Page 85 of The Crowned Queen

“Smart,” Caela agreed with an easy smile. “I’ll be right over there if you change your mind.”

Araya didn’t change her mind that day. Or the next.

She stretched, moving carefully through the patterns Serafina had shown her while doing her best to ignore the curious glances the others gave her. The skin across her upper back pulled, the thick ridges of scar tissue burning every time she pushed herself a little further, holding the position until her muscles shook and sweat beaded on her forehead.

It was nice to have something to do other than lie around all day, waiting for Loren to slide into bed behind her. He was always careful not to wake her, never asking for anything beyond the occasional, chaste kisses he dropped on the back of her neck or her bare shoulder when he thought she was asleep.

She wished he would wake her. Wished he would talk to her—fight with her. But Loren still cradled her like she might splinter in his hands if he held her too tightly.

Araya hated it.

Jaxon had hurt her. Caylin had nearly killed her. But she was not fragile.

So on the third day, when Caela asked if she wanted to spar⁠—

Araya said yes.

That night, she collapsed onto her bedroll, falling asleep before Loren returned. Her back ached, her muscles throbbing from overexertion, but she slept harder than she had in weeks, undisturbed by dreams of towering trees and tangled vines splitting moss-covered marble.

“That’s good,” Caela said, circling her slowly. “But you don’t beat someone bigger by charging straight at them. Let them commit. Then use their size against them. Like this⁠—”

Quick as a snake, Caela caught Araya’s wrist mid-step. Araya twisted, trying to use what she’d learned to pull her arm free, but the other female stepped in instead of back, turning her hips and dropping her weight⁠—

The world spun. Sky. Leaves. A flash of golden hair. Then she hit the ground. Hard.

Araya gasped, all of the air leaving her lungs in a rush. She couldn’t hear anything but a thin, high ringing in her ears, green leaves and golden sunlight swimming in and out of focus far above her.

She breathed in, air filling her lungs in a burning gasp.

“Gods, Caela—” Brynn grabbed her hand, hauling her back to her feet. “You threw her clear across the clearing.”

“I’m fine,” Araya wheezed.

Everyone stared at her as she stood, brushing the dirt off her breeches. Araya rolled her shoulders, testing the pull across her back. It ached—but no more than usual.

“Show me how to do it,” she demanded.

Two days later, she could throw Caela just as far—as long as the other female didn’t try too hard to stop her. Araya collapsed beside her at the edge of the cleared area, old leaves sticking to the sweat cooling on her arms.

“You’re getting good at that.” Caela pushed herself up, grabbing a stick from the ground. “Now—once you have your opponent down, you’ll have maybe two seconds before they recover. That’s when you want to strike.” She jabbed the stick at Araya’s chest. “Don’t go here—you’re not strong enough to push through the bone. You have a better chance here—” Araya grunted as Caela poked her in the stomach “—you don’t need strength or precision to strike a killing blow here. They won’t die immediately, but they won’t be chasing you either.”

Araya batted Caela’s stick away. “Loren will never let me near a fight,” she admitted. “I couldn’t even pick up the sword when he tried to teach me.”

“Well he probably gave you his sword.” Caela flopped down on the ground beside her. “Males are stupid like that. You’d have an easier time with a long knife.” She pulled out her own, flipping it in her grip. “Here—take mine.”

“Oh—” Araya fumbled, almost dropping the blade. “I couldn’t.”

“I insist.” Caela arched her back, groaning as she stretched. “Why didn’t you learn to fight sooner?”

Araya flushed, looking down as she fumbled to tuck the knife into her belt. “I grew up in Kaldrath,” she said. “There weren’t many fights I could win.”

“Caela grew up at Velgrim,” Brynn offered, dropping to the ground beside them. “But Raelle always says she got in tons of fights.”

Naeva snorted. “That’s because she never learned,” she said. “Araya got a waiver to study at the Aetherium. They don’t give those to fae with a reputation for making trouble.”

Araya stroked the little shadow curled around her wrist. Naeva wasn’t wrong. She’d gotten her waiver by being exactly what the Arcanum wanted—meek and grateful for whatever scraps they gave her. But it wasn’t something that made her proud anymore.

“I thought you’d all hate me for that,” Araya admitted, stroking the little shadow curled around her wrist.