Page 77 of Shade of Ruin

Because if I could overpower the Shade, then why would any other Fae be worried about him? Why would anyone need his help? I’m not even a full-blooded Fae. Just a Wyrdling with a little shadow magic.

Sia’s the only person who’s seen into everyone’s minds. There are no secrets for her, and she doesn’t think I can help anything. No one’s seen my experiences and my skills like her. Only Sia knows it all, and she doesn’t think I can help.

For a moment, I’d felt like maybe I could take up my mother’s title. Maybe I was strong enough. Maybe… Maybe I could be what Cole wanted.

I’m not. I’m nothing without the Shade and Cole. The realization hits me hard.

I don’t know if it’s relief that floods my mind or despair that I can’t help anyone else. The drakelings and gryphons and Fae who can’t have children. The magical world is dying, and the normal one isn’t doing much better.

I turn to look at my spear resting against the wall, a reminder of my life before learning I had any Fae blood. Cole had made it seem like I could do something, like I could help. The Shade had said that I was important.

But I’m just a stupid Wyrdling, and Sia knew it. She saw into my mind. She saw all the things I’ve hidden. Everything I am was laid bare to her.

Sia is the only person who knows everything, and her judgment was clear. I’m not meant for anything, and trying will only hurt people. I should just help Hazel and forget about trying to do anything else.

Chapter 34

I would fight. I would lose, but I would fight. Calyr and Vyran stop me. They remind me that it is not my life we worry over. I choose to protect.

~Sidon the Strong, A History of Magic and Dragons

I’ve officially graduated fromsticks. The two daggers I hold in my hand are stupid, stupid things. I hate them. My fingers hate them especially.

Cole’s wearing his armor just like he did while we were walking here, and I’m wearing a nicer, but still simple, tunic and pair of pants. It almost feels like we’re back fighting in clearings except that Cole isn’t taking it nearly as easy on me.

“You have to actively block, Maeve.” Cole’s words are like salt on a wound. I do not want toactively blockanything, much less the enormous piece of metal he’s wielding like a sword. “Ifyou let your daggers just sit in the air, nearly anyone will break through your block.”

My fingers are black and purple from the thousand blows I’ve taken to them. Yes, they will heal in the next hour. Even the broken bones. Cole brought some of the medicine we used on his back to the training room in case anything serious happened, but we’re using blunted steel, so no one will be dying anytime soon.

“Crawl in a hole and die,” I growl.

Cole’s darkened steel longsword, a blunted training version of the one he carries at his hip, comes down like a boulder, and I try to stop it with the blunted dagger by holding it in the sword’s path. Just like he’d said, the sword breaks my guard and smashes into my shoulder.

A scream rips from my throat, and I rush Cole, daggers out and ready to block his strikes. His sword sweeps in wide arcs, in what should be easily blockable, projected movements. But they hit my daggers and slide right past them, each of them scoring an incredibly painful hit on my body.

“Lysara take you, you son of a whore,” I scream when the dark steel of his blade hits my ribs and I hear a crack. He’s moving backward, and I’m running toward him, but I never get to him. I should be faster. He shouldn’t be able to walk backward faster than I can run forward.

Yet, he maintains that perfect distance to continue to batter my body with the tip of his longsword while I never get a chance to even swing at him.

I stop, standing just out of his reach. Every breath hurts from what I can only assume is a cracked rib. My fingers are swollen and throbbing. Nearly all of my joints ache where he’s hit them.

I throw the daggers to the sand and stomp away from him to a weapon rack. “You can keep those pieces of trash. You may think that’s the optimal choice for someone small like me, but you’rewrong. I’m going to die a thousand times before I ever even get to swing them. This is my weapon.” I pick up the long piece of wood with a metal tip, blunted just like the sword Cole is using.

It’s not my spear, but it’s close enough. My hands know where to go. All the anger inside me turns into calm readiness. The pain doesn’t go away, but my body doesn’t care as much. It’s like coming home.

Now I can fight. I stomp back onto the sands and finally notice that Cole’s grinning at me.

“You think you’ll do better with a spear than two daggers? You still have to close on me to hit me.”

I shrug. “Let’s see. It’s not like another broken bone matters at this point.”

My thumb moves to the spot that would have a glyph on my own spear. My feet spread into a fighting stance, my boots digging into the sand just enough to push off when I need to. I know Cole is going to attack me. He’s going to want to show me I’m wrong. I’ve sparred with him too many times to count. I’ve begun to learn who he is and how he moves. How his mind works.

And predators attack. That’s nothing new. My left hand prepares to turn the spear, to glide over the sword when Cole tries to block my stab.

Cole moves like nothing’s changed, his feet pushing him forward instead of backward, but they move in that steady rhythm that I’ve come to realize is his battle pacing. He moves to a drumbeat inside him, just like I do. Just like everything does.

His is just different from mine. Faster. A little more steady than my own chaotic one.

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