Chapter 76


    Life in the Palace


    Femira hurled boulder after boulder at Vestyr who was being pressed to the rear of the duelling ring. Vestyr disintegrated them in the air but he was sweating with the effort. Femira had manoeuvred so that Vestyr’s back was to the Pillar. She had the open air of the balcony at her rear.


    The palace sparring yards were on the lower levels of the Pillar on an extensive balcony. It was reserved for highborn runewielders and all of the duelling rings had a pair of combatants. It looked more like a grand outdoor gallery than a training yard, with its shaped columns and arches of marble stretching out from the walls of the Pillar.


    Femira and Vestyr were the only soulforged training today, and they gathered a small crowd of onlookers. Soulforging was no longer just a rumour in the palace halls with many nobles discussing it outright, however the King had yet to make any official statements on soulforged individuals in the military.


    Vestyr had to roll to the side as Femira’s barrage continued. The boulders smashing against the wall of the Pillar. He dashed towards her, a cloud of silvery dust burst out from him and formed a steel quarterstaff in his hand as he ran. Femira responded by forming a pair of blunted duelling daggers. She parried his attacks in quick deflections, dodging and rolling when needed. Vestyr was incredibly agile although not as fast as Landryn or Loreli—both of whom Femira set the bar for in terms of speed. Femira knew how to manage a faster opponent, shifting her edir inside of her to concentrate a stoneskin on the areas that Vestyr would strike next. Stoneskin slowed her but at least she didn’t suffer any damage, and could quickly dismiss it and perform followup attacks.


    All in all, it was a fairly well matched fight and Femira found herself panting, having only made a handful of hits on the Aeth. She had chosen not to bring out Nyth even though she was sure it would have given her a distinct advantage. But she chose not to expose all of her cards to Vestyr, not while the possibility of them fighting for real someday was present. There was also the crowd watching to consider. Any of them could be a potential opponent someday in the future. No, she would keep Nyth to herself unless in a real fight to the death.


    Vestyr twirled his quarterstaff and leapt at her in a surprising offensive. She braced herself in a block with her daggers but then his staff burst to dust just before striking. Vestyr rolled past her, the silver cloud rushing around him and reforming. He swung hard at her back and she felt it whack against her shoulder blades sending her sprawling forward. She held onto her daggers and fell forward onto her elbows, rolling to the side to avoid a follow-up.


    Vestyr was already on his feet and Femira swung her leg out in a sweeping kick, catching the back of his ankle. Vestyr fell hard on his back and Femira launched herself on top of him, the blunted tip of her dagger less than an inch from his throat. The blade in her hand puffed to metallic dust and Femira felt a satisfied smile break her face. That had been their agreed sign for forfeit.


    “You’ve gotten better,” Vestyr wheezed, clearly winded from his fall.


    “I’ve not spent this whole time lounging around the palace.” Femira got to her feet and offered him a hand. He was taller than her but she still easily hoisted him up from the ground.


    “Your skills are accelerating?” Vestyr probed as he dusted himself off.


    “Don’t we all with training?” She replied with a wink.


    “You know what I mean,” he said pointedly, “soulforging has heightened your abilities. But it is growing each day, no?”


    “Of course, you should know that already.”


    “It’s not the same for me, Vestyr replied. “My progress is… limited.”


    “I think there’s a limit for me too,” Femira conceded, “although that limit keeps stretching as I train. A month ago I could only hold three stonespears at a time. I reckon I can manage five or six now… Maybe you’re not pushing yourself hard enough.”


    “It’s not that,” Vestyr shook his head, “My umbra power is but a trickle next to yours. My soulbond enhances this but not nearly as much as to what yours is.”


    “Umbra?” Femira’s brows knotted and her head tilted slightly.


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    “The strength of my soul. It is what powers our runewielding,” he replied matter-of-factly as if this was all information she should know. “The umbra you absorbed when becoming soulforged has strengthened yours far more so than mine ever will be on its own.”


    “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Femira replied. It sounded like the kind of stuff the priests in the temples used to try preach at her when she was partaking in the free food.


    “When you became—” Vestyr began but then the palace bells rang the eleventh hour of morning in the background and Femira’s eyes widened.


    “Shit, I’m late,” she cut across him, leaving the boy with a startled expression, “I’ve to go. This was fun though,” she was already trotting away from him, “we should make this a regular session!” And she meant it. It was hard to come by good sparring partners.


    She felt bad cutting him off and leaving him but she was late for her session with Daurond which they normally started by now. She made for the steps of the yard and back into the halls of the palace. She was familiar by now with many of the halls, galleries and stairways to know the route to Daurond’s apartments without getting lost.


    Femira had been so distracted by her duels with Vestyr that she’d completely missed the tenth hour bell toll. As it was, she and Daurond would barely have any time for his tutoring before she’d need to leave to meet with Garld.


    Daurond, as it transpired, wasn’t even in his rooms. He’d spent the entire night in the city and had been far past the point of coherence to stagger up the steps of the Pillar. There were a few inns close to Pillar that were well accustomed to catering to Palace guests. Guests that found themselves looking up at the thousands of steps in the early hours of the morning and deciding… not tonight. Daurond had made quite a habit of this.


    Femira made herself comfortable in the lounge of Daurond’s rooms. She was slowly becoming familiar with Nyth inside of her, humming its unusual beat. It became background noise to her in the same way that the constant vibrations of the stone around her could be pushed out of her attention. She felt that she’d made great progress with the… well, whatever Nyth was. She wanted to talk to Aden about it. He was clever and always had insight into things like this. He was also very resourceful with books. Surely he could help her find some information on nythilium. But that would have to wait until he was back.


    She was also eager for Jaz and Misandrei to return. She missed their company and was eager to test out Nyth in her fighting style. She even missed Endrin and Loreli too. They weren’t so bad and she felt they were almost becoming friends before they’d been sent to Rubane. She hoped that they were all still alive up there. And that they could make it out before any of Reldon’s warships started sailing. Rubane won’t be kind to any Reldoni in their borders in the coming weeks. She made a mental note to ask Garld about them again.


    Daurond eventually shuffled into the room looking like a dug-up corpse wearing crumpled silks. He groaned as he noticed her waiting for him.


    “Ugh, I’d forgotten you’d be here” Daurond lamented, “why did I agree to this.” He fell into a lounge chair and rubbed at his forehead.


    “Can we skip today?” he asked, “I feel like a garrif has been dancing on my head.”


    “We don’t really have much time before I’ve to meet with Garld anyway,” Femira pointed out.


    “Oh lucky me. Would you be a dear and get me some water?” He had such a pathetic pleading in his eyes that Femira rose and fetched the brass jug of water. She took a gulp herself, then offered to him.


    “Right from the jug, how ladylike. We really do have a lot of work to do before we arrive in Keiran.”


    “What?!” Femira snatched back the jug.


    “Oh,” he whimpered, weakly reaching for it, “please, my dear… the water.”


    “What do you mean we arrive in Keiran?” Daurond didn’t respond, just continued reaching feebly for the jug. Fine. She shoved it towards him and he took a tiny sip. Smacking his lips with the liquid.


    “I thought Garld had told you already,” Daurond curled up his feet on the lounger, clearly preparing to fall asleep right there. “He’s sending us to Kerian. This is why he’s had me tutoring you. Don’t worry, little cousin,” he closed his eyes and nuzzled his face into a cushion, “we’ll have plenty of time on the ship to correct all of your little discourtesies. You’ll be the very heart of Annali’s dignity by the time we arrive.”


    “I am not going back to Keiran,” Femira hissed. The image of an Honorsword’s yellow cloak stained with blood flashed in her mind. Blood caking into the dry earth. She felt her heart quicken.


    “Well that’s between you and Garld,” Daurond mumbled, “if you wouldn’t mind.” He waved his hand towards the window, indicating he wanted the curtains drawn closed.


    Femira stood up and stormed for the door. She could feel her breaths coming in shallow, and she paced back and forth for a time. I can’t go back. I won’t! She could talk to Garld, maybe Daurond had misunderstood. She was needed here. She was supposed to fight the fomori. The Reldoni needed her. Landryn needed her.


    “Annali, the drapes,” Daurond groaned.


    “Close your own fucking drapes,” Femira snapped at him, then swung open the door. She made her way purposefully towards Garld’s office.