W
ith the help of the three Valtain moving the wind over the seas, we were set to arrive at Threll in a
matter of a week instead of weeks, plural. I still found the boat, and all of the circumstances surrounding our place on it, simultaneously oppressive and terrifying. Yet, since our moonlight meeting the first night at sea, there was something that felt a little lighter, a little easier, about my interactions with Tisaanah. It had been the first time in eight years that I had carved those stories out of myself. There were still shards of it that were buried within me, yes, and there were still things that I hadn’t been able to force myself to acknowledge aloud.
But still… she knew more than almost anyone else did. And I never thought that would feel good, but here we were.
Reshaye, mercifully, was mostly quiet. I suspected that its display a few days ago in the sparring ring had sapped its energy. It was early to be taking control like that, to be using magic. There were times when I’d see Tisaanah’s face harden, her eyes go far away, and I knew that it was whispering to her. But days passed, and it didn’t go further than that.
Tisaanah and I spent most of our time practicing her combat. Reshaye’s trace memories from previous hosts had given her some fragments of innate knowledge that, together, we pieced into something more complete. And at night, once everyone went to sleep, we would creep up above deck and sit beneath the sky. It felt cleaner up there. More free.
But on our third night at sea, she was so exhausted that she passed out the minute she hit the pillow. So I went up there by myself, drilling my movements over and over until my muscles reclaimed the memories.
I was out of shape.
These last few days of training had, embarrassingly, strained me to the point where the muscles of my arms and back groaned in protest every time I moved, unaccustomed to the way they had to work to control a weapon. Better now, I supposed, than a week from now.
“No apprentice tonight?”
I swore under my breath, whirling around. Nura stood there, looking smug.
“Ascended, Nura, don’t do that.” “Pay closer attention.”
I almost scoffed. That advice was almost poetic, coming from her. If I had, perhaps none of us would be here.
“You’re out of practice,” she observed, and I bristled.
“I didn’t think I’d have to do this again, so yes, marginally.”
Nura’s face was a white, silent mask. Every time I looked at it, I had to fight the rage in my chest back until it was a faint pulse beneath my blood — rage on Tisaanah’s behalf, yes, but also nearly a decade’s worth of built-up betrayal. A strange, surreal thing to confront every day.
“Need a sparring partner?” She reached beneath her jacket to pull out two daggers and gave me a little smile. “I think we left it at a tie last time. But it’s been so long.”
I knew I should say no.
That I was too damn angry at her for a “friendly” fight to be a good thing.
But I didn’t hesitate as I said, “Fine.”
No magic, we agreed. Five paces away from each other.
Turn. Position. And—
I had forgotten how fast she moved. Like she became shadow.
I had to block her immediately. And again, spinning on my heel to match the liquid speed with which she bent around me. She slid away from the impact as if my staff had merely pierced a cloud of unfurling smoke.
Block – again.
She paused only long enough to give me a smirk. “Try harder, Max.”
I watched her silent footfalls, marked her speed, the length of each stride. Marked where she’d land two, three, four seconds from now.
And seared forward in one calculating strike.
That’s how you had to be, with Nura — calculating. You couldn’t wait for her to come to you or expect to beat her with scattershot strength. You had to attack, decisively. One perfectly calibrated movement after another.
I watched her feet and hands and blades all at once, turned, curled, angled the curved blade of my staff just the right way.
I could be fast too.
One strike, with everything I had, the same way a viper lunges with its entire body.
One strike, and one hit.
She let out a ragged breath, grace disrupted, feet sliding across the floor. She threw her loss of balance into a turn. Just like I knew she would. Just like I knew she’d strike low, then high, then turn—
I was ready.
A swing, a half-step, a counterstrike for each movement. We glided across the deck, answering each other’s jabs and
evasions with immediate responses, each growing shorter, sharper, angrier.
I watched her face in between the blurring movement of our weapons and saw the blood-spattered soldier who raised her hand to my temple seven years ago. I saw the sad, patronizing look she gave me when she told me about Tisaanah’s blood pact.
My anger burned so hot that it turned to ice. I slipped further into my strikes, like putting on an old, comfortable jacket.
Nura’s silver eyes glittered as she narrowly evaded one of my swings. “There you are, Captain Farlione.”
There I fucking am.
I spun on my heel. Intentionally dragged my left side, only barely. Let my left ankle twist.
And when she saw that, when she lunged — because I knew she would — I was ready.
With one final leap, I cut off her movement with the length of my staff, knocking one of her daggers from her hand, pushing her to the ground—
— Only for her to roll, then spring forward. So fast I could hardly see her. So fast that she was behind me by the time I saw her forearm swing around my neck. She brushed the wound on my shoulder and for one critical split second, a wave of pain so powerful that it blinded me seized my muscles. I fought it.
No dagger. I could still —
And then she flicked her wrist, another blade sliding from beneath her sleeve. Poised at my throat before I could finish disarming her.
“I think that’s your yield,” she said into my ear.
“Ah, I see.” I tried to pass off my breathless panting as an exasperated sigh, with only partial success. “Magic was off limits but hidden blades are fair game. So little has changed, Nura.”
“That was always our problem, Max.” She released me and stepped back. “You always thought I was more honorable than I am.”
I let out a scoff through my teeth, resisting the urge to clutch my shoulder, which still throbbed viciously. “That’s a generous way of framing it.”
Her gaze fell on my wound — covered, but despite my effort, it must have been obvious where it was. “You should have Sammerin look at that.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Put your pride aside. We need you in one piece.”
I picked up my staff, pointing at her with one end. “We?
Let’s be clear, I am not here for you.”
“So defensive. So protective.” Thwip — as her knife retracted back up her sleeve. “I know I earned your distrust, but right now, we’re on the same side.”
“Says the woman shoving daggers up her sleeves.”
That was Nura. All those hidden sharp edges, ready to slide between your ribs.
“Insult me all you want,” she said, too casually. “I’m still glad that you came back after all. I love when Zeryth has to admit I’m right.”
There was something about the way she said it that made my knuckles whiten with rage around my staff. I bit down so hard on the words jumping up my throat that my jaw trembled.
We stood there in silence. Then Nura let out a little sigh. “Well. Thanks for the practice. Goodnight, Max.”
But as she turned away, I barked, “Nura.”
She turned and peered over her shoulder, eyebrow raised.
“Why?” I spat. “You were there. Why?”
It was practically a jumble of words, none of them particularly specific or meaningful. But I saw her expression shift, and I knew she understood exactly what I was asking.
She had been there beside me through the whole thing. There was a time when I trusted her more than I trusted anyone — more than I trusted myself. And as much as I hated her, as much as I held her to unforgiving accountability for what happened in Sarlazai, I knew that she had loved my family almost as much as I did.
She was ruthless, focused to the point of callousness and cruelty. But she was not stupid. Perhaps not even selfish, not quite. She wasn’t Zeryth, driven by ego to the point of recklessness.
So… why?
A faint smile. “What?” she said. “You still think better of me?”
“I want to know where you’re hiding the blade.” “If I tell you that, what’s the point of hiding it?”
I gave her a hard stare. The same one I used to give her all those years ago, when I needed to puncture through all of that ice.
And just as it had then, her expression flickered. “I wouldn’t do it if it didn’t need doing.”
“For what? A petulant twelve-year-old’s throne?” I shook my head. “No. That doesn’t make sense.”
“I wouldn’t do it if it didn’t need doing,” she said again.
Then, lower, “Trust me, Max.” I scoffed. Trust her. Right.
“I suppose I don’t get to argue with that look.” The final remnants of her smile disappeared. And I saw it — hesitation.
“There’s something big coming,” she murmured. “And none of us get to frolic in gardens with pretty Threllian girls until it’s over.”
A cold shiver ran up my spine. Not even at her ominous words, but at the look in her eye: ruthless determination.
I could think of few things that were more dangerous than that.
“Something big,” I repeated. “Ah yes. That puts all of my concerns to rest. My trust is secured.”
She didn’t laugh, didn’t smile. Didn’t strike back. She only shrugged. “I’ve never been afraid to be the bad guy.” And she turned away and threw up her hand in a lazy wave. “Thanks for the spar, Max. Tell our girl I said goodnight.”
 |
Tisaanah looked so *normal* when she slept. Well, maybe not normal—nothing about her was ever average. But when I went back below deck and glanced through the gap in her curtain to see her face smooshed against the pillow, I let out an involuntary breath. No one could guess what was churning in that mind of hers. The brilliant machinations or the monster that devoured them.
*I find myself curious—do you think about her the way she thinks about you?*
The line slipped into my thoughts without warning, stirring a surge of uncomfortable disgust. No accent, no trace of Tisaanah. It was so distant from her that I could hide behind my revulsion, enough to avoid contemplating the curious implications of that line.
The answer, of course, was *Yes, frequently, in great detail.* But I’d pretend otherwise for as long as I could. After all, I was a well-practiced, world-renowned expert in denial. I was good at magic, good at fighting, good at gardening. But I was *excellent* at dodging inconvenient truths.
I slipped through the curtain and quietly settled onto a crate near the wall, leaning back against the wood, watching the top of Tisaanah’s head. The steady rhythm of her breaths.
I blinked. The world was blurrier when I opened my eyes again.
Another blink. This time, they didn’t open at all.
