Page 74 of Terragnata and the Heir of the Earth

Before I could respond, she spoke again. “Let us change the subject, my dear. Have you chosen to compete in the Skøl?”

“I have.”

“I see. And do you plan to lose?”

I nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and said, “I don’t know what you are talking about, Rexi. I have no plans to lose.”

“Good,” she said, flicking her wrist. A whoosh of air shot out from the Rexi in all directions, as if to coat the walls. “We can speak freely now. I’ve sealed the room. If any stray ears were on us, they will report your denial.”

I blinked, wondering what spell she just used, and how I could learn something so handy.

“It’s easier for all of us if you lose that blasted competition. The sooner you do, the sooner we can return home.”

I flinched at the idea of going anywhere with the cold stranger who sat in front of me. “Do you no longer approve of my match with Cas?” I asked carefully.

The Rexi sighed. “That match was always Viturius’s idea—never mine. It would have had advantages… the heir, in particular, could have been used to control Cas. Darlan, too. But the king no longer supports it. Publicly, he does, of course. The bastard can’t stand to lose face. But if the match is not supported privately, then it is doomed to begin with. It is far more advantageous for us to return to Nebbiolo. It is why I hoped Fayzien would retrieve youbeforeyou made it to Valfalla—we could’ve returned to Nebbiolo and avoided all this Skøl business entirely. But we are here now, and I do not think it wise to reject the prince outright.” The Rexi paused, thinking for a moment, while my stomach boiled at her casual mention of manipulating Cas.

“It is time, Terra, for you to get to know your home so that you may prepare for your role as queen. It may come sooner than you think.”

White-hot anger mixed with terror flashed through my body—at her callousness, her arrogant assumption that I would follow her orders without question. “And what makes you think I have any interest in ruling? After what you did to me? To my father? To my Argenti family? You have no idea who I am. You don’t know me at all! I am no daughter to you, no future queen,” I spat.

In an instant, my body was hauled across the room until I stood before her. The Rexi’s thin fingers wrapped around my throat, her chrome nails pressing into the bruises left by Fayzien the morning before. I choked, gasping for air, my toes fighting to remain on the ground as she raised me up with a strength I did not know Witches could possess. I grasped for an ember of my power to call to any nearby earthen object, but the flicker of magic sputtered out like a damp rag had been put over it.

“A Witch queen’s strength draws from her people,” she purred, answering my unspoken thought. It is nearly unlimited. If you fear the power Darlan has to harm your little human friend, then listen carefully. I could end Prince Casmerre with a mere thought. Lose the Skøl, as Darlan instructed. And then we will leave. I will hear no more whimpering or whining. The queen’s bloodline means a duty to the Nebbiolon people, above all else.”

She released me, and I dropped to the floor, choking on new breath. I could’ve laughed out loud at my earlier thought to wound her with the sight of my bruises—when she had just added to them herself. The door flung open, and a guard walked over to me, pulling me to stand, while the Rexi resumed her staring out of the window. I followed him, numb, not looking back.

“Terra,” she said, pausing us as we exited her room. I turned my head over my shoulder, hate roiling off me. “We all have our role to play. It is best you accept that.”

And then the door shut in our faces.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SIMPLE INTENTION

After those hectic first few days, I slipped into a routine in the palace. Per Cas’s request, two guards trailed me at all times. I would wake up and have breakfast with Gia. We would take a walk around the gardens, where she spent most of her time. We talked about pleasant things: the herbs she helped to grow, what she learned from the midwives about birth. She seemed happy enough, and curious—asking me questions about the Rexi and the king. I stressed over my friend, for she was herself, yet not. Every so often, she would grow distant, pensive. But even after multiple discussions with the midwives and palace healers, they all assured me she and the baby were perfectly fine.

I sometimes spent a few hours exercising, either sprinting on the track in the training hall or practicing hand-to-hand combat with Cas or members of his personal guard. While he had limited experience in battle, he was still a strong fighter, excelling past the average man in training, but I matched his fancier combinations with my scrappiness and surprise. I held back a few times, letting him pin me and win. I didn’t know why I did it, for he was never in a foul mood when I bested him and won occasionally by his own merit.

After a break for lunch, I would resume my training. Skill practice for an hour or two, either with a bow, sword, or small blade. The afternoon finished with lessons in Witch magic. Cas was adamant about this, for I would need to leverage all my abilities to win the Skøl, he said.

Cas rotated my instructors. I trained under an Air Witch for element control, to ensure I did not call on the Earth during the Skøl. Darlan had announced it would be a disqualifying act due to the unfair advantage it gave the favorite. But as Fae could use Fae magic, I would be allowed to spell. As long as I refrained from leveraging my element, cantrips, task spells, and portaling would be acceptable.

So, I also trained with a skilled speller, followed by an expert in portaling. The latter took me weeks of lessons, for the concept was simple but completely intangible. I had to envision a window opening, letting me out the other side. But even after dozens of lessons with the grumpiest portal-maester, I could only travel a few yards.

“Focus,” Sabnae hissed, hunched over his cane. “If you drain yourself, girl, you will be stranded. Or worse—lost to the in-between.”

This day, Cas had directed me to meet my instructor outside the castle. He’d portaled us to a large rock off the coast, the palace in the distance. I clutched my woolen coat, the damp air whipping my hair across my face and chilling my teeth.

“I amtrying, maester Sabnae,” I gritted out, spreading my hands again, doing my best to outline a portal in front of me.

“Pretty hand dancing will do nothing for you, girl.” The waves pounded the rock we stood on, ocean foam spraying the old male’s woolen coat. “It’s all up here,” he said, tapping his temple. “Take us back to the palace.”

“I know I can, I just need a moment?—”

“Your enemies will not give you a moment, girl. They will give you no mercy. The portal is a Witch’s immediate escape route, her instinctual response when the battle turns from fight to flee. It is one advantage we Witch have over the Fae. But—youmustknow your limits, at the back of your mind, always. If a Witch is too drained, she may be lost to the in-between forever.”

“And how will I know if I’m too drained?”

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