“Enough.” Gelloren waved his hand, the sleeve of his robe swishing under his thin wrist. “I know very well what you’re capable of, Ivy. Which is why,” he said, picking up the letter that lay facedown on his desk and then handing it to me, “I will not allow just any prince to be at your side. You must be protected.”
For I am a powerful weapon in the Royal Arsenal.
The letter was from a Master Mage of the Saevall Castle in the West. Quickly, I scanned the neat, tiny handwriting, and my knees started to bounce. Not with anxiety or nerves. But with excitement. “They’re sending reinforcements? To Myria?”
Gelloren nodded. “I wrote to Saevall last month, explaining that we had lost a few of our best Royals to the Forces. They’ve responded by sending us a generous reinforcement from their own Legion.”
I frowned. “Are you sure they can afford that?”
“We’re much worse off than they are.”
It was true. Myria was the northernmost kingdom, sitting on the outskirts of the Galedral Forest and the Wu-Hyll Mountains, which were said to be the birthplace of some of the Forces’ most powerful creatures.
“I’ve been told one prince in particular is especially promising,” Gelloren continued.
But I stopped listening. I was too busy reading the bottom line of the letter. Expect their arrival on the morning of the fifteenth day of spring.
Tomorrow. Help would be arriving tomorrow, along with a prince who could get me back on the battlefield.
Chapter
Four
Reinforcements
After taking a pain-relieving potion for my legs from Ulfia, who had done nothing but scowl and mutter something about stubborn idiots while she prepared it, I spent the rest of the day on the training grounds. Bromley had followed to help me spar. Although I’d never asked him to—he gladly attended fighting lessons and trained beside me. At fourteen, he wasn’t at full height or strength, but he was quick and a fast learner. Ever since I had threatened to dismiss him from my service for going easy on our fights, our sparring sessions were always interesting, though he rarely won.
Today was no different. I threw my shield up in front of my face as the wooden blade of Brom’s practice sword came straight for my head. I shoved against his sword with my shield, and the “blade” thumped down the side. Grunting, I pivoted, my sword swinging toward Brom’s side when his shield came down to meet me. Before he could counter, my legs gave way, and I was down on the grass, staring up at the sky and grimacing.
Bromley’s head poked into the corner of my vision. “Milady?”
“Blasted son of a wraith.” I pounded the pommel of my sword into the grass.
“Miss Ulfia did say the potion would take away the pain, but not the effects of the curse,” Bromley said as he took a seat beside me.
“I know,” I muttered, dropping my sword and stretching my fingers out to the sun, releasing the built-up tension. The light around my hand made it hard to see Kellian’s mark of partnership, although I knew it was there—seared into my skin until the unbinding ritual was performed. Mentally, I wasn’t yet prepared for another, but I’d have to do it.
Removing his mark was like giving up. Giving up another prince and another friend, and admitting I hadn’t been strong enough to protect him. And that maybe I would never be.
Stop, Ivy. I folded my arm over my eyes, blocking out the sunlight.
“Maybe we should get to supper. I heard there’s roasted pheasant with kasper-mint jelly.”
“Not hungry,” I said, even as my stomach growled.
Brom lay down beside me and sighed. “Did Master Gelloren say you wouldn’t be getting another partner? Because you know…maybe now would be a good time to rest. I mean you’re just getting out of this locking curse and—”
“No,” I said sharply. Brom was always trying to find ways to keep me out of battle. Usually I never got mad at him, because I knew he did it out of worry. But today was not the day to bring up the idea of resting. Not after a failed revival Kiss. “I’ll have another partner soon enough.”
Bromley shifted on his side, and I peeked at him from under my arm. “Really?” he asked. “Who? Amias?”
I sat up on my elbows, following Bromley’s gaze to a group of older princes sparring. Amias was among them, his black hair shining in the late afternoon sun. I could almost smell his sweat. I knew his scent and the heat of his breath too well. We’d Kissed many times during practices and skirmishes when both of us were in between partners, but the Council had never deemed us compatible.
The biggest reason being that Amias was only a half prince. His mother was a queen, but his father was a blacksmith in the lower towns. This would be reason enough not to be paired with him, but nowadays half princes actually ranked pretty high compared to quarters, eighths—even twelfths. Plus, he was naturally good with a blade—he never worked very hard at it—and with my Kiss, he’d be truly fearsome. It was also no secret that Amias wanted a direct descendant of Myriana at his side to give him more power and prestige.
I lay back down, returning my arm over my eyes. “No. Not Amias. Never Amias.” If we became partners it would turn into a competition. Each of us trying to use the other for our own gain. We were too similar, and that was dangerous.
“Roland?”
“Roland and Minnow have been partners for three years, and their partnership is one of the strongest in the Legion. I could never split them up.” Partners could be shuffled around for a number of different reasons: princesses were shipped off to Freida, or one too many mistakes in battle caused the Council to question their compatibility, or partners who simply never got up again…like mine. But severing a partnership bond was a painful procedure for both parties, so the Council avoided it when possible.
“The Council could do it to guarantee you a good partner,” Brom pushed.
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter, Brom.” I lowered my arm and told him about the Saevallans’ impending arrival.
“You’ll be getting a Saevallan prince?” Brom asked with wide eyes.
The castle stretched above us, with its stone towers and battlements and Myrian flags flapping in the wind. Myria Castle was an ancient structure, but stronger and more formidable than any other in the four kingdoms—even Saevall, the kingdom built from golden sandstone.
“There’s no one left here.”
Brom went quiet. Then he tugged my sleeve. “Speaking about nothing being left, we might not even make dessert at this point, and I’m dying for some gingerberry tarts.”
I smiled for the first time that day and waved my hands toward his face. “Come on then, help me up.”
…
My quarters were not grand. When I was very young, living with my mother and Clover in the kingdom of Freida, I had a fancy room with velvet drapes and silk embroidered cushions. That was before I started training at the Legion. Since then, I had lived in a quaint room with a bookshelf, a desk, a single bed, a window, and another adjoining room with my bath. The floors were stone, decorated with woven rugs. My only wall ornamentation was a tapestry depicting the Wu-Hyll Mountains, big purple-and-white monstrosities, with the green threads of the Galedral Forest at their base. There was a sunset right behind the mountains, making the purple peaks stand out like sharp shadows against the sunset’s warm colors.
It was this tapestry that I was staring at—that I was always staring at—when my two younger sisters barged into my quarters.
“Ivy! How are your legs? Is the curse completely gone?” Colette hurried over and hopped onto the foot of my bed, while Robin took a seat in my desk chair.
I smiled at my little sisters and hugged the pillow tighter to my chest. “Gone enough.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come see you earlier. Queen Jocelyn had me going over the spell behind a freezing Kiss.” Colette was my half sister from the same mother. With golden hair and deep blue eyes, she kept growing lovelier, and she was only a nine-year-old, just beginning her training at the Legion.
“Those are basic. How could it take you all that time?” Robin asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder.