Page 4 of The Awakening of Essensia

He was going to kill her. Right here, in front of everyone, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

She raised a palm, as if it could save her from the inevitable blow, slamming her eyes shut as she braced for impact.

The clang of metal rang out.

She opened her eyes, finding a man standing over her, his blade locked fast against Rurik’s. She squinted up at him, spotting a flash of gold at his neck. It was one of the Royal Guards.

She blinked, and Rurik’s sword was in the mud.

“Enough!” Commander Lysander’s voice boomed from across the field.

Rurik stepped back, hatred burning in his eyes, his shoulders heaving as he panted with fury. He spat on the ground then stalked away, leaving Vaelira wondering what she had ever done to deserve the ire of a man she had barely spoken two words to.

Vaelira turned to thank the guard, but all she saw was a broad back retreating to the other side of the field.

Caked in mud and unable to meet the Commander's stare, she struggled to her feet.

Her spine ached and her side throbbed, but the shame burning in her throat hurt worse than either.

2

Spooked

Vaelira jolted awake, clutching the thin mattress beneath her, and for a moment, the world tilted. Light angled through the curtains and onto iron cots that sat in neat rows across the clay tiled floor.

A clay tiled floor that was now spinning.

She dragged herself upright, her breathing unsteady, palms turning clammy.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her midsection screamed in protest. Stiffly, she pulled up the hem of her shirt, revealing angry puckered skin stitched tightly by dark thread. The contrast against her pale skin made bile rise in the back of her throat. The slice of the blade had been bad enough, but Rurik’s kick had done more damage than she’d thought.

Kili had patched her up and ordered her to stay the night, and Vaelira would have been a fool to try to argue with the matron. She had the old woman’s herbal tonic to thank for the nausea, no doubt, but it had allowed her to sleep more peacefully than she would have managed back at the cottage without it, so she wasn’t going to complain.

Vaelira shoved her feet into her worn leather boots as the doors to the sanatorium swung open.

Her brother hurried inside, his thick hair sticking up at odd angles. His hazel eyes, the same as her own, were ringed with shadows, his jaw lined with stubble. Another late night then.

“Lira,” Jon breathed, catching his breath. “You don’t have to do this. You can wait another year. Or come and join me in the orchard.”

Despite the hoarseness in his voice, probably after another night at Polk’s, he sounded hopeful. He always was when broaching the subject, but she knew the attempt was only half-hearted. They’d been having this conversation long enough for it to be anything but.

“I do,” she said, “and I won’t.” She stood, not missing the quick once over he gave her. “I’m fine,” she added, heading for the door.

He hesitated, then followed, his long strides catching up with ease. “What if you fall from your horse because you can’t keep your seat? You could die, Lira.”

“People die every day.”

Jon flinched.

“What I mean,” she continued more carefully, “is that at least this way I can do something about it.”

Jon pushed open the door into the hallway, holding it for her. “It’s not your responsibility. No one would think less of you if you stopped now.”

Vaelira couldn’t help but laugh. “I won’t even be allowed on patrol past the walls until my second year. What could possibly cause me harm here?”

Jon nodded, his jaw tight. “You’re all I’ve got left, Lira. You know that, right? If anything were to happen to you… I couldn’t live with it. Not after everything.”

Vaelira’s heart clenched at the words. “What about that girl you’ve been seeing?”