she could get beyond his defenses. "Your feet need work," he drawled. "You glance down too often. And your mind isn't in the right place. If you must, then scoot your feet. Keep your eyes on me—remember? Here. My sword. Right here." He took a swing at the air for emphasis and came at her again.

She did as he said, scooting away, dodging a series of swipes. Both hands remained firmly gripped on her wooden blade. Blow after blow rained down on her. She studied each of Jovari's motions. There had to be a way to get him back.

His movements were quick. A blow from above. Then sweeping in from one side. Then the other. Then a swipe upwards. He repeated this several times and a pattern emerged. She was careful to hide her smile as she watched and reacted to each one, growing more confident. Memorizing his movements, it was almost as if time slowed.

He sent a blow towards her left side and she anticipated it, guarding. As soon as he came at her right side, time seemed to freeze. She took her chance, bringing her blade to his left where he was exposed. She whacked him as hard as her strength allowed.

"Argh!" He jumped backwards and his face split into a grin. "Well done, Claire! Remember, efficiency is the way of it. Did you see the pattern in my movements? Yes. Good. Many swordsmen are lazy and develop patterns. Always look for them." He offered her a grin and a quick breather before beginning again.

They continued like this until she was gasping. Jovari was a difficult opponent. He moved with quick, efficient jabs, or sweeping blows that tested her strength.

Sparring with Koldis was entirely different. Perhaps more challenging. Unlike Jovari, Koldis was a dirty fighter who liked to use his fists and feet when the opportunity allowed. For that alone, he often trained her hand to hand, rather than with weapons, frequently reminding her that, "No one will show you mercy, Lady Claire, so you had better learn what it means to fight without restraint." Koldis wanted her to understand the way people liked to fight. There were no rules when it came to staying alive, a lesson she'd learned the hard way.

It was Koldis who taught her how to perform a successful palm punch to an opponent's jaw. She nearly broke his at one point—or so she liked to think—injuring herself in the process. But she'd quickly healed. Her magic made her more than human, allowing her to take a harder beating than most. She wasn't as frail as she once was. And thank the gods for that, or she'd have been minced meat already. And no matter how bad the bruises were, each day she healed faster, complements of the strange cocktail flowing through her veins.

The Magoi were not entirely human, and their immortality depended on power. Kane was a perfect example of this. It was said that an Asarlaí Sorcerer could live for thousands of years, fueled by dark magic. Something in the way their evil intent twisted whatever magic they possessed. It allowed them to live much longer than any mage. And while the two were not so different, it was ultimately their decisions that formed the line.

She had already learned that strength and power grew with magical ability, and magical ability grew with knowledge, practice, and skill. So the more powerful she became, the stronger she would be physically. The same was potentially true of her Sprite blood, if she did indeed possess any. And surely she did, evidenced by the luminescent Sprite Mark now tattooed on her skin. But she couldn't say with certainty—

"Watch where you step!" Jovari shouted. He caught her foot with his.

She screeched, making jarring contact with the hard ground. Pain erupted everywhere. With a swift movement, she lifted her sword arm in time to meet Jovari's downward blow.

He nodded and lowered his weapon. "Good. But if you do not watch your step, you leave yourself vulnerable. Remember, feet, feet, feet!" He tapped her right foot with the end of his practice sword. "Think about your feet first before you move the rest of you."

"Right." She grabbed his extended hand and stood.

A flash of movement caught her attention. Desaree. Her handmaiden sat on the grassy slope watching as she usually did. Desaree was a godsend. If it hadn't been for her, she wouldn't have adjusted to Dragonwall's way of life as smoothly.

"Who's that?" she asked, squinting at the unfamiliar man approaching Des. Her handmaiden stood to greet him. They shared a few hurried words as he removed something from his satchel. Desaree took it, dropped a few coins into his hand, and he rushed away.

"Looks like you got a letter from the relay." Jovari answered.

"A letter?" She turned to face him. "What's the relay?"

"Gods, girl. Haven't you been here long enough to know? How do you think letters get delivered over long distances? Humans have to communicate one way or another. They certainly aren't as lucky as you and I."

He was referring to her telepathic ability—the same ability all the Drengr possessed. Except hers far surpassed any of their capabilities. While the Drengr could communicate in the form of thoughts to one another—an ability that heavily depended on distance—she could hear all of them unwarranted, and speak with all of them too, without even trying. It was an unexplainable conundrum.

"How do you know the letter is for me and not Desaree?" She asked.

Jovari snorted. "Because I think we both know who it's from."

Koldis materialized beside them. "Perhaps we ought to call it a day. I myself am tired of watching Claire get pulverized."

"Yes, perhaps you're right," Jovari agreed. "We have had enough for today."

"Any places that need healing?" Koldis studied Claire with concern.

"I'm fine," she said. "Really."

While she could heal herself using her magical abilities, she preferred to avoid the use of it even if it meant having bruises. They never lasted long anyway.

"You sure?" Koldis often insisted, especially when she sported a black eye or giant welt.

"I'm not a fragile doll, Koldis!" Her rump was a little sore, but she would live. "Besides, it'll all be gone by tomorrow." She glanced back at Desaree.

"Fine." Koldis gave up. "Hand me your practice sword. Thank you. Off you go."

She bid them goodbye and rushed off.

Desaree's face glowed with excitement. "A letter from the king!" she cried, meeting her halfway. "I checked the seal. It is marked from Ellia."

"Ellia...?"

"The Sprite outpost."

"Right!" That's where she remembered the name. Ellia was occupied by both Sprites and humans on the southern border of the forest. Many claimed that it was named after the first known Sprite. She had never seen it during her journey through Dragonwall. They'd come out too far west.

King Talon and his entourage had departed exactly seven days ago. If they made good time, it would require three, perhaps four days to reach the forest. Judging by her calculations, the letter would have been sent four days prior, and if that was the case, it had passed through many hands to reach her so quickly.

She double-checked the seal. It was unbroken. "The relayers are honest enough," said Desaree. "Besides, I doubt the king would reveal sensitive information."

She and King Talon had once shared a very strained relationship. She had despised him for a time, and rightfully so, after the way he had treated her. It took him time to apologize for it, which had only increased her animosity towards him. But once he did apologize, she began her journey towards forgiveness.

It helped that he rescued her from Kane's clutches. She saw him differently now. They were finally beginning to understand one another. And sharing letters had, in a way that surprised her, brought them closer.

Then he left for Esterpine.

With the letter tucked in her pocket, she and Desaree made their way back to her quarters.

"You aren't going to read it while we walk?" Desaree asked. "Are you not eager?"

"I—I am, I suppose. It's just..." She reached into her pocket and touched the parchment, tempted, then removed her hand.

"Ahhh." Desaree gave her a knowing look. "I think I understand. You want to take your time with it."

"Yes, perhaps." She chewed on the chapped skin of her bottom lip. Was that really the reason? It didn't feel like it.

"Here—I think I know what you need." Desaree grabbed her hand and they diverted down a side corridor. The sound of her trailing guards echoed behind her. King Talon had insisted she remain guarded at all times after her kidnapping. There were even guards placed outside her living quarters. It seemed excessive, but she'd grown used to it. They'd become shadows. And when she did require discretion, she used the secret passages through the castle.

"Remember when I promised to show you King Talon as he once was?" Desaree asked.

"I..." She faltered, glancing over her shoulder at the guards. "You mean the painting?"

"Yes. I keep forgetting, but it is just down here." Desaree led her to a less known part of the keep, a popular corridor used by servants alone, with a number of storage rooms to each side. If the guards were curious about their detour, they did not give any indication. "It will only take a minute. And I promised, remember? Now..." They stopped before a door. "I think it was this one." Desaree placed her hand on the latch but it was locked. "If you wouldn't mind?"

She looked at Desaree, debating. "Oh, fine! All right." She placed her hand over the latch, muttering. The door clicked open, leaving her more tired than her morning practice had. "I really need to work on my endurance," she muttered to herself. Desaree squealed, excited by their success, pulling her inside and shutting the door behind them, leaving the guards out in the corridor.

The air was stuffy, and the darkness required even more magic. With a few muttered words, she created the orbs of light that Saffra often used. The space flooded with illumination.

And what unbelievable clutter! Heaping piles of stuff loomed over them. Fabrics, bed frames, chairs stacked atop each other precariously. A room that appeared forgotten.

"I think it is in here somewhere," Desaree said. "No one comes here often. Besides we have a bunch of these rooms. Most of this stuff is really old, cleaned out of chambers because it needed repairs, or replaced by later styles." Des led her down one of the narrow aisles.

They hadn't searched for more than a few minutes when Desaree rushed forward. "Here! I think this is it." She took hold of an object covered in cloth, leaning against an old desk, and moved it away. After a quick peek under the fabric, Desaree turned, smiling. "This is definitely it. I knew it would still be here, forgotten, like the king's own handsomeness."

A nervous thrill shot through her. There was nothing more than a cloth separating her from him. From what he once looked like. "Let's see it then," she breathed.

Desaree leaned the painting against the wall and took hold of the covering, pulling it away. A cloud of dust came with it. They both coughed.

The dust cleared.

"It's...he's..."

Words failed. She moved closer without realizing it, lured by an unexplainable force. It was exactly what she expected. He was exactly what she expected. It was the same face, yet his skin was flawless, perfect. Talon as he was meant to be, handsome enough to take anyone's breath away, with silver, penetrating eyes, a prominent brow, pointed chin, and fine cheekbones. There was something else too, something captured in his expression. "He's so sure of himself." Her voice was no louder than a whisper. There was nothing reflected in his eyes of what haunted him now.

So much had changed, yet, much of him was still there. He was still just as confident, but for different reasons than what she saw in the painting. Confident because of his power and strength. Not merely because of a handsome face.

"It is a shame, is it not?" Desaree's voice cut through her thoughts. "To be scarred in such a way."

She looked away from the painting, only to see Desaree just as transfixed. She looked back at Talon's face once more, and her hand moved to her pocket, to his letter. Did she miss him? Was that what she felt?

She clenched her jaw. "I...I think I've seen enough. Let's go back."

Nodding, Desaree covered the painting. They retreated from the room. The guards said nothing, following behind at a distance.

When they returned to her quarters, Desaree rushed her through her morning routine. Breakfast was delivered just as they finished. They sat down, both rather breathless, and both eager for a moment of respite. Yet, she could do little more than pick at her food. Talon's young face still haunted her. Even when Desaree had shielded him from view, his silver eyes had followed her through the keep.

She set her spoon down.

"That's all?" Desaree eyed her. "You've eaten little all week. Please say you're not trying to starve yourself?"

"That's the fourth time, Des!" She ground her teeth together, exhaling. "I...I'm sorry."

Desaree shrugged in response. She had a right to be concerned. Eating had been a challenge ever since Talon's departure. Something didn't feel right deep in her gut, and it manifested as a lack of appetite.

At first, she thought it was because of Reyr. They parted on bad terms. What she'd said to him was eating her up inside. What if something happened? What if their last words together were those they said out of anger? Or perhaps it had nothing to do with Reyr.

"I feel restless," she whispered, holding Desaree's gaze. "Something inside me feels stretched, sometimes to the point where I struggle to breathe. No, it's not from my corset—I know what you're thinking. The only thing that comes close is the Unbreakable Promise."

"And you are sure it is not that?"

"Pretty sure, yes. The Promise is different. I've put up with it long enough to know."

"If that's the case, I insist you eat more." Desaree glanced at the hardly touched bowl of porridge in front of her. "Give my poor nerves a break."

She sighed, agreeing at last as she shoveled several more spoonfuls into her mouth. Each went down like a heavy lump. "There. That is all I can manage. I did my best. Besides, Marcel expected me over an hour ago."

"Fine." Desaree stood and adjusted several ties on her gown. "Good luck today."

"Thanks. I'll need it." She left Desaree, shutting the door behind her to where her guards waited, ready to follow her through the keep. Still, that invisible force pulled her. She placed her hand over her stomach and breathed. And breathed again. Then motioned to the guards that she was ready, and set out for the East Wing. Perhaps today she would finally discover a way to defeat the Vodar once and for all.

⭐🌟 DON'T FORGET TO VOTE!!🌟⭐