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My head spun as I stepped back. The Royal Guard?In four years? Images of clean cut leathers and expertly smithed helmets flashed through my head as I imagined myself marching with the Guard, serving a member of Low Royalty in the castle. Maybe even High Royalty someday. Maybe even theKing.
“If you can commit to putting in the work, I will commit to training you. Not the obligatory training regimen I’d planned on Castemont’s order,” he said, his head nodding in the direction of the house where the Lord was doing Saints knew what, “but a regimen meant to forge a warrior.”
“Yes,” I blurted without thinking. “Yes, I’ll commit to that.”
Tyrak’s face was etched with approval and pride as he nodded, stepping back once again. That approval and pride felt like it was glowing inside my chest. “Balance,” he commanded.
I lined the sword up, my gut steeled with resolve. I’d just found some semblance of balance when Tobyas’ voice sounded from the house and my blade tumbled to the ground.
“The Lord and his guard have to go,” he called.
Tyrak momentarily lowered his brows before straightening again and giving me a terse nod. “Tomorrow,” he said, and I nodded back the way I thought a Royal Guard might nod.
Lord Castemont stepped out of the house, Aunt Berna behind him. “I’m terribly sorry to cut your lesson short,” the Lord offered. “I’d completely forgotten about my trip to Inkwell.”
“A trip to Inkwell?” I asked. A strange kind of excitement rose in my gut at the idea of visiting the slums of Eserene.
He nodded. “A few other lords and I travel to Inkwell every so often to offer bread, clothing, and coin to the neediest of residents.”
“Can I come?”
“Absolutely not,” Aunt Berna cut in.
“But–”
“Ah!” I could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t budging. “It’s far too dangerous for a young boy.”
I was fourteen. Not ayoung boy. But I bit my tongue as I watched Lord Castemont. “I must agree with your aunt, Cal. It’s far too dangerous.” I tried to hide my disappointment as he turned to Tyrak and nodded.
The guard cleared his throat. “I’ll get you there at once, my Lord.” He turned to Aunt Berna. “My Lady,” he said, lowering his head as they headed for the gate.
“Goodbye!” Tobyas called cheerfully.
“Farewell for now,” the Lord answered, smiling at Aunt Berna’s dainty wave.
Tobyas ventured into the garden to pick up my wooden sword. “Let’s go to the cliffs!”
Chapter 19
A few years ago, Tobyas was playing soldier with a tree branch instead of a wooden sword. I saw the disaster coming from a mile away and screamed after him to stop swinging so recklessly, but did he? Of course not. He tripped over his own foot and his branch went flying straight into a vendor’s display of fruits. Melons, sweet oranges, and honey apples went rolling in every direction.
Tobyas sprinted away, of course, afraid of being scolded. “I’m so sorry,” I said to the woman who owned the cart, immediately shuffling through the street trying to collect the fruit and clean up Tobyas’ mess. “He’s just a kid. He got a bit carried away.” But she didn’t hear a word I said and sprung straight into a tongue lashing that was rather disproportionate to the crime. I understood why she was angry, though. Selling fruit was how she made her money.
Today, he swung his wooden sword twice as erratically. “Watch where you’re swinging Tobyas,” I called after him as he swung his wooden sword through the air far too close to unsuspecting Eserenians…again. “Better not repeat the tree branch incident.”
“I’m going to be a Royal Guard too, you know,” Tobyas said, completely ignoring me. His dark eyes glinted in the sun the same way his black hair did as we walked through Prisma on our way to the Cliffs of Malarrey.
“You have to train,” I replied.
He scoffed. “That’s just boring. I already know how to swing a sword. You’re the one who needs training.” Without thinking, I pulled my own wooden sword from its sheath at my hip and lunged for him, knocking his sword from his grip.
“Hey!” he cried, his face going red with embarrassment as I let a satisfied grin plaster mine. He wasted no time retrieving his sword before winging it through the air to land flat across my back.
My spine arched against the strike. Tobyas quickly realized his mistake and took off in a dead sprint, sword flailing, people staring as he screamed. I let my legs take me, the eight inches of height I had on him meaning my strides were longer and I was faster. Much faster.
He rounded the corner to the waterfront, his overly-dramatic screams attracting attention from everyone within earshot. Just as he reached the grassy lawn of the waterfront, his sword slipped too low, his foot catching behind it. He went tumbling head over heels, flying through the air, landing on his back with a mighty thud.
The laughter came from deep in my belly as he sat up, rubbing his head, completely bewildered. “Idiot,” I muttered when I finally caught my breath.
