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“So I will end the Shadow once and for all.Beforethe Trials are held,” I said simply. “Please tell me we have time.”
“The king is adamant,” Hildegard said. My stomach dropped through the floor. “But I told him the initiates will need time to prepare. I think I can convince him to hold off the Trials until the winter solstice.”
“Five months?” It wasn’t a lot of time, but I would make it work. “I’m not being a judge,” I said, crossing my arms. I had only ever judged one set of Trials as the Blade. I refused to ever do it again.
“That is between you and the king,” Hildegard answered. A shadow flashed across her eyes, and I knew she was thinking of the last time I had stood as judge. She found me passed out in a mucking stall wearing the same clothes I had on the night of the final trial. I had hopped from pub to pub all month long, leaving only when the patrons kicked me out. Hildegard pulled me from a pile of manure and nursed me back to a functioning state of mind.
I never attended a set of Trials again.
“I will be there,” Gerarda said. The pride in her voice made the contents of my stomach gurgle up my throat. “But I agree with Keera. Let her go after the Shadow. If the Trials can be stopped, that’s for the best.”
My mouth hung open as I stared at her. The Dagger didn’t look at me but gave a stiff nod.
“Where will you begin your search? Back in Cereliath?” Hildegard asked, looking at the map hanging on her wall. It was marked with a hundred pins. The locations of all the Shades on mission. She took out a pin and readied it above the parchment.
“No,” I answered. “The Faeland.”
Gerarda gasped while Hildegard slammed her pin into the wood frame. It snapped in two and fell to the floor.
“That’s a death wish,” Gerarda whispered. “No one returns from the Burning Mountains.”
“The king will never allow that,” Hildegard said, facing me again. “He won’t break the treaty on a hunch.”
“He will,” I replied, slapping my hands on my thighs as I stood. “He wants the Shadow more than anything. And his patience with me is running thin. I will not survive another failure.”
Gerarda placed her hands on the desk. “He would never dispose of you,” she whispered. “You’re his shining glory.”
“We all know I have not shined for a long time. Too long.” I bowed my head. It was the best apology they would get. “I’ve put myself in this position. If the choice must be risking my life in the Faeland to protect them”—I pointed out the window to the initiates training below—“or waiting for the king to dispose of me, let me make that choice.”
I stared at Hildegard, refusing to blink until she relented. A long moment passed and then she nodded.
“Then it’s settled.” Hildegard clapped her hands. “We will buy you as much time as we can, Keera. But you need to end the Shadow.”
“I will,” I said, and walked out the door.
The sea breeze cooled my rage. My lungs filled with the salty air, loosening my chest with each breath. Every time I was forced to return to the island, I was shocked by how unchanged it was. Walking along the grounds was like walking through time. The same giant stones pierced through the sea in a circle around the island, keeping sailors from landing on its shores. The same targets were laid across the field next to the same obstacle course that I trained on as an initiate.
I watched at the top of the hill as initiates practiced below. Even they looked like those I had trained with. The same black garb and tight plaits. A mixture of pinched ears and round ones. It didn’t matter that their faces changed over the years, each initiate still had the same amber blood in her veins. The blood that marked her as the king’s.
These initiates were young. Not just in age but in skill. They only stood thirty feet back from their target yet some of their arrows still missed. One initiate struggled more than others. Her arms were tight and her bowstring slack. A pile of arrows lay on the ground halfway between her and the target.
I walked over to the young Halfling, watching her elbow jut upward as she launched another arrow. It flew only fifteen feet before cascading to the ground.
I approached her slowly. She lowered her bow and turned to me, eyes widening at the silver sword glinting in the sunlight at my neck.
She tucked her face behind her bow. “Hel-lo.”
I tried to give her a gentle smile. “What’s your name?”
She quivered so hard I thought she might snap her weapon. “Fy-Fyrel.”
“Fyrel,” I said as gently as I could. “Your grip is wrong, that’s why you can’t align your arm properly.” I gestured to the bow. It shook in her hands. “Pretend to notch an arrow.”
Her fingers clenched against the grip too far up along the leather. I cupped my hand over hers, loosening each of her fingers one by one. I studied her stance once more and tilted her hand ever so slightly to the left.
“Try like that,” I said.
She pulled back the bowstring, her arm perfectly aligned this time.
