Chapter 46
46
LECTURE NOTES FROM SPELLCASTING AND CURATION:
Astral Projection is a far worse spell. Not only does it play tricks on the eyes, but it’s impenetrable. There’s no stopping the spellcaster unless their body is found. Due to its nefarious nature, it’s strictly forbidden.
T hessa pivoted, dodging Soren’s blow, and kicked his stomach. He curled on impact while simultaneously grabbing her foot. She was hopping, hopping … she was down.
At least all the dirt and dead leaves had softened her landing.
“For someone so concerned about my leg, it doesn’t seem like it.” He didn’t need to know it was feeling good today.
Soren bent over her, offering his hand. “We’re running out of time, and you’ve hardly trained in combat.”
She took it and stood.
“Don’t kick unless it’s below arms reach, or your opponent is facing the other way.” Soren stepped farther back and said, “Unsheathe your blade.”
Thessa bent down and freed the dagger from her boot. Poised and ready she asked, “Where would you like to be scarred, general?”
He smirked, charging her without warning.
Thessa bent her knees, preparing to strike until her head whipped to the right and her blade was on the floor. Soren had driven his palm into the side of her face, while blocking her striking arm.
“Now what?” he asked.
Stuck between his arms, she answered with a question, “I die?”
“Thessa.” He shook his head and released his counter-attack. “Never hesitate. It gives your opponent the chance to disarm you. If someone’s charging at you, run to meet them. Make them think you’re mad. Dodge at the last second to regain the advantage.” He picked up her blade, handing it back. “Try it again,” he said, flicking his hand in silent command.
Thessa had left a decent gap between them before bolting. She ran hard, meeting him in the middle, but not before dipping down and barreling into his knees.
Soren tumbled over her, groaning. “That works too.”
Before he could find his footing, she slammed her body onto his back, thrusting her dagger into the crease of his neck. “Do you yield?”
He huffed a laugh, and then they were both laughing. She rolled off him, placing her palm beneath her ear to rest. Soren shifted to his side, meeting her.
“I’m not a fighter,” she pleaded.
“If I’m not mistaken, you’ve been fighting one battle or another your entire life. ”
She blushed beneath the moonlight, unsure how he managed to truly see her.
“Get up, we're doing it again,” he said, rising in one swift motion.
For three hours Thessa was ducking, pivoting, and rolling. She figured out how to wiggle out of most holds, and even managed to stab Soren in the arm. By the time she’d landed in their tent, her eyes slapped shut.
The next morning, Thessa and Soren had taken Hades and Ares on a leisure ride to clear their heads. While tying them back up with the other horses, an unfamiliar rider trotted into camp—appearing from thin air.
The bright sun gave her a clear picture of his ice-blue eyes, a vivid contrast to his complexion, which was as dark as the night itself.
“Christof, welcome.” Soren called out, marching toward him. “Your tracking skills are remarkable, as always.”
This is Eiliana’s father.
Transfixed, Thessa leaned into Hades’ sturdy rear, observing their exchange. As Christof dismounted, his black cloak flowed to the ground. “General Whitfield, nice to see you this far north.”
“If it were under better circumstances, I’d be quicker to agree,” Soren responded.
She’d known the council meeting was soon, but she hadn’t realized it entailed the entire council.
“Indeed.” Christof’s hard features softened as he said, “We’re very sorry to hear about your mother, be sure our soldiers are ready and willing to fight in her honor.”
The bob in Soren’s throat was visible from afar. Not once had he stopped to mourn his mother, not unless killing several Elementals Soldiers counted for something.
Most likely to change the subject, he asked, “Cloaking Spell?”
“Does the trick in a pinch.”
Soren looked over his shoulder and gestured her over. “I’d like you to meet someone.”
Thessa waved, stepping forward.
“Christof, this is Thessa, she’ll be joining our meeting. You’ve met her friends, yes?”
She brushed a hand along Soren’s back, the touch as soothing as steel, and asked, “Please tell me they’re doing okay?”
Christof nodded by way of greeting. “The Celestials are fine, training mostly.” He looked to Soren and added, “Wayland’s blade skills are remarkable; he’s been training our combat unit.”
Questions danced on the tip of her tongue, but Christof moved on to talk strategy with Soren. As a flock of children flew past them, Soren said, “Let’s continue this conversation elsewhere.” He tied Christof’s horse off with the others and spun around. “Follow us.”
Inside the tent set up for council, Thessa took her seat across from a golden-eyed male she’d not recognized. He was seated beside Brenneth, who was next to Sila and Jussal.
Sila gave a brief introduction. “Sinclaire, this is Thessa, Thessa meet Sinclaire—head of weaponry.”
Jussal added, “He’s spent centuries crafting daggers. Every blade in this camp has crossed his hands.”
Thessa’s ears twitched. She ogled the smith with a glint of admiration. “If you need my assistance with anything, I’m happy to help,” she offered.
Clearing his throat, Soren sat beside her .
Still fixated on Sinclaire, Thessa held tight for his response.
Sinclaire asked, “You know your way around a blade?”
Soren shot a heated look towards Sinclaire, then back to Thessa—she ignored him. “Very much so. I’ve taken the Art of Blacksmithing I, II, and III—by choice.” Thessa bent down to unsheathe her blade, then slid it across the table. “I made this in six hours.”
His roughened hands handled her dagger delicately, tracing every groove with his fingertip. It reminded her of Professor Shovak’s ministrations. Thessa waited earnestly for his approval, scanning every line of his face until finally, his eyes flicked up to hers.
Passing her dagger back, the corner of his mouth curved upward. “It’s well made.”
Thessa beamed.
Sinclaire’s foxlike eyes glimmered with interest. “I could—” he started, until he met Soren’s lethal stare and quieted.
Thessa grimaced, knocking her knee into his. What’s your problem?
Soren’s jaw was working. I’m not sharing you, Thessa.
Her cheeks burned.
Christof interrupted their voiceless conversation, his eyes darting back and forth between them. “Are you two, together?”
They’d never talked about what they were, so that answer was a no .
“Yes,” Soren said. The word had come out crisp and clean.
Thessa swallowed. We need to talk.
Later.
Lips smashed, she held her tongue. This was the last place she wanted to discuss the matter anyway.
She was no mood-reader but the shift in Christof’s expression was undeniable. His ocean eyes were muddied with discontent. After an indiscernible noise, he looked to Jussal. “Let’s begin, shall we?”
“Son.” Jussal gestured to Soren.
Exhaling something other than pure air, Soren began, “Tomorrow can go one of two ways. The Supremes can take an overdue stance against their own brutality, or we can continue the hundred-year cycle and fight for our freedom. It’s their choice to make.”
“Choice?” Christof questioned him.
Thessa eyed Soren before addressing the table. “The general and I have gone back and forth on the matter, but we’re in agreement. I’ll be speaking with the Supremes first.”
A sharp, intimidating laugh escaped Christof. “Do you wish to die?”
Soren had warned her the council would consider her mad for trying, but she’d made up her mind. He let out a low growl in her defense and said, “If we need to remind them of what wicked, dark things are waiting in the woods, Christof, we’ll do just that.”
Thessa cut in, “Eiliana’s Astral Projection Spell will help me not die , actually.” She’d perform the spell while Soren watched over her body.
Christof went still, his eyes bouncing to Soren. “So you finally found her grimoire?”
“It was Thessa who found it.”
“It’s a long story,” Thessa said, “but your daughter was brilliant.”
Christof grumbled, “Sometimes. Other times, foolish enough to get herself killed.”
Soren’s nostrils flared as wide as his eyes.
Thessa pressed a reassuring palm onto his thigh before speaking. “Fear isn’t something I’ll let trap me anymore.” She eyed Soren before continuing. “I say it’s worth a try.”
His hand drifted atop hers and squeezed.
Jussal spoke. “She’s right.” His tone was bright. “It’s a chance worth taking. Thessa, when will you depart?”
“Tomorrow, at sunrise.”
Christof shook his head. “This will only give them time to prepare.”
“They’ve had decades to prepare,” Soren said coldly. “And so have we.”
“So what’s your plan, general?” The disrespect in Christof’s tone was not lost on Thessa.
“We’ll be ready if Thessa’s discussion goes awry. Hiding is what we do best, so we’ll show them how well we do it. He took his finger to the map before him—an outline of the capital. Thessa recognized every corner. “All of our soldiers will make their way toward the gates and wait in these alleyways while Thessa performs the spell.”
Brenneth nodded while rubbing a hand over his fist.
“Hardly inconspicuous, General Whitfield.” Christof’s tone was bold, as usual.
“Which is where this comes in,” Soren countered, sliding Eiliana’s Illusion Spell toward him. “Masking not only shape, but size, will be advantageous to hide us properly. Here’s your copy.”
Christof countered, “Fire won’t protect an Illusion Spell.”
Jussal grinned. “That’s where Thessa comes in.”
“I can’t protect everyone,” she interjected.
Christof scrunched his face at Jussal. “What does the female have to offer?”
Soren stood, slapping both his hands on the fresh-cut table. “Her. Name. Is. Thessa.”
Thessa’s eyes bulged. Sit, please .
He didn’t. Soren glared at the leader of the northern rebellion with an obsidian storm brewing in his eyes.
Brenneth palmed his face.
Soren spoke through his teeth. “If you have a question, you may ask her directly.”
Christof swallowed before shifting his gaze to Thessa. “My apologies, Thessa.” His words held reluctance, but they landed. “What is it you do?”
Only once she accepted his apology had Soren been willing to slide to his seat. From that moment on, his eyes never left Christof.
“My shadows don’t yield to flame,” Thessa said.
A single dark eyebrow on Christof rose sky-high. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” Soren hissed.
“Interesting.” Christof’s tone was skeptical. “We’ll see how well then, won’t we?” He stood, disdain stitching his brows. “If there’s nothing more to discuss, consider the northern rebellion ready for battle, we’ll be waiting in the alleyways at first light.”
“Sinclaire has your weapons.” Soren jerked his head toward the silent daggersmith, an unspoken order to retrieve them.
Sinclaire obliged, scurrying out of the tent like he was on fire.
“I’ll show you to Sinclaire’s tent,” Brenneth offered Christof, escorting him through the flaps.
“Well, that went well,” Sila muttered with sarcasm.
“Sila, dear.” Jussal reached for her hand. “There’s much to do. And son … save that temper for our true enemies.”
“Thessa,” Sila said. “Thank you for trying to speak with them first. It’s very brave of you.”
“I’ll try my best. ”
When Thessa and Soren were left alone, she rolled her eyes and started, “You remind me of a child sometimes.”
His jaw clenched. “Christof has me on edge.”
“I’m aware. Everyone is aware.”
“And I learn you have a thing for daggersmiths?”
She scoffed. “Daggers, Soren. Not the smiths.”
He quirked a brow. “Sharp objects, is it?”
“I like those fangs of yours, don’t I?” She winked for the first time in years.
He leaned closer, swiping his tongue across them. Her body pulsed when he did that.
Soren smirked. “I thought you were angry.”
I am.
Your eyes are telling me otherwise.
Scowling, she said, “Why’d you tell Christof we were together?” As if a council meeting was the best time to define their relationship.
“Are we not?”
“We never talked about it.”
Soren moved closer, hovering his lips an inch before hers. “If I haven’t made myself clear, Thessa. I want nothing but you.”
With her heart practically thumping out of her chest, she said, “Then, I suppose, we’re in agreement,” and her mouth met his. It was a simple, yet defining kiss.
“Come on,” he said smiling, “I’ll show you to Sinclaire’s tent.”
Thessa squealed.