“Again.”
Her sword hand trembled, hanging loosely at her side. Helaina stood head-to-head with Adriel. Before she had time to recoup her breathing, he attacked.
She raised her blade to counter his strike. Over and over, he lunged and chopped through the air. She was still clumsy, but her sword rose to meet him. He was intentionally slower during their sessions, never using his full strength or speed. The weight of a sword in her hand was still strange and uncomfortable. With every collision the ache in her wrist grew.
He must have seen the fatigue written on her face. He stopped.
“Rest,” he ordered.
They had been doing this for months. Ever since he caught them eavesdropping, since the night her power revealed itself. It was just a silly window, it could have been the wind bursting the locks open. That’s what she had told herself, but deep inside she had always felt something.
Now she knew, because Adriel and Krysta had finally told her everything.
“The night Matthias came, he left Oakmire a piece of his magic. They can still do that, apparently. Their magic goes beyond what any of us ever realized,” Adriel had told her. “When you were small, he told us of an ancient prophecy, one where you were the key to an end. We didn’t believe him at first, but his magic held the proof.”
He told her of Queen Malinda’s tragic end, and how it was a clear sign the threat was getting worse—more volatile. Despite the powerful shield, someone, somewhere, knew about Helaina.
“If creatures of darkness are stirring, I am going to make sure you’re just as prepared as any soldier. No one is coming to steal you away, you hear me?” Adriel had said. “You’re an Ironblood. ‘Strength, Fealty...’”
“‘Family,’” she had finished for him.
That was months ago. Now she sat, sweating, dirty, and panting like a damned animal in the middle of this courtyard.
“That’s enough rest, let’s go again.”
“Adriel, please, I’m not ready. My hands are blistered, my wrist is throbbing!”
“Tell your friends in the south wing about it when we’re done. Again!” He leaped forward, thrusting his blade toward her well-armored chest. She blocked him with a miserable grunt and twisted to the side.
She was tired, so, so tired. She would most definitely have to pay Madge a visit after this. That meant missing another night with Dolion. These lessons often interfered with her plans to sneak away. Her time alone with him was growing slim. She could sense his aggravation and disappointment with each cancelation and excuse.
Her sweat-soaked hair stuck to the sides of her face, another strained cry ringing out of her just before she countered Adriel’s blow a third time, and a fourth. Their swords collided, clanging repeatedly until finally they crossed in front of their faces, both heaving in exhaustion.
“Not bad, kid. You’re getting better.”
“Quit calling me kid,” she said breathlessly. “If I’m getting better... why are you still taking it easy on me?”
“I’ll stop taking it easy on you then,” he teased.
They both dropped their swords in unison. Her brother’s affect became serious again. “I know you grow tired of hearing it, but you know how important it is to keep this secret, don’t you? That no one outside the family can know?”
She sat down, allowing the dry dirt to stick to her sweat-drenched clothes. “Seems like everyone here knew except me anyway... but yes, you’ve mentioned the gravity of things.” Her eyes closed as she positioned her face toward the sun to soak up its rays.
“You’ve taken this... news... rather well.”
She sighed. “I suppose it’s just nice to finally have an explanation for why I’ve been kept here. As tragic as it may be.”
Adriel’s lips formed a flat line as he sheathed his sword. “I leave tomorrow. You can practice without me if you can get away from Cedric and Teirn long enough. Keep the sword hidden, maybe even Krysta can?—”
“Mm-hmm.” She waved him off, keeping her eyes closed.
“Are you okay?”
She let out a deranged laugh. “I possess an evil power I can’t control. I’m somehow destined to bring our entire realm to its knees, and my brother thinks that teaching me to become a mediocre swordsman will somehow protect me from it all.” She smiled at him disingenuously. “Rylas must be having a grand old time somewhere at my expense.”
“The God of Laughter has better things to do than play jokes on us.”
“This whole plan of yours is a giant joke,” she fired back. “None of this will help, look at me. I’m not like you. I’m not a fighter. I like fixing injuries, not making them. I should wait until whatever is coming for me decides it’s time. No one can fight fate, Adriel.”
