Page 25 of Trial of Three
Blayne’s next strike hits only the left target. His third attempt strikes only the right.
By the time Blayne readies himself for a fourth attempt, his chest heaving with the effort, Tye’s wall of flames is but a pace away. Spheres of fire fly from the trainee, as if quantity could make up for precision. Except even I can tell that the shots are wild, draining Blayne’s power as quickly as he can summon it. Sweat stands out on his brow.
Face. Blade. Face. Blade. The targets keep turning, their pace mockingly steady, though Blayne no longer can spare the time for them. Not as Tye’s wall of flame approaches, ready to burn Blayne alive.
I gasp, letting out a relieved breath when a shimmering shield springs up around Blayne, encircling his body just as Tye’s fire catches him.
Magic crashes into magic. And shoves.
Another gasp escapes me. I hadn’t realized Tye’s fire could push as well as burn. By the wide look in Blayne’s eyes, neither had he. Now Tye’s magic forces the trainee back. One step. Two. More. Until Blayne’s back is against the stone wall and the flames surround him in a cocoon.
His scream pierces the air and Tye flinches, even as his fire holds. The scream sounds again, morphing into a choking cough. Only when silence reins does Tye’s fire dissipate to reveal Blayne’s body, curled up and whimpering on the ground.
I swallow, not knowing where to look. Klarissa strides up to Blayne, the silver shimmer of her healing magic washing over him while Tye returns his attention to the rest of us. As if nothing unexpected took place.
Perhaps nothing unexpected did.
“Simultaneously striking two targets at a wide angle demands flexibility and precision in your magic,” Tye tells our silent group. “It’s the magical equivalent of doing a split, and until you can do it with your body, you will be unable to perform it with your magic, which must be anchored to your core.” Tye lowers himself to the sand, his legs stretched left and right in an impossibly straight line. “Today, therefore, we will work on flexibility. Attempt to anchor your magic to your muscles as you work. Once I feel you are stretched enough to attempt the exercise that Blayne failed, I will let you know. Pair up.”
A beat of awkward silence hangs in the air. Casting a long look at Blayne, the other trainees decide to go along with Tye’s instructions, sitting with their backs against the arena wall while their partners pull them forward by the hands and simultaneously push their legs outward. In moments, groans of pain fill the air. None chose to work with me.
Left by myself, with neither magic nor partner, I settle to stretch as well. With my legs spread as far as they can go—a shape that resembles a wedge of cheese rather than the line Tye demonstrated—I watch the male I thought I knew walk down the row of trainees, the angles of his beautiful, sharp face in a shape I’ve never seen before. He goes to every pair, makes corrections to every other being in the arena, before finally stopping in front of me. A stunning, lithe fae warrior, with a mop of red hair and too-serious green eyes.
“I didn’t have a partner,” I say stupidly.
“I’m your partner.” Tye sighs, glances at Klarissa, who stands watch over by the horizontal bar, then crouches in front of me. Close enough that he could brush a hand along my hair, though he does not.
A chill runs through me, Coal’s words echoing in my memory. My mouth is dry, my heart racing no matter how many times I tell myself that it’s Tye—Tye—who sits beside me. “What are we going to do?”
He does touch my cheek then, brushing his thumb across it gently before sitting down with the soles of his boots pressing against the insides of my shins. With my back against the wall and Tye’s legs braced to push mine farther apart, there is suddenly no place to go. No escape. Grasping my elbows with his large hands, Tye meets my gaze. “I’m going to hurt you, lass,” he says softly. “And it’s all right if you need to cry.”
16
Tye
Tye was going to kill Klarissa, he decided as he watched Lera sob in pain. He was going to tear the whole damn world apart for making him do this to Lera. For putting the lives and safety of others beneath his care. For making him re-taste a world he’d shut the door on centuries ago.
“Focus on your body; the magic will come later,” Tye said, feeling the stream of power she radiated twitch and retreat beneath the strain. It was amazing, truly, to sense her echoing his own power, the feeling of it as palpable to him as his own. The key difference being that Tye enjoyed pushinghisbody to its limits. “Let your muscles yield to the pressure.”
The lass was shaking now, thinking herself at a limit that she was still far from. The hitched sobs escaping her throat seared right into Tye’s soul.
Tye felt Klarissa’s eyes burning into his shoulders. Especially with Elidyr here, the elders would know if he let Lera off easy—and the retribution would not be pleasant. Klarissa had made that point clear enough.
And the day was already bad enough without that. The mere sight of the familiar equipment, the soft grunts of athletes, the smell of the chalk he’d used to help keep his grip on the bar, flooded Tye with memories he’d worked hard to push away. Made his body thirst for more, even if thatmorewas poisoned.
“Tye, stop.” Lera’s words escaped between desperate pants. Her beautiful fiery brown hair was in wild disarray, some tendrils plastered to her face with sweat. Her creamy skin was blotchy with exertion. The magic was slipping away from her, but her muscles couldn’t escape Tye’s pressure.
“Easy, lass. Take a breath.” He tried to make his voice soothing, the only comfort he had to offer her as, instead of doing as she asked, he pulled her arms further toward him. “It’s better if you breathe.”
He doubted she could hear him just now, likely busy as she was planning his demise. The worst part of this damn morning was that it was working. Lera’s supple curves responded beautifully to his demands, her magic and muscles yielding better than anyone he’d ever worked with. Not that she’d think so.
Lera sobbed silently, her back arching in a fruitless attempt to escape the burning agony. Her body begged for a reprieve, but although Tye could see the words forming and reforming on her lips, they never came. Not because Lera trusted the exercise, but because she no longer trustedhim. She’d asked once. She knew that he knew her request—and was ignoring it.
Tye’s jaw tightened. No one sane ever coached a lover, and this was why. Another minute, Tye decided, and then he’d let her rest while he ran the others through the earlier target exercise. At least two of the remaining seven fae had a chance of passing it.
They didn’t pass, though one—the tall second-trial named Yalis—came close on his second try. Yalis now studied the course for a third attempt, a spark of intrigue flashing in his eyes. The trainee was starting to feel the point of it, no longer trying to brute-force the throws and focusing on precision instead.
At least Tye didn’t have to punish anyone else the way he’d punished Blayne—there was little need to repeat that point—but all the trainees wore a few burns to show for the attempts. Stars. This was like herding cats. Cats with candles tied to their tails while running through straw.
