King's Cage
Page 122
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“Like you said. Your decision.”
“Good. I don’t have the energy to bicker twice in one morning.”
He shifts and pushes me back gently, to better see my face. His thumbs graze the underside of my jaw. “Gisa?”
“Gisa.” I huff, brushing a wisp of hair out of my face. Without the Silent Stone, my health has vastly improved, down to my nails and hair growing at a normal rate again. Still gray ends, though. That’s never going away. “She keeps bothering me about relocation. Go to Montfort. Leave everything behind.”
“And you told her go ahead, didn’t you?”
I blush scarlet. “It just slipped out! Sometimes . . . I don’t think before I speak.”
He laughs. “What? You?”
“And then Mom took her side, of course, and Dad didn’t take a side at all, playing peacemaker, of course. It’s like”—my breath hitches—“it’s like nothing ever changed. We could have been back in the Stilts, in the kitchen. I guess that shouldn’t bother me so much. In the scheme of things.” Embarrassed, I force myself to look up at Cal. It feels horrible complaining about family to him. But he asked. And it spilled out. He just studies me like I’m battlefield terrain. “This isn’t something you want to think about. It’s nothing.”
His grip on my hand tightens before I can even think to pull away. He knows the way I run. “Actually, I was thinking about all the soldiers I trained with. At the front, especially. I’ve seen soldiers come back whole in body, but missing something else. They can’t sleep or maybe they can’t eat. Sometimes they slide right back into the past—into a memory of battle, triggered by a sound or a smell or any other sensation.”
I gulp and circle my wrist with shaking fingers. Squeezing, I remember the manacles. The touch makes me sick. “Sounds familiar.”
“You know what helps?”
Of course I don’t, or else I’d do it. I shake my head.
“Normalcy. Routine. Talking. I know you don’t exactly like the last one,” he adds, smirking slowly. “But your family just wants you to be safe. They went through hell when you were . . . gone.” He still hasn’t figured out the proper word for what happened to me. Captured or imprisoned doesn’t exactly carry the right weight. “And now that you’re back, they’re doing what anyone would do. They’re protecting you. Not the lightning girl, not Mareena Titanos, but you. Mare Barrow. The girl they know and remember. That’s all.”
“Right.” I nod slowly. “Thanks.”
“So about that talking thing.”
“Oh, come on, right now?”
His grin splits and he laughs, his stomach muscles tensing against me. “Fine, later. After training.”
“You should go shower.”
“Are you kidding? I’m going to be two steps behind you the whole time. You want to train? Then you’re going to train properly.” He pokes me in the small of my back, making me stumble forward. “Come on.”
The prince is incessant, jogging backward until I match his pace. We pass the track, the outdoor obstacle course, a wide field of close-cut grass, not to mention several circles of dirt for sparring and a target range more than a quarter mile long. Some newbloods run the obstacle course and the track, while a few practice alone in the field. I don’t recognize them, but the abilities I see are familiar enough. A newblood akin to a nymph forms columns of clear water before letting them drop to the grass, creating spreading puddles of mud. A teleporter navigates the course with ease. She appears and disappears all over the equipment, laughing at others having a more difficult time. Every time she jumps, my stomach twists, remembering Shade.
The sparring circles unsettle me most of all. I haven’t fought someone for training, for sport, since Evangeline so many months ago. It was not an experience I care to repeat. But I’ll certainly have to.
Cal’s voice keeps me level, drawing my focus back to the task at hand. “I’ll get you on your weights routine starting tomorrow, but today we can jump into target and theory.”
Target I understand. “Theory?”
We stop at the edge of the long range, staring at the mist burning off in the distance.
“You came into Training about a decade late for that. But before our abilities are in fighting form, we spend a lot of time studying our advantages and disadvantages, how to use them.”
“Like nymphs beating burners, water over fire.”
“Sort of. That’s an easy one. But what if you’re the burner?” I just shake my head, and he grins. “See, tricky. Takes a lot of memorization and comprehension. Testing. But you’re going to do this on the fly.”
I forgot how suited to this Cal is. He is a fish in water, at ease, grinning. Eager. This is what he’s good at, what he understands, where he excels. It’s a lifeline in a world that never seems to make any sense.
“Is it too late to say I don’t want to train anymore?”
Cal just laughs, tipping his head back. A bead of sweat rolls down his neck. “You’re stuck with me, Barrow. Now, hit the first target.” He stretches out a hand, indicating a square granite block ten yards away, painted like a bull’s-eye. “One bolt. Dead center.”
Smirking, I do as asked. I can’t miss at this range. A single purple-white bolt streaks through the air and hits home. With a resounding crack, the lightning leaves a black mark in the center of the bull’s-eye.
“Good. I don’t have the energy to bicker twice in one morning.”
He shifts and pushes me back gently, to better see my face. His thumbs graze the underside of my jaw. “Gisa?”
“Gisa.” I huff, brushing a wisp of hair out of my face. Without the Silent Stone, my health has vastly improved, down to my nails and hair growing at a normal rate again. Still gray ends, though. That’s never going away. “She keeps bothering me about relocation. Go to Montfort. Leave everything behind.”
“And you told her go ahead, didn’t you?”
I blush scarlet. “It just slipped out! Sometimes . . . I don’t think before I speak.”
He laughs. “What? You?”
“And then Mom took her side, of course, and Dad didn’t take a side at all, playing peacemaker, of course. It’s like”—my breath hitches—“it’s like nothing ever changed. We could have been back in the Stilts, in the kitchen. I guess that shouldn’t bother me so much. In the scheme of things.” Embarrassed, I force myself to look up at Cal. It feels horrible complaining about family to him. But he asked. And it spilled out. He just studies me like I’m battlefield terrain. “This isn’t something you want to think about. It’s nothing.”
His grip on my hand tightens before I can even think to pull away. He knows the way I run. “Actually, I was thinking about all the soldiers I trained with. At the front, especially. I’ve seen soldiers come back whole in body, but missing something else. They can’t sleep or maybe they can’t eat. Sometimes they slide right back into the past—into a memory of battle, triggered by a sound or a smell or any other sensation.”
I gulp and circle my wrist with shaking fingers. Squeezing, I remember the manacles. The touch makes me sick. “Sounds familiar.”
“You know what helps?”
Of course I don’t, or else I’d do it. I shake my head.
“Normalcy. Routine. Talking. I know you don’t exactly like the last one,” he adds, smirking slowly. “But your family just wants you to be safe. They went through hell when you were . . . gone.” He still hasn’t figured out the proper word for what happened to me. Captured or imprisoned doesn’t exactly carry the right weight. “And now that you’re back, they’re doing what anyone would do. They’re protecting you. Not the lightning girl, not Mareena Titanos, but you. Mare Barrow. The girl they know and remember. That’s all.”
“Right.” I nod slowly. “Thanks.”
“So about that talking thing.”
“Oh, come on, right now?”
His grin splits and he laughs, his stomach muscles tensing against me. “Fine, later. After training.”
“You should go shower.”
“Are you kidding? I’m going to be two steps behind you the whole time. You want to train? Then you’re going to train properly.” He pokes me in the small of my back, making me stumble forward. “Come on.”
The prince is incessant, jogging backward until I match his pace. We pass the track, the outdoor obstacle course, a wide field of close-cut grass, not to mention several circles of dirt for sparring and a target range more than a quarter mile long. Some newbloods run the obstacle course and the track, while a few practice alone in the field. I don’t recognize them, but the abilities I see are familiar enough. A newblood akin to a nymph forms columns of clear water before letting them drop to the grass, creating spreading puddles of mud. A teleporter navigates the course with ease. She appears and disappears all over the equipment, laughing at others having a more difficult time. Every time she jumps, my stomach twists, remembering Shade.
The sparring circles unsettle me most of all. I haven’t fought someone for training, for sport, since Evangeline so many months ago. It was not an experience I care to repeat. But I’ll certainly have to.
Cal’s voice keeps me level, drawing my focus back to the task at hand. “I’ll get you on your weights routine starting tomorrow, but today we can jump into target and theory.”
Target I understand. “Theory?”
We stop at the edge of the long range, staring at the mist burning off in the distance.
“You came into Training about a decade late for that. But before our abilities are in fighting form, we spend a lot of time studying our advantages and disadvantages, how to use them.”
“Like nymphs beating burners, water over fire.”
“Sort of. That’s an easy one. But what if you’re the burner?” I just shake my head, and he grins. “See, tricky. Takes a lot of memorization and comprehension. Testing. But you’re going to do this on the fly.”
I forgot how suited to this Cal is. He is a fish in water, at ease, grinning. Eager. This is what he’s good at, what he understands, where he excels. It’s a lifeline in a world that never seems to make any sense.
“Is it too late to say I don’t want to train anymore?”
Cal just laughs, tipping his head back. A bead of sweat rolls down his neck. “You’re stuck with me, Barrow. Now, hit the first target.” He stretches out a hand, indicating a square granite block ten yards away, painted like a bull’s-eye. “One bolt. Dead center.”
Smirking, I do as asked. I can’t miss at this range. A single purple-white bolt streaks through the air and hits home. With a resounding crack, the lightning leaves a black mark in the center of the bull’s-eye.
