Spirit Binder (16 page)

Hugh returned her grin with a dip of his head toward the center of the yard.

Theo turned and crossed to where he had gestured, circling the sword her in left hand to feel its weight. Once she reached the middle, she stood, and, again, spread her toes through the sand and over the small rocks beneath her feet.

The Commander looked her over and then barked a few orders to his gathered troops. She wondered if he was speaking a different language, or whether she just wasn’t interested in what he was saying, for she distinguished no words. She enjoyed watching the way he seemed lightly encased in spirit, and understood that she was seeing his magic, a personal shield, which wasn’t something she could see before … at least not that she remembered …

The troops parted and a woman stepped through the gap. She was magnificent; at least a head taller than Theo, with a much longer reach. Her black hair was pulled back in a series of braids that looked to be permanent. Her ebony skin glistened from the morning’s drills.

The woman strode forward until she was ten feet away, and then she stopped to sweep an assessing gaze over Theo. This study lingered on Theo’s sword, but ultimately returned to her face slightly disappointed and confused.

Theo smiled in return, which only darkened the woman’s look. She didn’t have to read minds to understand that the warrior was displeased to be called to face a sickly waif, who looked to be powerless and unskilled despite the identifying red hair.
 

Theo sliced her blade across the bottom of her shift; she needed a tie for her hair. She tried to not notice how and where this woman’s spirit glowed. It seemed like an unfair advantage to know another’s magic. It certainly negated any element of surprise. However, she couldn’t help but notice the magic laced through the woman’s subtle armor, including the circlet on her head designed to hamper mind mage magic. A quick glance around confirmed that all the gathered warriors wore the same. Their general, who was mostly likely Hugh’s father, the Chancellor, was smart and wealthy to outfit them thus, though the circlet certainly wasn’t powerful enough to keep Theo, or even her mother, out of their heads. However, she had no intention of using her mind mage powers.

The woman shifted impatiently, and then tapped her chest, “Gia.”

Gia. Her name.

“Theo,” she replied, and lifted her sword as if to cleave Gia’s head in two. The surrounding crowd gasped in astonishment, which told her exactly how swiftly she’d moved.
 

Gia was faster, just by a hair, and she twisted away without a stumble and returned the blow.

When steel met steel, Theo was thrilled that it was her noise, her choice, ringing through her senses.

So they fought.

Gia, realizing she’d misjudged Theo, quickly lost her hesitation and didn’t hold back, but Theo enjoyed the sparring too much to bother using any real force. She reveled in the stretch of her muscles, the strength of her limbs, and the clash of her steel.

Gia was flagging.

Theo took pity on her, and, with a quick flick of her wrist, disarmed her as easily as she could have done with her first strike.

Gia didn’t even look to where her sword landed; she simply fell to her knees, and offered the back of her neck to Theo. This was a sign of respect, but not something customarily extended in the training field.

Still, she honored Gia’s spirit by laying a bare hand, rather than her sword, across the back of her neck.

Gia shuddered. “You honor me, my lady.”

Theo looked up to meet the Commander’s gaze; he didn’t look so impressed. However, so quickly she almost missed it, the remaining warriors shuffled and jostled into a line directly facing her.

Hugh laughed, and, just like that, the natural hustle and bustle of the keep returned.

She figured that the young man standing opposite her and grinning in anticipation was next in rank. And, when she quickly outmatched him and many of his fellows, she confirmed that assumption.

They, after she’d fought and then disarmed them, all bowed as Gia had done. And she, without exception, laid her hand on the bare skin of their necks, which they often had to strip of armor to allow her to access.

Each had a slightly different dance they brought to the sand, and she delighted in learning their tricks and trading blows. Often she would lengthen a fight she could have easily finished just to have the opportunity to dance with their spirits a little longer.

With every neck she blessed, for, if she was honest with herself about the responsibility of such, that was what they were asking of her, she found a little peace of mind. Almost as if she’d been shattered and hidden within every bit of spirit that lived in all the essences that surrounded her.

If she faltered — besieged by a random memory returned — if she fell to her knees, clutched her head, and cried out in pain or frustration, the warriors simply and patiently waited, and when she lifted her sword once again, they struck with no further sympathy.

Hugh never left the doorway of the kitchen. His presence a comfort, but she also found it daunting for the expectations she imagined it indicated. Expectations she could not, was not capable, of fulfilling.

So she fought.

Her opponents became stronger and more agile.

She matched them, never outright outstripping any of the warriors who blessed her by meeting her steel.

A few actually landed blows, and, right before dinner, one knocked her off her feet.

Jolted out of the smooth rhythm that had almost lovingly encased her all day she took a moment to look at her opponent. He was one of the last in line. He’d introduced himself at the top of the fight, but she couldn’t remember his name.

He danced back, making the mistake of not pressing her further, and grinned at the huge audience. The crowd had come and gone throughout the day. He received a few cheers from some of the warriors, who remained in line behind him.

She slowly gained her feet. He’d kicked her in the chest, and the ache was still fading. How had he gotten by her blade?

An older man had joined Hugh in the doorway, and, if she hadn’t recognized him by his face, the fine cloth of his clothes would have revealed him to be Hugh’s father, the Chancellor. He hadn’t changed much in ten years. His hair was still so blond it was almost as pale as his skin. He distinctly resembled the bald eagle that branded his flag. She wondered if Hugh’s mother had also been standing there if Hugh, with his caramel skin and dark gold hair, would have seemed an exact mixture of his parents. The Chancellor watched Theo, arms crossed and eyes assessing. She imagined she didn’t present a pretty picture, covered in dust with a fine bead of sweat on her forehead, and the thought made her grin.

Her grin perplexed her opponent, who followed her gaze to Hugh and the Chancellor.

So then she laughed.

No one laughed with her. Some of the gathered were slightly concerned that she might be going a little mad. She brushed off these unwanted, unspoken thoughts.

A boy, a stablehand maybe, hung off the fence near her with a cup of water held in her direction.

With two steps, she closed her hand around the cup and slaked her parched throat. She had not been aware that so much time had passed.

“That’s all you’re going to bring?” her opponent sneered. Nathan, that was his name. The sound of his voice, with its underlying uncertainty, reminded her of it.

Anger rippled through the crowd, some of whom jeered in Nathan’s direction. He cursed back, and the Commander shifted uncomfortably at this inappropriate display by a member of his guard.

She looked at him, at Nathan, closer. How had he slipped by her sword to land the kick … ah, there. His sword was spelled. She could see the magic twinning up his broad blade, along the ridges and grooves of the runes carved in the steel.

She handed the cup back to the boy, and hoped she thanked him out loud and not just in her mind. He clutched it to his chest as if it was some precious chalice rather than a rough-hewn wooden mug.

She stepped toward Nathan.

He shifted his stance to ready his defense. “Oh, you wish to continue? Are you sure you’re up to it? The ground hurts, doesn’t it?”

She found she was grinning, and wondered if she’d ever stopped. She held up her own sword and, with one thought, activated all the spells it held; it was an impressive display. The sword gleamed and that shine slowly slipped up her arm until it shielded her entire body. The other spells weren’t so obvious, but the power that poured off the blade was palatable even to the most insensitive. The crowd quieted and took a communal step backward.

Nathan didn’t look so certain of himself now, though he didn’t waver in his stance.

“My sword channels magic as well. Shall I also use it in the training ring?” she asked him quietly, but her voice unintentionally carried.

“Wielding such a sword gives you an unfair advantage and has no place in a training field, my lady,” the Commander called without malice.

“So it does.” She shut down the sword’s spells.
“But then, so does Nathan’s steel.” She held out Nathan’s sword.

She had just reached out and taken it from him. He’d barely even noticed. His mouth dropped open as he stared at his sword within her hand. It now looked like an ordinary broadsword, the kind that was issued to all of the warriors. The runes must only be apparent when triggered, and her touch had deadened the sword’s magic.

Laughter spread through the crowd. Nathan’s surprise turned to anger. Theo had discredited him, and she instantly felt sorry for outmatching him so obviously when she’d been so gentle with the other warriors.

“Magic,” he spat, but she wasn’t insulted, though the Commander seemed ready to take offense.

“You’ve been defeated fairly, though you entered the field underhandedly,” the Commander judged. Instead of graciously admitting defeat, Nathan spat in the sand at Theo’s feet and turned his back on her.

All eyes waited for her reaction, but she simply handed Nathan’s sword to a weapons apprentice as she watched him cross off the field.

“It grows late,“ the Chancellor’s voice rang out behind her. “There is still much to prepare. Let us return to our duties.” The crowded quickly deserted the yard.

The Chancellor stepped forward to address her, and she accepted his offered bow. Even covered in dust and sweat and bone weary, she could still be formal if the Chancellor so desired.

“I have sent an envoy to Hollyburn Castle. It informs your mother of your official residence at the Aerie. You are welcome as long as you wish. It is a privilege to have you here.”

“Thank you, my lord. I am sure there are things you wish to discuss.”

“No, my lady. You are just on your feet. There is nothing more important than your immediate comfort and safety.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

The Chancellor inclined his head and then accepted her dismissal. He turned back to the castle with his eyes on his son, but Hugh did not acknowledge him.

She turned to see the carpet, rolled up and propped against the fence. It unfurled as she approached, but she didn’t immediately step on it.

Hugh had closed the space between them, though he seemed to be careful about not standing too near her. She worried that he was afraid of her, but, as she turned to look him in the face, she saw nothing except concern and some sort of begrudging acceptance etched in his features.

“He delights in me bringing you here.”

“I am sure he does so out of kindness.”

Hugh’s laugh was sharp and tinged with bitterness. She did not have the capacity to soothe him, so she allowed the ensuing stillness to ease away his ire.
 

Hugh sighed, and shifted as if he’d shrugged a weight off his shoulders. Perhaps her presence did calm him some, as his did for her. “I’ve had a bath drawn in your room.”

“Your room, you mean,” she replied.

“Yes. At the time of your … arrival … it was the only room in the castle of which I could guarantee the safety. Now that you are awake, would you prefer a guest suite?”

“No.”

“You’ll eat.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“Will you participate in drills tomorrow?”

She looked over the yard. Shadows deepened as the apprentices tidied the weapons and combed the sand. This felt right. Right where she should be. “Yes. There are some I have yet to face and others who will want a second chance.”

“You’ve gained many admirers this day.”

“Do I count you among that number?” she teased, and he only offered her a smile in response. “Do you think it better they only love, or hate, a myth?”

“No.”

“Then it is not such an unfortunate consequence.”

“If that is what you wish to be,” Hugh murmured.

“Have I a choice?” Theo asked, but when he didn’t answer right away, she stepped on to the carpet and it lifted her slightly off the ground, so she was close to eye level with Hugh. “You seem to be managing this all rather well. Your father didn’t question you arriving without warning with your unconscious betrothed?”

Hugh laughed, but there was a bit of pain in it. She realized he was looking at the arm that bore her promise mark, though it was currently covered.

She sighed and all the weariness of the day settled on her. She’d never pushed herself so hard, and was rather surprised at her own resilience. The memories started clamoring for her attention.

She opened her eyes, not aware she had closed them, and found Hugh watching her rather than her arm.

“I am grateful.”

“I don’t want your formality,” he snapped, and she tamped down on the grin that had been her immediate response to his sullenness but he caught it, and his own demeanor lightened. He laughed and shook his head as if clearing it. She preferred him this way, but knew how painful all this was; being out of control of her own destiny pained her, so it must also be so for him.

 
She sat down on the carpet a heartbeat before her legs would no longer hold her.

“Go,” Hugh urged. “I’ll check on you after supper. My father demands my presence at the table, now that you are awake and walking about.”