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“I think drivas do exist,” Berna said absentmindedly. “In the Saints’ realm.”
I scoffed. “They’ve found the bones of dragons, but never the bones of drivas.” There was no way they were real. Besides, I wasn’t even sure the Benevolent Saints were real anymore.
We sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment as she continued working. I could feel her dredging up the nerve to speak, as if she had to prepare for what she was about to say. “Seems you’ve taken a liking to Tyrak.”
I didn’t look up from the book. “I suppose so,” I answered, turning a page.
“He says your training is going well.”
“It is.”
Her voice was still quiet when she answered, but it was laced with something like pride. “My boy is going to be a Royal Guard.”
My eyes shut at her words. I was steadfast in my ambition; I knew what I wanted and how to get it, but it was still painful to think of the reason I was pushing so hard.
“Maybe,” I muttered in response. I kicked my feet out under the table, all my muscles aching from the few weeks of hard training Tyrak had put me through. He had me lifting stones and pulling wooden carts, doing sprints and learning basic swordsmanship. He was teaching me how to read people — how to sense what they were thinking and feeling from their face and body language, and how to anticipate their next move. It was grueling, but the sweat and grit kept me distracted from what hurt the most.
Some days, when the training was over and the house was painfully quiet, I’d run. Through the city, past the waterfront, up the hills and to the cliffs, I’d push my legs past their limits, gasping in the salty air as I sprinted. I’d cover every inch of the cliffs I could get to, working on quickening my footwork on the thinner parts of the ledges, just like Tobyas had told me to do. I’d stop in the cave only to add push-ups or squats, pretending my little brother sat on the rock as the crystallized lights danced over me. “Come on,” he would have said. “That’s reallyallyou can do?”
I let his ghost taunt me and push me. With every step I took on the cliffs, I let my eyes wander, just a little bit, just in case he wasout there somewhere.
Sometimes, in the back of my mind, I wished that the ledge would give way. I wished that my foot would land wrong, or I’d misjudge a step. An accident. I wished for an accident.
Cracking my knuckles against the table, I blinked hard to push the thoughts away and resumed reading.
“And what do you think of Lord Castemont?” Aunt Berna asked abruptly, her tone nonchalant, eyes still intent on the salted meat.
I’d known this question was coming, had seen the way she looked at him. It was like he was the sun in her sky, like he was the moon and the stars too. And he looked at her like she held up the sky completely.
I heaved in a great sigh, preparing for the conversation I didn’t want to have. “Why do you ask?” I took a sip of the tea.
“No reason.” A lie. A very obvious lie. “It’s just that we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and he said he’d like to officially enter a courtship, but–”
“What?” I spat, choking on the tea as I sat up straight. I hadn’t been expectingthis.A courtship was only entered with one goal in mind: marriage.
“What?” she repeated back to me.
“He wants tomarryyou?”
She wiped her hands on a rag and placed her fists on her hips. “Is it so hard to believe a handsome lord wants to marry me?”
“No, Aunt Berna, it’s just…” I placed my elbows on the table, scrubbing my face with my palms. “He’s alord.And I understand that you’re well-regarded in Prisma and the rest of Eserene, but we’re not royal. How could he court you?”
She turned away, face hidden as she began packing the strips of meat in rolled paper. “That’s the thing. Hecan’tcourt me. A marriage between a royal and a commoner can’t just…happen.It has to be approved. He said it could take years.”
“What–” I cut myself off, sure that if I continued I was going to say something I’d regret. I stared at the back of her head as she worked, measuring my next words. The house was silent for a long moment. “I… I don’t really know if I like him.”
She spun to me. “Why not?”
“I mean, I guess I like him. I just… He’s nice, Aunt Berna. He is. He just gives me a bad feeling,” I explained, trying to keep my tone mild.
“Well thatbad feelingis the reason you could be a Royal Guard at eighteen,” she snapped defensively, a finger pointing sharply at me.
“I know that, and I appreciate it,” I answered. “I can’t help it, though.”
“Are you jealous?”
I gawked at her. “Jealous?”
