“Holy gods.” I wake up in a cushioned chair, curling over from being stabbed in my dream. Nope. Wasn’t a dream.

  Running my hand down a scarred wound on my gut brings the memory roaring to life. Izfael, that prick, trying to get his hands on his own spirit. He stabbed me in cold blood, deep in his secret chambers, without a second gods-damn thought.

  My eyes adjust to a room of golden-white fog caressing every part of me. This isn’t my quarters. Oh, that’s right. I passed out from the pain in the arena aura. To my right, Layla is dead asleep with her head against the wall, which makes me think I didn’t actually scream when I startled awake.

  Leaning back in my chair, I consider what might’ve been if Renesta hadn’t got the word out. When her shade was impaled, I thought for sure it was on its way to help and that we were ultimately screwed. Turns out, it was on the way back.

  One point in your favor, Ren. I owe you. Maybe I’ll let the spire mishap go.

  Twisting my body back and forth to test the pain, I’m shocked how minimal it is. Vigil’s bliss plus this aura works wonders, I guess. I’m sore as hell though. And I learned my lesson—I can’t even keep my guard down in the damn library.

  As soon as I struggle to my feet, Layla jolts awake. “What is it? You okay?”

  I nod, a bit dizzy from getting up too fast. Or maybe it’s the aura. “I think so, Lay.”

  We’re both in our underwear. Me with white overlapping bandages wrapped around my wound, and her, mesh-armored bra and short-shorts showing every toned muscle stronger than mine even with a dragon spirit inside me.

  There’s one difference now, though. I’m looking down slightly, when it used to be the opposite. Her blue eyes are soft in the mist, skin smooth-looking. Something’s there… I can feel it. Even if it’s slight.

  We’re alone in some giddy aura, staring at one another in a half-dream. Maybe…

  “Did you see, mortal? I manifested into a physical form, if only just for a blink.” Boeru stirs, and the moment evaporates.

  “Buzzkill, Boeru. Buzzkill.” I turn and venture away from Layla, hearing her bare feet tap against the floor, following me.

  “What? Your heart rate does not leap around your guard. Only for the shade prison-dweller who smells of deceit,” Boeru huffs.

  An invisible golden-lined threshold makes me think this is the end of the aura, so I move past it into the open air of the Sivus arena that makes my body feel twice as heavy, and my wound sting thrice as much. Still not bad, considering I was just nearly stabbed to death.

  “I thought with this new body of yours I’d be able to leave you in your study for a night,” Layla scoffs. “Wrong again.”

  “Shut up,” I say lightly.

  “First Renesta, now a gods-damn fire mage? The hell was that?”

  “Izfael. Apparently, he was traded to House Sivus with Drydon.”

  “Aster mumbled something about both of them causing trouble since they got here.”

  “Hm. Makes sense why Lord Karloth traded him then.”

  “Even though Drydon got a whole damn wing of this house built in his tenure?” Layla asks, standing extra close. “I hear he even got Sivus a scourge blade made of pure doruthum, donated from a war-tier crown guard.”

  I chuckle. “You’ve been gossiping.”

  “Met someone in weapon-crafting class.”

  “And making friends? Who is this woman next to me?” I tease.

  “Keep it up and I’m going to reopen that wound, Dragonborn.”

  “Uh huh. I’ve never heard you talk so excitedly about something other than farm tools and bashing the heads of unjust orphans, Lay.”

  “Well, nothing’s been available except for wooden sticks, rusty chains, and those fucking tomes.”

  “Hah. I’m happy for you. Maybe you’ll be a master craftswoman yet.” I wink at her. “Anyway, Drydon… what would you do if you were Karloth? Let insubordination run rampant because of some arrogant shadow savant?” I pose to her.

  “I know what House Mother would do,” she says, and we both cackle.

  Placing my hands on my hips, I scan the rings of stone blocking off multiple skirmish mini-arenas. It gets my blood pumping again thinking of the guy with the wind armor I saw yesterday. Then my gaze lingers on the red-glowing doors on the opposite side of me.

  “Aster locked us in here,” Layla says, pushing past me to sit on one of the stone arena blocks. She reaches over and grabs a handful of sand. “No more assassination attempts tonight.”

  “Our ring leader is powerful, huh?”

  “I’m starting to think our hall monitors aren’t just for show,” Lay agrees.

  I look up to the skylight, watching as faint rays start to encroach. I’m getting the hang of this sun thing. Dawn is approaching, which means we have two hours or so until we should start getting ready for class.

  “We almost died, Boeru.”

  “An impossible situation, that we must change with haste,” he says. “Reminds me of my early roost days, being shoved off a cliff by my brethren. They expected me to die, mortal. But I had my saving grace, as you do. From the ashes of our failed bodies, comes the furor of ascendance.”

  Boeru’s powerful voice rings through me like a war drum, gifting me morning adrenaline.

  “You can fly with one good wing?”

  “Oh mortal, I can win wars with one.”

  Sufficiently pumped, I’m sick of sitting around and being bombarded on every turn. I have two hours with my guard. We could’ve made out in an aura or something, but that moment has passed.

  I step toward a rack of unsung weapons filled with crusted blood, rust, and peeled hilts. My kind of sparring. Eyeing a dull blade, I grab it and test the weight.

  Light as a feather.

  “What are you doing?” Layla smirks.

  “Let’s go, guard.” I stare at the tip of the blade. “We have big shoes to fill in Drydon’s absence.”

  “Like hell we do. You nearly bled out on some maniac’s Seal a few hours ago.” She scowls, walking up to the rack beside me. She grabs a long blade—flexed arm full of lines. “Go back to the aura while I stand watch.”

  She’s talking all protectively, but then why is she walking into one of the sparring rings and kicking up sand with the blade?

  “Your mouth moves one way, and your body another,” I say.

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  “I haven’t been a very good guard, Hale,” her voice drops a bit.

  “What are you saying? You tackled Renesta when her shadow might’ve tossed me down the spire.”

  “And let you get stabbed the night after. One for two does not work in the protection business,” she says. “What would Kane say of me?”

  The mention of his name immediately brings down the mood, then ramps it back up to determination. I step onto the arena, test swinging the blade a few times in my grasp. Snaps of scar tissue and repairing joints reverberate throughout my body.

  “Hale. Sit the fuck down.” She points her blade at me after catching me wincing.

  “Is that any way to talk to your superior?” I have Boeru mentally evoke her mark. It looks hot on her arm with so much skin exposed. Then I tap my blade against hers, feeling tingles from the sound of metal on metal.

  “Pompous dick now that you have a dragon in you.”

  We smirk at one another, rounding slowly.

  “I’m serious. Get back to your chamber. What if you have to spar in class tomorrow? Not to mention that gash on your face is going to look suspicious,” she says, and I lunge to stab her leg.

  Clang!

  “Cut it out!” She’s getting angry. Usually, this side of her only comes out when someone’s trying to beat the shit out of me back in the sub-tier. Being on the receiving side is terrifying, even if it is playful.

  I dash forward with a wide arc, mostly telegraphed.

  Clang!

  She swipes me off balance so swiftly, it looks effortless. I take note of her form now that I’m able to wield a weapon with similar strength. The motion comes from the shoulder and her core. I need to emulate it.

  Having a body this strong since a young age must feel so natural to her. Me? I have to work to get comfortable, starting now.

  I spin, bringing my blade around with decent torque. She sucks in her belly and lunges to slap me in the face. But I’m faster now.

  My free hand clamps her wrist, and in that moment we smile at one another, until she drops her blade and slaps me hard with the other hand.

  “Back to your chambers,” she demands with both hands on her hips.

  I’m rubbing my face with one eye closed. “Nice hit.”

  “Mm.”

  “C’mon. Again. Humor me.” I flick my blade, motioning for her to pick hers back up. “We never got to spar with actual steel. Might be dull and rusty, but it is steel.”

  “Mm.” She swipes her hilt, sending sand everywhere. I can tell by her quiet grunts that she likes it too. How can she not? A warrior by nature.

  “You’re going to teach me how to stay alive while you’re not there to protect, and I’m going to figure out how to get you attuned.”

  She shakes her head, choreographing an overhead slice that I go to block. “Hold. Here.” She grabs my wrist and moves it so my blade would connect with hers closer to the hilt. “If your enemy intends to hold the clash—as so many brutes love to do—then it’s easier to maintain control closer to the hilt. Might save your face one day.”

  “Noted. My turn. Why are you ignoring your potential?” I ask.

  “Because I’m barren. The Danes know it. Our house knows it. I know it.”

  “I refuse to believe it. I’ll find a way to evoke your abilities,” I say.

  “Do you feel the warring dark even now?” she asks.

  “No. I surmise because I’m not bleeding anymore, and that you don’t actually intend to hurt me. Boeru is always around though. He says hi.”

  “No, I certainly do not,” Boeru growls, pinching me with blue fire on my back.

  “Actually, I guess he’s mad at you.” I scratch my head.

  “What?” Lay sounds offended.

  “The guard refuses to make you strong. Seeks to coddle. I disapprove.” Boeru turns his head, giving me and Layla his blind eye.

  “Whoa,” I say.

  “What?” Layla grows frustrated.

  “Says you want to coddle me and not make me stronger.”

  “Well, bring that fucker out.” She brandishes her blade. “Let me give him a piece of my mind. Hey, Boeru, I’ve been protecting him since he was a scrawny, sickly thing. Come out and face me so we can mince words.”

  Black wisps swirl around my shoulders, stretching off my right side, forming into a wing, then a body, and finally, Boeru’s maw. His crystal-blue eye bores into Layla’s, shutting her up.

  His growl is low and heavy. As his figure forms around a dark cloud of magic, she takes a step back.

  “What words would you dare mince, coddler?”

  “Cut it out, Boeru!” I wave my hand through his good wing, which dissipates and reforms like smoke. “I’d be dead if not for her, a thousand times over.”

  His long neck slithers, turning to me with a narrowed eye, then back to her. “Death was imminent tonight. The cadets of this sanctum are powerful.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” Layla attempts to hold her ground.

  “I will do just that.” His wing expands. “I led many riders in my wars. Barristan among them.”

  Her brow furrows. “My ancestors—”

  “Were all protectors of royalty. Fierce. Unwavering. Alive with fervor. Though my memory is hazy from passing through the afterlife, I know that face anywhere.”

  Layla sets her jaw.

  “Listen to me, mortal. If Haledyn requests that you fight, fight. Do not worry that he will break. On the contrary, he must break… in order to grow strong. Our bond depends on it.”

  Layla and I share a glance.

  “The mortals around him swirl with rancid scents… scents of betrayal and malice. Not you, however.”

  Layla clenches her fists, remaining silent.

  “I chose you to become one of Haledyn’s marked for a reason. And that reason was not to coddle. His frail frame has been transformed into something greater, Layla Barristan. Accept it. You’ve survived Dane and warring dark. Punishment unending. Do not stop there. Fight!”

  Boeru disappears into my shadow, leaving us both to stare at one another through the black smoke flooding into me. The Torn Wing’s presence is immense and undeniable, hardening Layla right before my eyes.

  She lifts her sword, and I mine.

  “Now do you get it, Lay? He’s inside me. We’re going to rule this sanctum with him.”

  She nods at me, a bit embarrassed she folded in front of a spirit.

  Who could blame her? He’s like a god come to life.

  “Alright, Hale. I’ll give you everything. And once I’m done, you’ll have no more need for me.”

  What?

  The words hit me like a ton of bricks. Her purpose has been to protect me ever since Kane was called to the Sept. I might be selfish for summing her up so singularly, but her words ring true. It’s not just embarrassment, it’s sadness, and maybe a twinge of jealousy.

  “We’ll be side by side forever.” I twirl the sword in my grip, snapping us both out of it. “Now cut the shit.”

  “Very well.”

  The strikes remain choreographed at first, which gives her an opportunity to fix my form on every turn. My thrusts are sloppy—because I’m used to swinging a chained dagger. It’s not good enough. I have to be proficient in all types of combat if I’m to go to war to save my brother.

  “Keep your foot planted as you lunge, like this.” She grabs my thigh and straightens my arm. “We’re not going to work on feigns or tricks until your form is strong. Again.”

  I lunge at the air, ignoring the burning in my chest.

  “Again.” She rounds me like a sergeant of mythos, reminding me of militaristic drawings. Her ancestors are in her.

  Combos come next. Thrust and overhead strike. Thrust and side-swipe. Thrust and block. I remember training like this in the stables. But we’re older now. With real steel. Real hardened bodies.

  “Good. Now try it on me,” she says.

  My head is all sweaty from the endless drills. Arm heavy like back in the day. But unlike then, blood flows through to spike my energy. It’s the same as when I climbed the spire—an endless pool of endurance that can only be stopped by a blade through the heart. If I can refine these battle skills and become untouchable… I’ll be a pillar of power.

  “Temper your hubris, mortal. It does not become you.”

  “It’s confidence!” I protest. “The first time it extends past a tome. Let it happen.”

  As we spar until the sun fully rises—sweat swapping every time our arms swing—the choreography becomes less, and the rawness of reflex increases.

  Both out of breath, we clash for the fifth time in a single bout. I notice an opening to slice at her right leg, so I take it.

  Woosh!

  A feign! Something she refused to teach me, followed by a headbutt back. Shit! My left cheek throbs instantly as my vision blurs. And before I can flail off balance, she grabs my wrist to spin me so her blade is at my neck.

  I’ve been in this position before in sub-tier, many times, with my chest heaving from acidic air burning my lungs. No more.

  I grab her arm and headbutt her right back—crashing into her cheek and ducking out of the hold. With a quick spin, I’m behind her, holding the same threatening position.

  “In a real fight, you’re already dead,” she says angrily.

  “Uh huh. Yet here we are.”

  We’re nose to nose, her looking back at me as we both catch our breath. Our sweat makes the hold slippery, sand all over our legs and arms. The silence goes on a second too long. I find myself scanning her lips, not sure how her breath is minty despite snoring with her mouth open. When my gaze reaches her eyes again, I notice hers on my lips.

  This is a bad idea…

  We both lean in slightly…

  Errrr!

  The door swings open, and I haphazardly let go of her.

  “You’re awake.” Aster strolls in with his hands behind his back, accentuating his belly. “And, training?”

  Both Layla and I straighten.

  “What did you expect, ring leader? You left us in an arena,” I say.

  “With a wound that would send a rider falling to his death.”

  “So everyone keeps telling me.”

  Jurso comes scrambling in behind Aster, as does Misty and Rogoshel. “Hale! I wanted to stay with you guys, but he wouldn’t let me.”

  Aster lifts his chin.

  That’s odd.

  “Why would we risk depleting an aura by shoving more bodies into it?” Aster says. “Your dragonborn needed rest.”

  That’s not how auras work, according to mythos. But gods know all the knowledge in my head could be dragonshit.

  “Apparently not.” Jurso presents me. “Gods-damn, man, you stood up to a steel rank last night.”

  “Is that what he was?” I slap five to Jurso so not to dirty his fresh robes.

  “According to Aster.”

  “Well, he would’ve killed me if not for Ren. Where is she?” I ask.

  “On her way to class. She seems… disturbed by last night,” Jurso says sadly.

  “As you all should be,” Aster says.

  “Nah, we’re built different.” Jurso coughs on cue. “Sub-tier is all darkness, Mister Elite.”

  Aster sneers, “You know nothing of my beginnings.”

  That’s true. We don’t. But I want to learn.

  I want to learn everything.

  review! Would help a lot :)