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“Then you don’t really know me.”
“I’m starting to. And I know a killer wouldn’t give all their power away to someone else to protect them. I know a killer wouldn’t give up their mornings and nights to train and coach someone who didn’t have a chance of succeeding.”
“You are succeeding. We can debate semantics later. I’m tired. I’m still your apprentice in this room, and it’s time for you to listen to me,” he said, voice hardening. “Begin your stretch.”
We spent hours in tense silence as we moved through each position, posture, and combat move. Rhyan was adamant that his being forced to hunt akadim wasn’t up for discussion, but it was clearly bothering him. Since I’d known him, I’d seen how moody he could be, how cold and withdrawn he could become when he was trying to distance himself from me. I’d seen him act this way at the start of our training and then again for those few days after my first habibellum when he’d thought he was making things worse for me. And now he was doing it again. I didn’t know how to get through to him.
For dinner, we left the training room separately, eating on opposite ends of the dining hall. I watched Rhyan out of the corner of my eye. When it was time for combat clinic to begin, he still looked drained and ready to pass out. His color and energy levels hadn’t improved.
I narrowed my gaze as he walked out of the dining hall and continued out to the arena. Then I remembered, it was the apprentice’s turn to fight while the novices observed. Which meant…it was another habibellum.
Rhyan was going to be fighting every other apprentice—and he wasn’t feeling well.
Fuck! Why didn’t kashonim work both ways?
Either something had drained him of his energy, something magical, or he was working too much. He still had to complete his own training while teaching me and guarding me, and now he was hunting akadim as well, flying back and forth to Elyria to do so. Maybe even Rhyan Hart had his limits. I was going to have a word with my father about this the next time I saw him. Rhyan was forsworn, but that didn’t mean he needed to be punished for it over and over again. Wasn’t he doing enough for me? For Bamaria?
Galen approached the arena doors as I was about to walk through them.
“Ready for the show?” he asked.
“If you can call it that,” I said, my gaze still lingering on Rhyan, who tightened the leather cuffs around his wrists and stretched his neck from side to side as he crossed the field, his stride quick and confident.
“Don’t tell me you’re worried about Hart,” he said with a snicker.
“I—No. I’m not. I’m just tired,” I lied.
Galen’s eyes darkened as he looked at me carefully. “You had this look in your eyes just now. And Hal’s been going on and on about Leander all day.” He leaned in, his voice lowering. “Lyr, we never really established any rules—Hal and I—but,” Galen frowned, “do you think that she and—”
“NO!” I yelled. Way too loudly. I softened my voice. “Of course, not. Haleika would never do something like that. Plus, Haleika likes you,” I said. “She’s farther than Lethea for you.”
His eyes searched mine. “I thought she was. But lately—”
“No, Galen. I don’t think so,” I lied. “Don’t worry about it. She’s always been a flirt—but it’s you. I’m sure of it. Tristan and I talk about it all the time.”
He seemed to relax a little at that, his dark eyes moving back and forth across the arena before he turned to me, a solemn expression on his face. “Is everything all right between the two of you?”
The rumors have already started. They’ll reach Tristan soon. Or worse.
Tani knew the rumors about me and Rhyan, and so did Haleika, which meant Galen knew, too. And Galen talked to Tristan. What had Tristan told him about our relationship?
I plastered on a smile. “I miss Tristan,” I said wistfully. “So much. It’s been hard between us with all my extra training. And, well, his grandmother, she’s quite stubborn. But soon, this will all be….” My voice caught in my throat. “I just hope things calm down, so I can spend more time with him.”
Galen shook his head, his expression sympathetic. “I’m so sorry, Lyr. Whatever happens with the Emperor, I know you’ll be okay. Ka Grey adores you. We all do.”
I blinked back a tear. He was being earnest, trying to reassure me. But he was so wrong. At least we’d moved past discussing me or Haleika breaking our oaths with our apprentices.
Apprentices who were both standing in a battlefield at this moment.
“We better get seats,” I said, tugging his arm. The stadium was filling quickly, and nearly every row was occupied. Galen and I walked higher and higher through the stadium, searching for Haleika and any set of open seats. As we sat at the top row of the arena, with the crackling flames of the torches just over our heads, I realized why empty seats were so sparse.
Ka Kormac had come for entertainment. Their bodies took over the stadium, their howls erupting across the field as they cheered on their apprentice soturi. Brockton Kormac, son of the Bastardmaker and Viktor’s cousin and apprentice, preened in the field’s center.
The fucking bastards. They were here because we allegedly needed them for protection, because we were supposedly so un-fucking-stable that a legion of soldiers was required to keep the peace, and yet all they did was attend clinics in the arena, start fights in the streets, and sow seeds of distrust amongst the Bamarian citizens who didn’t understand why they were here. I knew the story was that their presence had driven the Emartis underground, but they hadn’t been underground when they’d been lighting the fields on fire last week. Nor were they capable of catching a single member leaving their feathers around or creating graffiti.
And now that a real threat had emerged—the akadim gathering, migrating, and forming larger packs—where were the Soturi of Ka Kormac? Why weren’t they traveling back and forth overnight to Elyria? Why weren’t they hunting the akadim in their own country when the demons had escaped to Korteria? A spare legion should have been completely devoted to stopping the threat—the real threat roaming through the Empire. But no, they were sitting here, howling and cheering like they didn’t have a care in the world. Rhyan was the one being forced to risk his life.
I wanted to scream as Aemon walked onto the field, his red arkturion cloak glowing from the silver lights of the binding circles across the arena. Aemon called the habibellum to order, and I watched in horror as Rhyan walked through to the center of the third silver ring on the field. He was now bound in the center of a five. Brockton and two other wolves from Ka Kormac joined him.
