Serena glanced behind her again, scanning the open courtyard where the morning dew still clung to the ground. The training grounds were quiet at this hour, only the soft rustle of breeze through trees and the sound of her blade cutting the air accompanied her.
She tightened her grip on the hilt, adjusting her stance. The blade, polished and perfectly balanced, caught the pale light like water. She had gotten it at Fincus had given it to her, and it had quickly become more than a gift.
She swept it again in a clean arc, pivoting on her heel. Her muscles remembered. Her body flowed from one motion to the next. The early drills, her father’s voice correcting her posture, Theodore’s laughter when she missed a step, all of it returned in fragments, stitched together by movement.
"There we go," she murmured, breathless but steady.
The sword no longer felt foreign. It was part of her. She could feel its weight as though it was tied to her heartbeat. But still... something was off. She paused, the blade held low at her side.
Why did it feel like she was moving through water? Like something was...missing? Serena could not pinpoint what seemed to be the issue, any one who passed by would think her bladework was excellent but she was not satisfied.
She blinked and tried again, repeating the sequence with speed and precision. Her footwork was sound. Her grip, perfect. And yet...
It was like a curtain, thin and translucent, existed between her and some deeper truth. A forgotten lesson? A skill unawakened? She bit the inside of her cheek. No, she told herself. I am just rusty.
But as she raised the blade again, a sharp pain struck her temple, sudden and vicious. Serena gasped and staggered, one hand flying to her head. Her knees buckled.
She crouched, bracing herself against the cold flagstones with the tip of the sword, breath shuddering out of her lungs. Stars danced in her vision. Her stomach roiled.
Saints, she cursed inwardly. I haven’t eaten... since yesterday morning...
Feyra stirred within her, the wolf’s presence subtle but distinct. A brush of fur, a sigh of breath deep within her mind. There was a whisper, something low and unintelligible. Serena frowned, straining to hear.
"What did you say?" she mumbled aloud.
No response. Only a flicker of cold wind through the yard. She took one shaky step forward, intending to walk it off, to push the ache away. But her limbs gave out beneath her, the world tilting violently. Her eyes fluttered closed.
She stood in a place not real. The air was wet and heavy, like fog soaked in pitch. Shadows circled her. People, no, shapes figures in torn and muddy garments, whispering in languages that sounded like water over stones.
"Who is there?" she demanded, her voice echoing too loud in the suffocating silence.
There came no answer. Only whispers, thick and unintelligible. Her heart thudded in her chest. She stepped back but they followed.
The crowd swelled, countless hands reaching for her from the gloom, their mouths moving without sound. The weight of them pushed in. She turned, looking for an escape but there was no exit available. The sky above was black, the ground beneath a mire.
"Stop it!" she shouted, fear curling in her throat.
They did not stop. Their hands grabbed her, cold and clammy, and began to pull.
"No! get off!" Serena shrieked, flailing against them. Her limbs were heavy, like her body had turned to lead.
The whispers grew louder, faster, slurring together into a chorus of chaos.
"Stupid girl," was the only thing she could make out in the drowning of words.
"Stop!" she screamed again, but her voice was swallowed whole.
And then she felt it. She was drowning. Her breath vanished, Serena clawed for the surface, but it was gone. The shadows dragged her deeper and deeper...
And her eyes flew open.
She gasped, chest heaving, her skin damp with cold sweat. Her vision blurred, and for a moment, she couldn’t place where she was.
Then the familiar stone carved ceiling came into focus. Her eyes shifted sideways and locked onto Darius.
He sat in a chair beside the bed, elbow on the armrest, hand covering his mouth in thought. He looked pale and tired. His cloak had fallen open, his tunic slightly wrinkled. His sword belt was still fastened.
When he saw her stir, he leaned forward instantly.
"You are awake," he said, voice rough with relief.
Serena blinked slowly, her mouth dry. She tried to sit up, but the world tilted again and she fell back with a quiet groan.
"What happened?" she asked hoarsely.
"You collapsed in the yard," Darius said, already pouring her a cup of water from the pitcher on the bedside table. "You have been asleep for nearly two hours. One of the guards saw you fall and brought word."
He held the cup to her lips, and she drank. The cool water soothed her throat, and the ache in her skull lessened slightly.
"I must have... fainted," she mumbled. Follow current novels on NoveI(F)ire.net
"You did not eat," Darius said softly. "Not since yesterday, apparently. You’re overworking yourself again."
Serena’s eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment, guilt washing over her. "I was just trying to keep sharp," she whispered. "There’s too much on my mind."
Darius set the cup down and leaned back slightly, though his gaze remained fixed on her face.
"I searched the entire castle for you," he said. "When I didn’t find you in your rooms, I panicked. I thought..." He cut himself off. "It does not matter now."
Serena looked at him, her brows drawing together. "You really thought I had left?"
"No," he said after a moment. "But I worried that... maybe I had not done enough to make you want to stay."
Her lips parted, surprised at the rawness in his tone.
She reached for his hand where it rested beside her and clasped it lightly.
"I did not leave," she said. "I just got lost. In my own head."
Darius exhaled and squeezed her hand. "Next time you feel like sparring, wait for me."
Serena offered a faint smile. "Deal."