A Vow So Bold and Deadly (Cursebreakers, #3)(67)
Like me with the magic, he’s reluctant to practice with something that doesn’t feel natural.
He slips a blade free. “One would think your mood would improve from all the time you spend with the young queen, but—”
“Knives, Iisak.”
“Perhaps you should spend more time sleeping, instead of—”
Silver hell. I draw one of my own blades and throw it at him.
He leaps into the air, quicker than thought, and my knife drives into the ground a few feet beyond where he stood. He laughs, and a bitter wind tears through the small clearing. His wings flare, sending snow flurries spinning, but I catch a flash of light on steel an instant before he throws. I snatch my dagger and knock the knife away before it can embed itself in my shoulder, and I almost miss the second one that aims for my leg. It nicks my thigh and skitters into the underbrush.
I gather the knives from the ground. “You’ve been practicing.”
“Quite a bit,” he says. “Tycho is eager to have a student.”
Tycho. My irritation is happy to have a new target. Tycho missed drills again this afternoon. It’s the fifth time. His unit leader should be dealing with it, but she hasn’t, and I’m not sure if that’s out of some kind of deference to me or if they’re happy to let him fail. Either way, it’s one more fracture in the unity of the army here, and it’s not as if we need more. I’m glad the boy is spending time with Iisak, because he is quite noticeably dodging me.
“I didn’t know you were practicing with Tycho,” I say. I wonder if Iisak is doing it for Tycho’s benefit—or for his own.
“I am certainly not busy helping you with magic.” Iisak throws again.
I scowl and knock the blades out of the air. “Put them in a tree,” I say. “Not me.”
“You look as though you long for distraction, Your Highness.”
Maybe. Probably. The shadows are growing longer, the flakes of snow shifting to sleet that stings my cheeks. At breakfast, Lia Mara was rapt as Noah explained the reasons for the changes in the weather, how the precipitation would fall as snow thousands of feet up in the sky, and then melt and refreeze to form sleet. One of her advisors leaned toward another and whispered, “How can he know such things? I do not trust these outsiders and their magic.”
Lia Mara overheard and cut them off with a terse, “Knowledge should not be greeted with scorn. You would do well to listen to Noah.”
They silenced immediately, but I saw their exchanged glances.
Iisak’s knives drive into the tree at my back with an audible thock each time. They were good throws, the blades driven deeply into the wood. When I reach to pull them free, Iisak slams into me from the side, his claws hooking into my armor, sending me to the ground. It knocks the wind out of me, but I roll and catch his ankle so he can’t fly. He tries to claw at me, but I’m used to his antics now, and I don’t let him get in a hit.
In seconds, he’s pinned, one wing trapped under my knee, his throwing knives in my hand, one pointed at his throat. We’re both breathing hard.
I usually don’t mind sparring with him. Often I enjoy the challenge, because Iisak has no hesitation in breaking my bones and drawing my blood—along with the actual talent and skill to accomplish it.
Tonight is different. The sleet is falling harder now, stinging my eyes and creeping under my armor. Iisak probably loves it.
“If you don’t need the practice,” I say, “I’m hungry.” I all but drop the throwing knives on the center of his chest and uncurl from the ground.
He slides them into their sheaths. “As you say, Your Highness.” With a parting nod, he launches himself into the air, and in seconds, he’s lost in the swirling darkness and branches overhead, probably off to find dinner for himself. I fetch the flickering lantern and walk.
The sleet grows heavier, slicking my hair and soaking under my armor, making a racket on the tin roofs of the soldier barracks just beyond the trees. I ease out of the woods onto the path, startling the soldiers on duty, but they quickly stand at attention and salute me. It’s later than I thought if they’ve changed shifts. These two are adorned in hooded oilcloth cloaks over their armor, but it’s still a miserable assignment in this weather.
“Who is your commanding officer?” I say to them. “I’ll see that you aren’t stationed here overly long.”
They exchange a glance, trying not to shiver. “Captain Solt.”
I inwardly sigh. Of course.
The paths between the barracks are deserted because of the weather and the late hour, and I wish I had thought to bring an oilcloth cloak of my own. Lights twinkle along the wall of the palace, and I look for Lia Mara’s chambers, because I’m sure she’s waiting for me. Sure enough, a shadow darkens half her window, and lightness fills my heart for the first time today. I suddenly wish I could send magic tearing across the grounds, because I’d lace it with fierce longing and gentle wistfulness and unfettered hope, emotions I only dare to share with her.
Unbidden, my magic seeps into the ground, spreading farther with each step, almost like a light in the darkness that only I can see. I should have invited her to join me and Iisak, because her presence is always a reminder that my power never responds well to force, and instead needs to be invited to play. I feel each path, each drop of ice that strikes the ground, each stone along the base of each barrack. This has to be more than fifteen feet, but I try to relax into the feel of my magic as I walk, giving it little attention, as if it’s a skittish horse that can be spooked by nothing more than eye contact.