Chapter 34

"You have returned," I say, taking tiny steps toward him. Bracing myself—the equilibrium of my world shifted.

"I will always return for what is mine." He makes a verbal retreat. "What I am duty-bound to protect," he says factually.

My eyes consume his appearance, each prominent feature weaving into my mind. His hair is freshly cut, the centre is slicked back; the sides trimmed short. His haircut only flaunts those mountain peak cheekbones.

"You said three days." The words spew from my mouth. "I feel as though three eternities have passed."

A smirk splices into his lips. "Missed me that dearly?"

"Missed the extra protection." The words fell before I could catch them.

"Why?" His face grows grim. "Did something happen?"

"No," I blurt. To divert, I say, "I trust that your endeavour was successful?"

Visibly reluctant, he bites. "Lengthened because of an outbreak of a new strain of the plague. The Black Death."

I nod attentively. "I have been informed."

"It is a serious threat to the realm's already tenuous stability, and it spreads by day. The ancient plague stole the lives of meta and medeis alike. The Black Death infects Urium's farmlands, our food. In time, it will poison people against people when a famine breaks out."

I scoff bitterly. "That was already being done."

"Now it will only inspire further mayhem. Scared people are dangerous, but hungry people are unpredictable. However, I did not come here to speak on that."

Desperate to keep the topic off me. I ask, "How did the summoning go?"

From the two archways adjacent from him, it welcomes in the flood of first light. Pensive, he steps into it idly. His black eyes are glossy. Strands of darkness absorbing the golden light. Armour-less, his burgundy uniform appears bright as spilled blood.

"Well enough. My appeal for more soldiers has been granted. Troops have been dispatched ahead of us."

"And the Vulkra?" Curiosity spikes my volume. I wrangle with the inflection in my voice. "The Ulris?"

"A formal inquest has been opened to delve into the matter, to try to uncover their plot. They tasked me to spearhead it, which would have delayed me further. But suddenly..." He strolls towards me as he speaks. "Out of nowhere...an irrepressible urge to return to Cistern overcame me."

He starts to circle me thoughtfully as if I'm a prisoner of war under interrogation. His steps are purposeful and gradual. His sheer presence electrifies me, tingling my skin, sending a spark to skitter down my spine.

"The last time you spoke of the Citadel you threatened to raise war against it," I say with a cumbersome laugh. Unease squirming within.

"I do not care for the Citadel but for a time. What it holds is...inexplicably invaluable to me."

Only managing minimal eye contact. I battle to endure under those stygian eyes. A crepuscule of gloom.

"Where were you?"

A hot flash of panic. "Out, I needed air," I say curtly. Really, Adalia.

"In a fancy gown?" An equinox brow lifts with his mounting suspicions. "I heard there was a banquet held in honour of the one who won the tournament. Last night."

Lashed by panic's whip, suddenly guilt-ridden, my mind punishes me with a recall of my tryst with Vince in a guilt-tripping procession. I cannot understand why. But somehow I feel like I have betrayed him. Which is absurd because he is not even mine to betray. The outing was purely platonic, innocent even. Well. Besides the fact that he professed his admiration for me, which was probably some kind of enticement. A failed ploy.

"If anyone is entitled to answers. It is I." Wrestling to keep my voice steady. "What are you doing in my bedchambers, Primus?"

He ceases his circling, shadowed by his great frame.

"We are leaving Cistern tomorrow," he informs tersely. "But before we depart, you have a lesson with me at dawn. Same place as before."

Thank you for asking before you just decided for me.

He moves to leave and brushes past me with his hands stiff at his sides.

I swivel around. "I have been trained well in my adolescence; my skills may surprise you. I'm afraid that there is nothing that you can teach me, Primus."

"Perhaps on how to lie better," he says over his shoulder with his eyes on the ground. "In that arena, your skills are deficient."

I crush the rise of senseless guilt. "And what reason do I have to lie to you?"

"Perhaps when you are ready, you will tell me."

His insistence on wanting to 'train' me reveals more than he thinks. That he truly wants to evaluate my fighting abilities, perhaps measure my odds of surviving combat. And that discloses something disconcerting about what comes next.

***

Standing at the cusp of the square-shaped platform that crowns the bulbous clouds submersed with rose periwinkle and a sweet pink. My senses are serrate, aware of every exhale of the wind. The crinkling of the leaves below, and the powerful presence behind me that is strong as a palpable grip. I snap to the left—a blade of a sword emerges where I was. I jab an elbow back and it connects with his face as I twirl away, removing myself from the hazardous brink.

"It is unwise to sneak up on me, Primus," I say with my back turned to him.

"If I did not know any better. I would say you seem a little on edge...but I suppose that is your usual reaction when I'm near you."

Heat burns my face. Not only is it true, but more mortifying that he's aware of it.

I inhale a nerve-quelling breath, readying myself to be bound beneath those stygian eyes. I revolve slowly. My eyes dart to the longsword in each of his hands. He turns the grip of the one sword from an upward to a downward hold before he pitches it at me. My arm shoots out and I seize the grip mid-air, drawing it down to my side.

"Now to see if your swordsmanship—" alarm punctuates his statement halfway. His eyes fastened on my throat. "Hera, your neck...who did that to you?"

How could I have possibly forgotten…

The pain has dulled to unnoticeable twinges. And my dress from last night concealed my shame. But not what I wear now.

"It's nothing," I say quickly. My free hand lifts to my throat, touching it idly.

Primus Kelan's face deadens. His eyes alight with hellfire.

"Those are bruises." A storm of fire and brimstone gathers in his gaze. "Who dared to harm you?"

"No one." Unconvincing. "It's nothing."

"Do not lie to me!" he booms, rage bellowing like rumbling thunderheads. "Who touched you?" Rigid cords are prominent in his neck.

He launches into a threatening march towards me. On its own volition, my hand moves up in a flourish and I slash a diagonal strike. His torso lurches back, and he parries my warning away.

His eyes snap back to mine with a burst of fresh anger. "Hera..."

"We are here to train, are we not?" Brashness barbing my tone. "Since you think my skills are deficient. Let me show you the ones that I excel in."

I set both hands on the grip readily. I move it, aligning the pommel with my left side, the blade's tip aimed at the sky.

"You will tell me what I wish to know."

I bop a brow challengingly. "Make me."

The black storm furies in his eyes. "One day you will regret provoking me."

"But we both know that day is not this day."

I strike first with diagonal rising cuts directed to his right leg. And he parries it with only one grip on the sword. I switch to a horizontal attack that he blocks effortlessly by dropping the sword downwards, and bracing with enough space to absorb the impact of my blow.

"What happened?"

"Nothing." I strike overhead and he swats my exertions away like it's an irritation.

His gaze engulfs mine. "Your eyes tell me differently."

I lunge into another assault, and before I can draw breath; he blazes forward and strikes the sword from my grasp. The burn sears through my hand—I shake it out wildly. My gaze flies with the spinning weapon that soars beyond and falls over, thawing into the clouds. I look back at him. My chin instantly jerks up. The cold metal blade keeps my head elevated.

"You can tell me willingly, or I can extract it out of you. The choice is yours," he says calmly and sheaths his sword, sliding it back into its scabbard that sidles his hip.

"And here I thought I would be grateful for your return," I mutter. Both a lie and a truth.

I rotate, but a large hand seizes mine, spinning me back around with cautious force.

"Do not turn your back on me."

I tear my hand from his grip and with my other hand, I launch my knuckles at his throat. He chokes back a gasp, grabbing his neck, fumbling back two steps. His bulging eyes set on me.

"Watch your tongue. I am not one of your soldiers, Primus. I do not take orders from you. You hold authority in the Vanguard and Avangard. But not over me."

Primus Kelan's hand drops to his side, and he advances towards me. His eyes brimming with hostility. Ready, my hands ball at my sides.

His arm twitches. I block his strike with my forearm, nearly shattering the bone. I obscure a wince. Moving at blinding speeds, he manages to secure his grip on me and all at once—he yanks me forward and hooks his boot behind my right knee—sending me to the ground.

My back hits the wood with a thud.

Before my body can register the pain of sudden defeat. He's on top of me. My shoulders lurch forward but he seizes both of my wrists and pins them down beside my head. Volts of sizzling electricity wire themselves into my veins, burning and all-consuming, surging through me in a fervid blaze. Our chest rising and falling in a haggard rhythm. His face is so close to mine, sharing breaths.

"Make no mistake, I wield authority everywhere and over anyone," he whispers. Every word is as harmless as a sheathed blade. Something flickers in his gaze; silencing the storm in his eyes. "But I will not exert it over you."

He releases his grip, rising to stand tall over me.

Warily, I ascend to my feet.

I glance at him, his gaze locked on me. Powerful emotions emanate from him, too many to name, still churning in the black tempest of his gaze. Not of rage but from his own upheaval. A twinge pinches my back. I roll my shoulders, making a grudging start to the spiral staircase.

"Adalia."

The cavernous sound of my name on his lips brings me to an immediate halt.

Without looking back, I say, "As is your duty, my safety and those of the other candidates are ensured. I am well, I... assure you."

"My concern goes beyond duty." His voice thick with fervour. "It should not...but it does."

A lone tear strings down my cheek. I wipe it off before it can reach my jaw.

My resolve wanes with every word.

"I—I can sense that you hide something from me," he sputters. A tint of anguish in his tone. "What plagues you, in turn, plagues me. Relieve us both...and speak with me," he says so delicately. Saturated with unfettered worry.

For the first time, nothing kept from me behind those invincible walls of his stoic disposition. But perhaps being around each other has woefully crumbled our usual defences, stone by stone and touch by touch. I want to tell him. I would like nothing more than to share my grievance and let him in, let him close. But something unknown holds me back. Just as unknown as the unexplainable tether that binds us together.

Drawn together only to be repelled. I wonder. Does he feel it as strongly as I do?

Deep down, I know my true resistance. Fear. A multi-complex of fears. I would have to dredge up the ordeal from my mind, relieve my shame and have it exposed for him to see. The mere thought cripples my fragile calm.

I do not want him to see that—to know that. I cannot have him look at me in that way.

Incapacitated by a series of possible scenarios of his reaction. None of them are ideal.

I dash forward, vanishing down the staircase.