Chapter 11

After all the full moons that have passed. And the principles of battle I have accumulated over time, maturing both in skill and endurance—secretly far more advanced than any of them believe me to be.

And this is the consequence…

Deirdre drapes another blanket over my shivering shoulders.

"As you can imagine, the castle stores are vast. I know not where they relocated the winter furs. But I can find out."

She swivels, but I stop her.

"Relent from your search." My trembles rattle my words. "I'm fine." My eyes dart to the armchair adjacent to me. "Stay with me."

Her eyes widen at the unnatural invitation. "My' Hera, I should not."

"Please," I attempt a smile, it wobbles. "Don't make me beg."

She nods meekly and walks to ease onto the edge of the seat. Her mercury-red hair is slicked back into an eye-pulling-tight ball. Her complexion boasts an ochreous hue akin to the golden glow of a sunset kissed by the warmth of the earth. Her brows arch gracefully, descending like whispers to meet her lashes. I focus on the fire, my fingers sprawled towards it, seeking to absorb its heat, thawing the frost from within.

"What do you know of the Primus?"

Deirdre looks at me wide-eyed. "I know what any would. They say he is as ruthless as he is fearless; cold as he is valiant. I know nothing but the songs of praise sung by fellow soldiers; a legend amidst mere mortals."

My brows quirk. "I can attest to his coldness and cruelty."

"Are you scared, Hera?" She meets my gaze with reluctance. "About the initiation of the King Trials?"

I refrain from thinking of an answer, and I say, "I go against vulturous Herems who are war-honed and cunning. What's there to fear?" I say with a lazy smile.

She nods responsively.

"Why you ask?"

Deidre shakes her head. "If any Hera is to be admitted, I believe you alone can prevail. I have watched you train with the Primus. You grow stronger with every day."

"It's nice to hear at least someone acknowledge my progress." My gaze falls on the fire. "I do not think the Primus would share your sentiment. No man here would. My participation is an affront to the institution of male supremacy. No woman could be strong enough, fast enough, smart enough to compete in the Trials."

"And yet here you are."

My eyes fly up.

She smiles at the ground timidly, a warm pink mounted to her cheeks and mantling her brow. "Your participation embodies hope for all women; mortals, medeis and meta alike. It goes to show that as a woman, you can match for any man."

***

I hold a raw grip on the bar—an endless succession of them run up the height of the castle walls. Gulug weights borne upon my shoulders, the chains dangling besides my body. Muscles bunch in my back and pain sears through my arms as I heave myself onto the next one, ascending high with excruciating gradualness.

One hand on the bar above the other, I glance downwards, mentally commending my efforts thus far, a considerable distance between the ground and where I am. Halfway. I look back up, my will lending vigor, I haul myself higher, further, silencing my agony, not stopping until I reach the top. And when I do, I have no energy to bask in my victory, for it must be preserved for the descent back down. After a fraction of forever passes, my feet meet with the earthen floor, lifting the chains over my head, then dropping the weights to the ground. And I follow.

A round of mock applause echoes behind me. I clench my eyes shut for a second.

Herem Markiveus rounds my hunched over frame, clapping still, he stands before me with a vexing grin. Kneeled at his feet, my gaze makes a brisk detour to my periphery, secretly searching for the Primus whose absence for once unnerves me.

"You put on quite the show, lovely Hera." His eyes flash with amethyst. "I was wondering if you would cater for a private performance."

I grimace, going into a lunge to rise—his leg twitches—reflex jolts my forearm forward, blocking the strike. His eyes spark with surprise. I shoot up—instantly humbled by his backhand—a blow that reunites me with the ground, followed by his grotesque guffaw. I saw his hit coming. Domus Valwa's counsel is sound, so I heed it, but many goad my anger into action. No words can quantify this loathing, but I comprehend the vantage of deception, permitting my adversaries to see what they want to see.

 I scramble up to my feet, pasting a hand on my cheek, feigning hurt.

"Your fate was sealed the moment you left whatever filthy hole you crawled from."

Solaris sweeps by, shoving Markiveus a few steps back.

"What?" he laughs with inimical innocence. "I was only speaking the truth. I was trying to help the Hera. We all know she needs it."

Solaris pushes him back once, twice, the third time Markiveus knocks his wrist away.

"You should offer your respect," he says warningly.

He barks a short, scornful laugh. "What threat could a woman possibly possess?"

"I can tell you what a Herem bears," he says, his voice edged with imperil.

Markiveus welcomes the challenge, rushing up to him. "That face won't look so pretty when I rearrange it. Do what's good for you, golden boy, and make yourself scarce."

Solaris's brows crease into a look of humored indifference. "Oh, so you think I'm pretty?"

Markiveus releases an amused breath from his nostrils. He nods, then turns to leave, only to whip back around to deliver a blow to his jaw that sends him reeling. Solaris recovers swiftly and runs up to him, tackling him to the ground with an oomph. The brawl summons the other Herems instantaneously. Solaris pulverizes Markiveus's face with a barrage of punches.

 Markevius blocks and finds the advantage to launch him off.

Vince bursts into the ring and captures Solaris before he can re-initiate the fight, chucking him aside to impede Markevieus's path, barring even the thought of a retaliation. He immediately backs down, retreating from a steely-eyed Vince. Wordlessly everyone scatters like dust. Vince pitches me an unreadable look before he, too, recedes. Solaris approaches me with a bruise already beginning on his jaw.

"How's your jaw?"

"How is your face?" he retorts.

I reach for him, gingerly grasping his chin to angle his face from me.

He winces and jerks his chin from my hand, obscuring his mild pain with a fool-proof smile.

"I have been looking for a reason to lay my hands on him." A chuckle seeps through his lips. "I thank you for that gift."

"I'm glad my harassment served you well."

His smile vanishes, he splutters, "No, Aurora… I didn't mean…"

I snort a laugh, clasping a hand on his shoulder. "I'm only having a laugh."

***

Sparring—condensing all the basic drills into practical application.

From the crescent until the New Moon, the Primus has been maturing my evasion techniques, ranging from defensive to offensive attacks. The Primus faces me in a side neutral stance. He throws a left jab toward my right side, causing me to counter with a right palm strike. I try a swift punch, which he counters. Ambitiously, I force my jab, but the Primus moves with his arm and maintains control. He hits me with an elbow strike before taking me down with a leg sweep. My back smacks against the ground.

"Again."

My head drops back down, lying dead flat. "I cannot," I breathe, bathing in a pool of my own sweat.

"Again."

I draw from the bank of my will once again, converting it into energy. I clamber up to my feet with the sway and stagger of a tavern drunkard. He lashes out again, speed secures evasion, narrowly avoiding his blows.

"Balance is everything." His fist connects with my stomach. I double over, my insides ruptured. "Strive to maintain yours while attacking your opponent's. Often, that entails getting him to lean too far into his technique, over-committing to his movement or overextending his body. Without proper balance, he won't be able to move, block or strike effectively."

He employs another strategy. I make sure to deflect his attempt using a technique he had taught me. I cannot tell if he's pleased or impressed because the construct of his expression is engraved in everlasting stoicism as hard and cold as stone.

And I do what he least anticipates; I attack.

He indulges my audacity with blank-faced apathy. When he tires of my antics, he undercuts me—I slip—he catches me midfall, swiveling us around. He lands on his back. I halt myself, my hands cemented on the ground on either side of his head, knees between his waist. His gaze bounds me to him, staring into a black chasm, something electric, raw and incomprehensible charges the air between us, crackling and burning, opening every pore in my skin and filling it with a mind-tingling awareness of only him.

His beauty blinds like the sun, but he encompasses all the darkness of the night. All sense and wit deserts me, my mind an empty shell, rendering all motor functions futile. This is the first of my many firsts he beholds me without despise, his stare is fixated on me, perplexed as if he doesn't understand what he sees. My heart pounding, my fast and long breaths spilling into his mouth.

I shoot off him as if kissed by fire.

Flutters burst from my heart and my eyes find the ground. "Again?"

He rises to his great apex. I steal a glance of him. He blinks as if specks coat his eyes, his breathing suddenly ragged. Though he is unexhausted, he is scant of breath, his mouth dispensing quick and quivering exhales.

"Take a respite." He tugs at his unbuttoned collar. Even his voice, when he speaks, is a miracle of control—calm, measured, devoid of the tremor that lurks just beneath the surface. "We'll resume at dawn."

He walks away without warning, exiting the sprawling yard through one of its many archways.

***

The word explodes from my mouth. "A ball?"

Duce Merian chortles at my foreshock. "The High Tribunal wishes to look upon you all, one of you meant to be the future Ruler."

Deirdre sits across from me in my chambers, cleaning my wounds whilst the Duce observes solemnly.

"Who else will be in attendance?"

"Only delegates of the Crown, giving audience to the Monarchs of this realm. A glittering assemblage, superior to even the Regius and solstice ball. It is an imperative event, as you know both the Tribunal and the Decuria are the fulcrum of our civilization; they are, indeed, powerful allies or dangerous enemies. If one day you reign, you will need their support."

"Why are you telling me this? Issuing counsel so cheaply?"

Deirdre applies a thin layer of an antibiotic ointment on the abrasions. She checks on me.

I contort my face into a wince.

"Have you guided the Herems this generously or do you think only me to be nescient of my own realm's political ordinances?"

He lights up another smile, a gleam of white. "I did not intend it as a slight. Let not my words rob you of your worth. All know of the value of your Regnum, half-blood or noy, you are the very embodiment of its aged wisdom."

Deidre binds my knuckles with fresh linen.

I air out my frustration. "I am wary, wary always, eyes clings to my back, mouths whisper malice and hands itch for violence. I can only imagine what will transpire after the initiation if my time thus far has been fraught with tension and contempt."

He chortles again, this time for longer and with mocking humor. "My dear, if you are intimidated by the mere impression of the Trials, I suggest you take your leave this day. Whilst the choice remains a choice."

"Is there a choice?"

"There is always a choice," he says with an insolent grin, cheeky like an undisciplined youth. "And you chose to participate, a submission that goes beyond your obligation to our High King's decree. I know your true plight. The disease that plagues both your adoptive father and half-brother."

I snatch my hand from Deirdre. She bows her head and slinks back shyly.

"In any other circumstance, any man from your Regnum would be in your stead." He crosses one leg over his other, his adorned fingers flittering along the arm of the chair. "An uncle, a cousin. Yet you have none. You are the last Valwa pureblood."

A flicker of irritation. "Is there a purpose to this line of recall?"

"A woman," he resumes casually. "One who lived a life of impoverishment, only guaranteeing certain death."

Anger hauls me to my feet. "You think me weak?"

"I think you are incapable," he says with benign disdain. "Your spirit is afire, but the realities of kingship will surely douse them. It is not a matter of sword skill and decisive brutality that a Ruler would need to enact but also a higher education that would help one navigate negotiations and the intricacies of affairs of state. Including, you lack the will of not just skill but the will of war."

I incline my head, glaring down at him. "A good king strives for peace—"

"And a great king is ready against those who will always seek to oppose it." Duce Merian vacates his seat with a graceful ascent. His voice is void of malice but full of fact of his own preconceptions. "Wisdom in war requires a mettle you will never obtain."

I restrain my anger, reclaiming my seat. "So, you sought to belittle me, is that it?"

"The Crown is all important, Aurora," he says, eyes sparkling with intrigue. "Brennon has a suitor's tongue, a proficient arse-licker."

I crush a smile.

 "Zekei and Tamani are pacifists, followers rather than leaders. Treyton is brash, but can be level-headed, a vigor that can serve him well. Markiveus is an entitled bastard in a Nobleman's clothing. Rimnick." He falters into a moment of deliberation. "I haven't got a proper read on him just yet. Solaris and Vince." He releases a whistle in a short burst. "Those two are a force to be reckoned with, a paradigm of a just ruler: nobility, intrepidity and ferocity."

I ease into my seat, unsure why I muse his examination.

 "High King Urus must favor your judgements of character."

"The likelihood of Vince becoming High King is profoundly remote if not beyond belief," he says in his expert deduction. "He is of the sovereign Empire—the powerful Empire—Emikrol, which is a sword better to be wielded than to be brandished against."

"Your words resound with fear," I say, making my own deduction. "Emikrol shows deference to Urium's High King."

"But they are not sworn to him. What is deference without submission?"

"Emikrol is a stronghold of warriors that will never bow."

"My point exactly."

"Emikrol's loyalty is above reproach or your baseless suspicion," I say with stained respect, I add, "Duce. Though I am not fond of Herem Vince, many royals and nobles alike are taken by him."

Duce Merian relieves himself of his mutual discontent with a heavy sigh. "Yes, a charmer in court and a peril in the battlefield, the very vision of a king. Quite like Herem Solaris, except without the existential threat. Even you seem privy to his company."

I thwart a snort. "And what of me? You think I am inadequate for the brutality of kingdom ruling? You associate womanhood with weakness and my upbringing to be beneath you all."

"I associate you with weakness, Aurora," he amends, his voice free of play. "And not for the reasons you insinuate. You are here to uphold the legacy of your line as the last Valwa. If you fail, your fate will revert to its original course. That is a future I would fear if I was your half-brother or adoptive father."

My hand cramps with fresh aches—I stretch out my fingers. "I cannot tell which you are party to favoring? The perilous Vince, or the charismatic Solaris?"

"Neither." His finger-flittering cease. "I remain impartial. I was merely sharing a preliminary assessment of my own personal capacity."

My head cocks to the side curiously. "And is this what you share with them of me? That I am a brave but unworthy?"

He gives me a flippant shrug. "Why repeat what all know to be true?" He responds to my displeasure with an unwavering smile. "I shall take my leave and allow you to recover." His eyes dart to my bandaged knuckles. "You fight well—for a woman."

"What does a Duce know of fighting?"

He spins on his heel to face me again. "More than a woman does." He dawdles on a new thought; his gaze wanders briefly. "Though… that notion can be challenged as you are being trained by the Primus. The only being that can wring out a warrior from a woman in such a short time."

"Is that why the High King assigned him to me?" Animosity leaks into my tone. "Because it is believed only he can perform such a miracle?"

Duce Merian smiles humouredly. "His Eminence is yet to be wrong on a matter."