30

A new day has come, and I don’t know how long I’ve slept. Veril has left three crabapples on the windowsill, and on the bedroom chair, two clean pairs of black breeches, a gold-colored cloak, gold-colored gloves, two tunics, one white, one black, and a pair of black suede boots that may actually fit.

I smile, and a sigh escapes my lips—my gauze remains pristine. The skin near my hip still pulls if I take deep breaths—but the scabs there as well as the long ones along my leg are close to falling off. Which means my time here in this cottage has ended. I’ll miss these peaceful gardens, the order, the warm hearth and clean quilts. The quiet.

Once dressed, I limp outside, squinting in the light from the daystar. Its warmth, though, feels good against my face.

Notes from Veril’s fife drift from one side of the garden behind the cottage. Jadon has revived the old man’s small, neglected forge on the other side of the garden. Something hard-looking glows orange in the furnace.

Sanding down a piece of wood, Jadon flashes me a smile and tosses the small wooden thing on the table. He meets my eyes and doesn’t turn away. “I had to ask those questions.”

What if you’re already in love?

What if Before Kai doesn’t want the same things that Now Kai wants?

“And I’m sorry.” He steps toward me. “I hope you believe that.” When I don’t respond, he sighs. “Please say something.”

Say what? That his rejection made me feel like the last slice of moldy bread? Even thinking about it makes my mouth bunch and my skin burn with embarrassment.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to.” Jadon takes another step closer. “You know that I did. It was obvious that I did. I’m not some delicate flower, but the real reason I couldn’t… It’s because…” He pushes out a breath and blurts, “We’d be fucking in that old man’s bed, which…” He shudders.

A laugh bursts from my mouth, and I clamp my hand over my lips.

“That was crass,” he says with a shrug, “but honest.”

“When you say it like that…” I lower my hand, and more laughter escapes.

“Right?” He winces. “And once you think about it, you can’t not think about it.”

I snicker, then close my eyes, taking deep breaths.

“Hey,” he whispers, “look at me.”

I do, and my head swims as I meet his sincere gaze.

“Anywhere. In a barn. On a boat. In a garden, maybe this garden. Anywhere except—”

“Veril’s bed.”

He snorts a laugh. “Mmhmm.”

Self-doubt still lingers in my heart. “The questions you asked were fair.”

He nods. “I don’t want to give you my all when, in the end, you’ll discover that you actually do have someone in your before-time who loves you and misses you.”

We rest our eyes on each other, and he says, “Let’s get back to where we were, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He rubs his hands together. “So, what do you want to work on today?”

“Weapons,” I say, rolling up my sleeves. “But remember that I can’t do too much. Don’t wanna pull, break, or snap something that just healed.”

“We’ll go easy.” He heads to a cleared area ringed by workbenches and sawhorses, bales of hay, and the saddest-looking straw man in the realm. “I was thinking about you this morning.”

Still limping a bit, I join him. “What were you thinking about ?”

“I was thinking that maybe you’d enjoy meeting my swords.”

I stretch my arms across my chest. “I’m very eager to meet your swords.”

He points at me. “Prepare to be amazed.”

How long have I waited to meet his sword? Since the day we met, right before Narder decided to throw me in the clink. So much has happened since market day.

“Before we begin,” I say now, shaking a finger at Jadon, “let’s be clear. I may not remember my home, but I know that I’m very familiar with battle. If I’m a little awkward, it’s because I’ve been wounded. Or because I don’t know how to handle your specific…”

“Sword.” Chin high, he says, “It will be the best sword you’ll ever hold in your hand.”

Delight ripples through me as I slowly turn one ankle and then the other in a circle. “Only one hand?”

“Two, but I didn’t want to brag.” Jadon gives me a crooked smile. “Just as you requested, we’ll go slow—I don’t want to hurt you. And sometimes, slow is best. Once you’re stronger, we’ll go faster.” He tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow. “Fast or slow, you won’t leave disappointed.”

My pulse quickens, and my body heats. “That was a brag.”

“Yeah, it was.”

He takes my hands and kisses them both. “Are we okay?”

“Are we?” I teeter, my legs threatening to quit me as his soft lips linger on my skin.

He winks, then nods at the worktable and the four weapons that will push me closer to regaining my strength and dexterity. “So,” he says, squeezing my hands one last time, “your natural weapons are—”

“These.” I waggle my reclaimed fingers.

“When you tried to push wind but couldn’t, how did your hands feel?”

“Cold. I tried rubbing them together, willing them to work, but they refused.”

“And when they finally worked, what were the conditions? How were you feeling?”

I think back to those times my hands burned—the fight with the emperor’s men, the fights with the otherworldly, and when Johny and his friends attacked me. “I felt threatened. I was angry. I feared for the lives of others.”

“Have you been angry before and your hands didn’t work?”

I cock my head to think about it. “Yes.”

“Were you wearing your amulet?”

“Yes. Each time.”

He rubs his chin, thinking. “Hmm.”

“We’ll test it again once I find my amulet—not that I’m anxious to skirmish with another man or beast again, but if I do, I’ll pay attention.”

Jadon picks up the first weapon on the worktable. It has a long wood shaft with a cone-shaped head made of iron. “This isn’t mine—found it while cleaning up this forge. You should get to know it. A mace.” He hands it to me. “Good for heavy blows, but it doesn’t penetrate armor.”

“Heavy but not impossible,” I say, handing it back.

“Think you used one before?”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t feel like something I would’ve used, but I’m open to new experiences.”

He lifts an amused eyebrow— really? —as he leads me to the straw man. My face heats at his playfulness.

“Meet Bronie. He won’t be with us for long.” He swings the mace and hits the straw man with an oomph . He does it again, moving like the wind. “Now, you try. Slowly . You don’t have to impress me right now.”

Arms looser, I take a deep breath and swing—and the damned thing almost flies out of my hands. I swing again and again.

“Control the weapon by controlling your abdomen,” Jadon suggests.

Yep. My abdominal muscles warm as straw flies from Bronie with each blow.

Interesting.

He holds out a dagger. “Your last-resort weapon.”

The dagger’s grip is wine-colored, well-seasoned leather interspersed with copper tacks, and the blade is engraved with hexagons.

“This is one of mine,” Jadon says, “but now, I gift it to you.”

“Really?” A crest of gratitude sweeps through me like warm tea as I turn the weapon in my hands. “It’s beautiful. Did you make it?”

“Yep,” he says, shoulders squared. “Daggers are used for grappling. For puncturing armor. For making someone scream for mercy. Plain edge. Easier to sharpen. Makes clean cuts.”

The dagger feels as light as a large apple in my hand. When I stick Bronie where his heart would be, the jab feels personal, like I knew this straw man—he stole my birthright and all my money and refuses to give any of it back, then yells “mudscraper” at me before sticking his tongue down my lover’s throat. Yeah, I like this dagger.

“I don’t know how I know this,” I say, “but where I came from, we name our weapons as a show of respect.”

“Where I’m from, we do, too.” Jadon taps the dagger. “She has no name, so it’s up to you to name her whatever feels right.”

“I’ll call her…” I hold up the small knife. “Little Lava.”

Jadon crosses his arms and leans against the worktable. “Little Lava? Why?”

“Because she brings the heat. Just like me.”

“And the heat you bring is well-appreciated.” He selects the next weapon, handing me the longsword. “Let’s try this, Hotness. The second-best sword in Vallendor.”

This weapon weighs as much as a bag of potatoes, and its blade is as black as night.

“I’ve already named her Fury,” he says, running his finger along the sharp edge.

Intricate etchings of moths flit along the black leather handle and across the hilt. A black stone sits in the middle of the circular pommel.

“Steel blade painted black,” Jadon points out, “so that it won’t reflect light. You don’t want the enemy to know you’ve arrived. The black stone is onyx, just like the moth’s thorax of your amulet.”

“I noticed,” I say, smiling. “I’m impressed. She’s lovely.”

“Your hands go here.” Jadon taps the bottom of the sword’s grip. “Not here.”

“This sword feels like…” My fingers circle the grip. “Like it was created for my hand and only my hand.”

“Maybe it was.” He takes a step back.

Maybe? No. Definitely . I’ve already claimed it—he just doesn’t know yet.

“Play with it,” he says. “It’s yours.”

Shit. Maybe he does. Did he create this specifically for me?

I hold his gaze, and then I swing the sword once, then two more times. Fury is a perfect fit. For my hand. For me.

“You like that?” he asks.

“Can’t you tell?” I ask, grinning.

“Well, you’re kinda quiet,” he says, an eyebrow lifted.

This man… He will be the death of me. My entire body hums with adrenaline. “Give me something to hit, then.”

“When you’re ready,” he says, grinning, “I will. Until then… Good range. Easy to use. Balanced.”

“Any disadvantages?” I ask, swinging the sword again.

From behind, he taps my feet apart for a wider stance, and I can feel the heat rolling off his body. “Since it’s long, it’s not great for walking around, so you should use a scabbard and wear it on your back. I have one for you.”

He reaches around and runs his finger along the hilt, and I tremble as his warm breath fans across the back of my neck. “Since I knew that I’d be giving this to you,” he says, tracing that finger along the black blade, “I carved the moths last night. Again, like your amulet. In case you never find her, these moths will be a reminder of your power.”

I can’t take my eyes away from the moths etched across the sword’s body. “Beautiful and thoughtful. I love it, Jadon. Thank you.” Something beyond appreciation threads through me. Because I can appreciate anyone. But this buzzing and crackling, my burning skin, the buzz of every nerve in my body—this is for him. I’m ready to act too quickly. I’m ready to make the wrong decisions.

He folds his arms and sighs. “It’s nothing.”

But I know he doesn’t believe that. It’s everything. I can tell from the way his hands travel from one place on his body to the next, by the way he opens and closes his fingers because he wants to grip me. I can tell by the way he watches me, by the way his eyes linger on my ass.

I want to reach for him, but I hesitate. What if I’m wrong again?

He’s hesitant, too, lowering his gaze to the dirt and scratching the stubble on his chin. “We should move on, yeah?”

“Yeah.” I run my fingers over the carved moths as I set Fury back on the table, then point to the broadsword. “That can’t possibly be for me.”

It’s as tall as Olivia. With its wide, shiny silver blade and massive basket hilt, the two-handed sword looks as though it could slice Bronie in half with one swing.

“ This ,” he says, smiling, “is the best sword in Vallendor, and it belongs to me. Try it out.” He plops down in the straw that had previously lived inside poor Bronie.

“Not as big as that Otaan’s blade,” I say. “That thing was as big as it was ugly.” I’m reluctant to lift this broadsword. For some reason, I fear cutting off my own hand or a foot, or my head. But I do lift it, and immediately, every muscle in my body pulls. “Nope. I don’t like how this feels. It’s not that it’s heavier…”

I hold it away from me. “Maybe it’s the hilt, like I’m wearing a cage around my hand. But then, you don’t need a gauntlet or a glove because your hand is protected. I don’t know if I trust it, and my body is rebuking me holding something this… powerful ? But I don’t think it’s that, either.”

“Tell your body to simmer down. You can do it,” Jadon instructs from the bed of straw. “You’re right—this weapon can cut off heads and limbs. It slices through mail and helmets. It takes more practice, more physicality, but I’ve seen you use an unremarkable sword and a garden hoe. At this point, I’m convinced you can do anything.”

I bat my eyelashes. “Thank you so much.” I turn back to the sword. “What’s his name?”

“Chaos.”

“That suits.” I peer at the sword, then back at Jadon. “One swing and shit just unravels.”

“Calamity and mayhem,” he says, winking. “But you don’t look like you’re enjoying my precious Chaos.”

“It’s not a matter of enjoying it or the weight or my ability,” I say. “I’ll handle him if I must. But do I want to? The hilt is throwing me off. It looks great on you, but for me? It’s elegant and breathtaking, but I dread holding it in my hands. I fear that if I chop off one head and a pair of hands, then I’ll want to chop off another head and another pair of hands, and then more and more.”

“You’d lose control?” he asks, eyebrow arched.

“I’d never want to stop. And I doubt you’d stop me.”

“I like watching you fight,” he says, eyes narrowed, tongue poking his cheek. “Why would I ever stop you?”

I cock my head to the side. “You’d let me finish until I had my fill?”

He says, “Mmhmm.”

“You’re a very considerate partner.” Familiar heat floods my body, and our eyes meet.

Have I ever flirted with anyone like this? Knowing who I am today combined with knowing one of my favorite things, I must have flirted and more. And how was it? Can I not remember those times because I can’t remember anything else right now or can I not remember those times because they were truly forgettable encounters—decent and good enough, more congress than libidinous? Or was I the one who’d been decent and simply good enough?

Of course not. I scoff at the idea of me being a mediocre lover. I’m pretty sure that I’d make the man on this bed of hay forget his own name.

“Sorry, Chaos,” I say to the broadsword. “It’s not you but it’s not me, either.”

“But look how big and wide that blade is,” Jadon says, smirking.

I roll my eyes. “It’s always about size , isn’t it?” I point the broadsword at him. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but just because it’s big and wide doesn’t mean it’s good.”

“Is that so?” Jadon says.

“Yes, that is extremely so.”

He narrows his eyes. “Didn’t you just say that you’re open to new experiences?”

“I am open, but I didn’t mean…” I hold the broadsword far away from me.

“Just one time,” he says. “Try. I won’t ask you again, and you can cross it off your list.”

“Fine.” I lift Chaos, despite my wincing muscles. Bronie is pretty much depleted, but his head remains. I swing the broadsword, and I don’t even feel the resistance of steel cutting straw. Bronie’s head and the top half of his torso lie in a neat heap in the dirt. I say, “Shit,” and gape at the blade. “Bronie was dead before I even realized I’d swung.”

Jadon says, “Mmhmm.”

“Nope. Too much . I’m scared that I’d enjoy the experience too much. I’d lose my mind.”

“I certainly don’t want that ,” Jadon says. “We tried. So. Last weapon.” He hops back up with ease.

I squint at the table, the mace, dagger, longsword, broadsword… I’ve tried them all. “I don’t see any others.”

“These weapons weren’t made in a forge, and I’ve seen you use them in a few ways already, but not this way.” Jadon lifts his fists. “We’re back to these. Hand-to-hand combat and not using your wind-whipper powers. Just good old-fashioned fighting.”

“Right. I haven’t punched anyone.” I lift my fists. “I promise not to hurt you too much.”

“Don’t ever hold back on me,” he says. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much. Deal?”

We start with striking and punching.

“Do you remember your favorite technique?” he asks.

I pause and flip through the pages of my mind. Most are blank, but then: “Joint locks!”

“Really?”

“Don’t you love moving things in the opposite direction they’re supposed to go?”

Jadon lifts his fists again. “Show me, then.” He swings at me.

I grab his hand and push back his middle fingers, which sends his knuckles back. His elbow twists, and I move his middle fingers forward again.

Jadon drops to a knee with a grimace. “Shit. That hurt. Good job.” He stands and shakes out that hand.

That move makes my palms feel scalded and then numb. I rub them against my forearm.

“You good?” he asks, peering at me.

I nod.

“Let’s do it again.” He reaches to grab my wrist again.

Instead, I grab his wrist and start to press his hand back so that his palm faces his chest.

But Jadon wrests out of my lock, slips behind me without touching me, and holds his left arm around my neck and his bandaged right hand behind my head. His energy pushes the air.

My muscles ache and burn as they absorb this force. But this time, the ache feels good.

“This is my personal favorite,” he says.

“Choke hold,” I say. “Didn’t think you were the type—”

“I need to say something,” he interrupts, whispering in my ear, his breath hot on my skin. “So listen closely. Be careful around Veril. If I were you, I’d leave him behind when you start on your journey to Peria. I would politely decline his company.”

I pretend to focus on the hold and not his words. “And why is that?”

“Because I don’t trust him. His tea made you pass out. He may have tried to poison you.”

I spin away and dart behind Jadon. “Is there proof?” I move my left arm toward his neck and hold my right hand near his head, catching him in my own choke hold. Sharp pain shoots through that hand, and it cramps, paralyzing my fingers. All this sword and hand-to-hand work… Too much, too soon.

“I’m still working on proof,” Jadon says, turning to face me, his eyes bright and anxious. “But I know in my heart that he’s dangerous.” He poses in a boxer’s stance, his fists covering his face, still cloaking our conversation through this training session.

I block his punch and swat that gauze-covered hand. “Enough.” Nauseated, I drop my hands and squeeze the bridge of my nose, exhausted by both Veril’s and Jadon’s mistrust of each other. I’m overwhelmed with being caught in the middle even as I continue to figure out the basic facts about my identity and where I belong. Dealing with all of this feels like I’m kicking up to the surface of the sea only to be pulled back by a mystery that I can’t glimpse.

“You’re an impressive warrior, Kai,” Jadon says now. “If you decide that he’ll join you, then you’ll need to be even better at combat because he’ll—”

Before he can finish his thought, a shriek cuts through the air.

“That sounded like Olivia or Philia,” I say, eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Jadon grabs Chaos and heads toward the scream right as both young women sprint from the other side of the cottage.

Wide-eyed, Veril hustles from the cottage to join us. “Who screamed?”

“Something’s up there!” Olivia shouts. “Above the forest. We heard a-a-a…” She covers her face with her hands.

“A what?” Jadon blinks at her, blinks at me, then sheathes the broadsword with a sigh. “It’s the forest , Olivia. It was probably a bear in a tree. They’re known to—”

A sound, rumbling thunder mixed with eerie high-pitched screeches, reverberates from the sky with such force, it drops us to our knees.