Page 58 of Where We Belong

“Anyway,” she waves a hand toward the forge. “He insisted on setting the stones in the hilt himself, the old-fashioned way. I corrected some parts, but...well, do you love it?”

“I do!” I quickly add, “I really do. It’s incredible, so beautiful. Thank you both.”

Kaed walks straight out of the hut. Eira snorts. “And then he does that.” My heart sinks, watching him disappear into the training ring. “He’s taking this whole thing with Nyk quite badly.”

“Yeah, but he put a lot of effort into your sword. I think it distracted him for a little while.” She drags a damp cloth across a surface.

“It really is gorgeous,” I say, admiring the beautiful piece of murder art in my hand.

She nudges me toward the door. “Now, go and fuck him up with it.”

“Wonderful idea. See you at lunch.” I blow her a kiss.

I whirl the sword around my head the way I’ve seen Nyk do, nearly clipping a soldier in the process. My cheeks flush hot as I blurt an apology, then grip the hilt properly, biting back a grin I can’t quite hide. This is so personal, and there’s nothing I love more than feeling known. Kaed once used his hands to break me, and now, just like he promised, he uses them to heal me. From the smoke butterflies, black as night, that slip under my bungalow door each morning and settle on my nose or shoulder, to the way he lifts me when I’m injured, cleaning my scrapes and wiping my tears. Even the way he piles food onto my plate, like he’s making sure I never go without again. I can’t help but smile when I see him. Arms crossed, his golden gaze sweeps over me before settling on my face. Amedeo isn’t broken. My soul burns for the Captain. And my body. He told me to be honest with myself, and the way I feel about Kaed is included.

“Hold it properly.”

His voice brushes against my ears and my body stands at attention. I hate when he does that, projects his voice like he’s right there next to me—no, I love when he does that. I just hate what it does to me when I’m trying to focus. I hold the sword in both hands like I’m presenting it back to him. “How’s this, oh wise instructor?”

He chuckles, a tiny one, but still more than I’ve heard in weeks. Then, he crouches down slightly, meeting my gaze with an intensity that makes me forget what I was going to say. “You don’t know how to handle a sword, pretty girl?”

My cheeks heat. “You know I do.” I adjust my grip.

“Mmm, could use a little work. I’ll teach you.” His voice is rough and teasing. “Let’s see how you handle this.”

He draws his weapon. His sword bent into a perfect arc, split at the end like a serpent’s tongue. I barely have time to adjust my feet before he strikes. The force of the impact rattles through my arms. My fingers tighten around the hilt and my legs brace against the dirt when I skid backwards.

“What the hell? I don’t know how to use this yet.”

He gives me no time to recover before another strike comes, even harder. I barely get my sword up in time, the impact sends a jolt up my arms. “Kaed! That’s too hard!” I grit my teeth, retreating another step.

“Do you think whoever it is that wants you dead will hit you softly?” He swings again. “Do you think that if the Chasm opens, the Mer Army will wait for you to hold your sword properly?” And again. And again.

My arms burn. I am quick, but he is a beast. His movements are fluid, like water flowing down a stream. He isn’t even trying and still, he’s overwhelming me. “Wait, just—wait!”

“There will be no waiting.” Another strike. Heavier this time. Dust kicks up beneath my feet.

He’s taking his shit out on me, and now I’m pissed.

“Stop!”

A sharp heat ignites at the top of my head, spreading down my neck like fire. The air around me pulses, thick with electricity. No. Magic. I swing my sword as hard as I can and the moment our weapons clash, a shockwave bursts between us. White hot. Behind my eyes, an image flickers, so vivid it’s as if I’m there.

Younger Kaed, shoulder-length hair damp with sweat, moving in sync with a younger Nyk. They’re fighting someone. Is that Amedeo? Half of Nyk’s face is shredded, crimson pours down his chest. Kaed desperately tries to bind Amedeo with his smoke, but the tendrils writhe in his grip as if they have a life of their own.

The image shatters and there’s barely time to catch my breath before our swords clash again. Another surge of energy jolts through me. Young Kaed again. Sitting cross-legged in front of two graves, hands caked in dirt and fingers bleeding, as if he’d been clawing at the earth in his grief. His hazel eyes are dull and empty, and the tattoos on his cheeks raw, edged with pink. The names on the graves disappear before I can read them, but somehow I know they’re his parents. I swing at him, desperate to push this thing out of my head, but another image crashes into me like a Tsunami.

This time it’s my old bedroom in the palace. The dimming Core filters through the window. And there, on his knees, is Kaed, much older now. A woman sits on the edge of the bed, her fingers tangled in his long, dark hair, pulling him closer. His head is buried between her thighs, pulling soft, breathy moans from her while she clutches at him. Long nails dig into his neck, blood trickling into his collar, but he doesn’t seem to notice as his fingers press into her hips, completely lost in her. My stomach drops as the woman tilts her head back in ecstasy, red curls cascading down her bare back. The vision rips away, and I stagger back, dropping my sword on the floor.

“Pick it up,” Kaed demands. His chest heaving. “Pick it up, Ashley.”

Panting, I clutch my ribs. “You and Aidens mother?”

His jaw flexes, just slightly. So, it’s true. I stare at him, heart hammering. “Kaed?”

“What are you talking about?” His voice is too careful.

“I saw it. When our swords touched. You and her. In her room. On her bed.”