I hated walking through Ela’Dar. Perhaps to some it was a pleasing place. The city consisted of intricate copper structures and lush greenery,

punctuated with windows of multi-colored glass and inhabited by elegant Fey clad in flowing silks. But I noted these things only in passing. All I saw was how its people looked at me.

Caduan drew attention wherever he went. He rarely dressed differently than the people he ruled, and usually did not wear a crown. Nevertheless, everyone knew him, greeted him, and bowed their heads. And then, inevitably, their gaze would fall to me. I did not know how to read those stares, and I hated that most of all. Was it disgust? Curiosity? Hatred? Perhaps it didn’t matter. I did not want to be looked at. I did not want to be seen.

Today, thankfully, Caduan did not take me through the main streets of the city. Instead, we walked behind the castle, taking rocky side paths that led through lush forests of deep green. All of Ela’Dar, despite its considerable size and density, was intertwined with nature—the northern half of the city built into the cliffs of the mountainside, and the southern half embracing the woods. The castle sat between them, overlooking both the mountains and the forest.

We walked through the trees in silence until we reached a small stone building. Inside, there was a sand floor, and large windows, and weapons— swords, axes, spears—lining the walls.

I stopped short. Caduan kept walking. “What is this?”

“It’s a training ring. The guards use it at times, but today, no one else will be here.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Once, a very long time ago, you taught me almost everything I know today about combat.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“Maybe not in some ways.” He went to the opposite side of the ring and knelt beside a crate, retrieving something wrapped in dark fabric. He returned to me, placed the items on the ground, and unwrapped them.

My breath caught for reasons I did not understand.

Two blades lay in the sand. They were identical, long for daggers but short for swords, with a slight curve to them. They were made of a sleek black steel.

The sight of them stirred a strange sensation within me. “Do you recognize these?” Caduan asked.

“No.” Half a lie.

“You used to wield them. Not these exact ones, but blades just like these.”

“I told you that was not me.”

“I understand.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Fair enough. But perhaps you might enjoy doing something physical.”

I didn’t move.

“Or not,” Caduan said, lifting one shoulder. “If you would prefer to return to your room.”

I did not want to return to my room. I did not want to walk back through Ela’Dar. I wondered if perhaps Caduan knew that.

I picked up the blades.

As my hands closed around their hilts, instant familiarity shook me. The sensation was so intense that the hairs rose on the back of my neck. For a moment, I was holding these very weapons, so long ago, in a city made of black stone. For one split second, I regained some grasp of who I once had been.

And then, seconds later, it was drowned beneath a thousand other memories. Memories of a thousand other weapons in a hundred other bodies, weapons that I had been forced to wield—forced to be—in so many other lives.

I needed to move. I needed anger. Anger was real.

Caduan had been watching me carefully. When I struck, he was prepared. His sword was already out, ready to block me—which he did easily. Not that it was difficult. My attacks were sloppy, half-hearted. I barely knew how to control a body by myself anymore.

And yet, there was something breathlessly satisfying in the clash of metal against metal, in the strain of my muscles. The way my emotion went somewhere.

Caduan looked oddly pleased.

“I knew you would remember,” he said.

Clash. Our weapons struck.

“Even back then,” he went on, “I don’t think it was the violence that you enjoyed. It was the physicality of it.”

With every lunge, my heart beat faster, my rage burning hotter, like I had opened up a passage I didn’t know how to close again.

Why was he talking about what I used to be? Why was he reminding me of everything that had been taken away from me? Didn’t he see that I could never be that person again? That I couldn’t reclaim her, even if I tried? Why would he shove my face into everything I couldn’t be, like a boot grinding my cheek into the mud?

A particularly vicious strike left our faces inches apart, our weapons vibrating between us.

“Why did you bring me back?” The words tore from my throat without my permission.

“Because you deserved a life.” “You cannot lie to me.”

I drew back and struck again. Faster. Harder. He stumbled slightly in order to block in time.

His lip curled. “Because what they did to you was an injustice.”

Injustice? Injustice? My fury ran so hot that I stumbled, waiting a fraction too long, and Caduan managed to push me back.

Clang! Our weapons crashed between us. Hot sweat soaked my clothing. It felt invigorating, marking the boundaries of my body—burning muscles, panting breath. My strikes were wild, breathless. I pushed Caduan back in several vicious slashes. He could barely keep up. He fell against the wall.

“Do I frighten you?” I panted.

Clatter, as his sword fell to the floor.

And then, the world faded away until it was just him and me, my blade pressing against the underside of his chin. The heat of his exertion filled the narrow space between us. His eyes blazed, furious—what did that expression mean?

“Yes,” he panted. “You scare me. But not in the way you think.”

You should be terrified of me.

“You brought me back to use me,” I shot back, the words striking harder than any blow. “You brought me back to turn me into your weapon.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t lie to me! You act like you’re different, like you have some grand, noble purpose. But you’ve done exactly what they always did.”

“Aefe—”

“Why didn’t you just let me die? I wanted to die!” And there it was—that look of pity. Of compassion.

A single drop of violet blood trickled down his pale throat. How easy it would be to kill him. I once found power in such acts. I could end him now, exact my revenge, wipe that look from his eyes. I could kill him and then throw myself from the highest tower of the castle, let my fragile, lonely, useless body break against the mountain stones below.

And I would be free.

Is that freedom? another voice whispered.

A warm hand closed around mine—around the hilt of the blade. My wrist trembled.

“Kill me,” Caduan said, softly. “If that’s what you want, then do it.”

Do it. Do it. Do it.

My teeth clenched so hard my jaw shook.

At last, I yanked my weapon away. And then I turned, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “I hate you.”

His hand went to his throat, touching the wound. He took two steps forward, his lips parted, and then a voice shouted from the door.

“My King.”

A guard stood there, looking panicked. “Come. Quickly.”