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“Your weapon is lagging behind,” Marcellus said. “Do it again.”

Thicket dug the tip of the blade into the earth, slumping over it.

“Come on, Princess. You’re almost done.” He said it as though she weren’t already on the brink of death.

After sending Bayo off with the letters to Caspian, Marcellus took her for a light jog to warm up. A jog that lasted half an hour and only ended when Thicket tripped, falling face first into the dirt. He then led her through a series of exercises that set her body on fire. Somehow, she had made it to the last rep before collapsing once more, relief at having survived making her body go limp. But Marcellus hadn’t been done with her yet. He poked her with the sheathe of his sword and told her to practice the movements she had learned yesterday—this time with the heavy steel of his blade. Over and over and over, critiquing every last flaw. The problem was, the more she did, the less feeling she had in her body. The less feeling she had in her body, the more she messed up. It was a never-ending cycle of torment.

Thicket tried again, stepping hard, planting her foot, and swinging faster. The blade moved with more force than she could control and she teetered forward on her toes, fighting for balance.

“Focus, Princess. If you keep doing it wrong, you’re going to develop habits that are hard to break.”

Thicket gritted her teeth, pushing past the pain and discomfort. He was right. She didn’t have time to keep making the same mistakes. She adopted her stance and readjusted her grip. This time, she envisioned not just the movement Marcellus had shown her—but what it felt like. The activation of her muscles, the shift of her body as she found her center balance. Then, she lunged, slicing through the air in a perfect arc. This time, her feet remained steady.

Marcellus gave her a single nod. “Good. We’ll stop there for today.”

“Thank the chalices.” Thicket flopped onto the ground, relishing the feeling of not moving.

“Stand up,” he said.

“But I thought we were done?”

“We are, but you need to walk it off or you’ll make yourself lightheaded. And if you are too stationary now, the muscle cramps will be worse tomorrow.”

Thicket groaned inwardly. She was terrified to imagine how sore she was going to be later, but in this exact moment standing up seemed like an impossible task.

Marcellus squatted so they were eye level with one another. Thicket’s heart tripped. From this close, she noticed a ring of lighter brown in the center of his otherwise dark eyes. They appeared softer than usual. Still sharp and borderline intimidating, yet a bit looser around the corners.

It was ruined when his lips tilted and he asked, “Would you like me to carry you?”

An embarrassed flush swept across her cheeks. “O-of course not!”

He tilted his head. “Then why are you still on the ground?”

Thicket steadied herself on the palm of her hands. Her body felt no better than a strung out wash cloth. She gathered her remaining strength and fought to shift to a position that would allow her to stand.

Marcellus grabbed his sword and stood, knees popping. After sliding it into its sheathe, he extended a hand out to her. “Come on,” he said. “We are going to squeeze every minute out of these last four days. By the time you leave this farmhouse, you will actually stand a fighting chance.”

You’re right. You’re not capable of beating your sister. But that doesn’t mean you won’t be.

Determination flared inside her, smothering her exhaustion beneath its fiery waves. She clasped Marcellus’ hand and let him haul her to her feet.

The tall, dry grass of the surrounding meadow swished against Thicket’s legs as they made their way back to the farmhouse. Wagons rattled along the dirt roads, heading towards the numerous fields and orchards. Gray mist hovered above them. It took Thicket a moment to identify what it was.

Rain. Manmade rain, the only thing bringing life to this side of the Outskirts.

“All of Bilya used to be like this,” Marcellus said, following her gaze. “Open land and more fertile soil than we knew what to do with. The Plaza was always there, however it acted as a mere trading post for farmers to sell their crops. The town itself had a few necessary shops, restaurants, and inns to cater to travelers who needed a place to stay, but life was slower. Calmer. Now, all that remains of what it had once been is this small stretch. They do their best to water it every day to keep the soil from growing too dry, but there’s only so much energy they can expend.”

Thicket’s chest tightened. Like the land, the people were a husk of what they once were. There was no simple solution or spell to fix that.

A screech pierced the sky, sending a tremor ripping down Thicket’s spine. She knew that sound.

It was the caw of a blue jay.

“Are we being attacked?” Thicket asked, heart pumping mercilessly.

She wasn’t ready. She needed more time. She should still have more time.

“Relax, Princess,” Marcellus said. “Your sister isn’t the only one who uses blue jays for communication.” He held his arm out and the blue jay glided down, landing gracefully across his wrist. It hopped in place for a second, head jerking to the side to peer at them from its glossy black eyes. Then, it opened its beak and Caspian’s voice poured out.