Page 62 of Kissed By the Gods
As one, the boys—men—around me click their heels and turn to file through the large columns separating the courtyard from the field beyond. I don’t manage theclickwith my boots quitelike they do, but I do make the turn and start to file out of the courtyard behind Leif and Kiernan.
We return once more to the Stormriven training area to find Ryot, Caius, and Thalric—our masters—leaning against the columns that separate the smaller pits from the larger grounds. Nyrica and Faelon are with them. Maybe they managed a nap while we were in wardcall, because none of them look as exhausted as the three of us.
Ryot’s arms are crossed, and he’s leaned a shoulder against one of the pillars. Even relaxed like this, he’s intimidating. There’s something about the stillness of him that’s measured and watchful, so that you know violence pulses under the calm. A fresh bandage wraps his cut from the unnaming ceremony, a mirror to mine. Nyrica brought bandages and an ointment to the training grounds last night, since we didn’t take a break.
Thalric pushes off the column he’d been propping up, standing to full height with the kind of subtle authority that makes you want to stand straighter without realizing you’ve done it.
Leif manages a tired grin. “I don’t imagine we’re getting a nap, eh?”
Thalric curls his lips up. “Do you get a nap in battle?”
Leif sighs a little, running his palm over the hilt of his sword. “What’ve you got for us today, Master Thalric?”
“The galehold,” Thalric says without hesitation.
Leif chokes on a laugh. “What? For them?” He jerks a thumb toward Kiernan and me.
“The galehold?” Kiernan echoes, eyes wide. “Now?”
“I didn’t go until my fifth month. Kiernan hasn’t even been yet,” Leif protests. “It’s not safe until?—”
“She doesn’t have time,” Ryot cuts in, looking only at me now, daring me to question him. So, I do.
“What’s the galehold?” I ask.
“The galehold is where the faravars live. It’s their sanctuary, carved into the upper mountain behind the Synod,” Ryot says.
“Like … stables?” I ask.
All of the men, even Kiernan, kind of scoff as if I’ve said something incredibly stupid.
All of them, that is, except Ryot, who tilts his head and asks me, “You’ve seen Einarr, and ridden him. Do you think he could be confined in a stable?”
Well, when he puts it like that ...
Ryot steps toward me. “The galehold isn’t a stable or a pen. It’s open—wild, sacred ground. The faravars come and go as they please.”
Thalric picks up where Ryot leaves off. “New wards normally aren’t brought to the galehold this early, not until they’ve proven discipline, mental clarity, and physical readiness. The wind up there could rip you off the cliff. Or, if the faravars are so inclined, they could rip you to shreds. They’re territorial and unpredictable.”
My mouth has gone dry, and my hands have a little tremble. I hide them behind my back. “Well,” I say. “Let’s not rush on my account.”
Kiernan laughs weakly at my joke. “Why do I need to go now?” he asks. “I’m not marked by the gods. I shouldn’t have to go now.”
Thalric turns hard eyes onto Kiernan. “You think our entire cast isn’t in more danger now? Now that we hold Thayana’s marked one in our care?”
Kiernan’s eyes flare even wider, and fear churns around him. It tastes like copper and lands sharp on my tongue.
“Even more dangerous?” he almost wails. “How could it be even more dangerous? We already lost half our cast this year! Ryot’s and Nyrica’s new wards, dead. Zal, dead. Torin, dead.Kaveh, dead. All three of their wards, dead. Aelric, disappeared. And that’s just this year!”
Kiernan’s voice rises with each word, and so does his fear.
I never went to school. I only learned numbers from my mother, and only enough to help at market. But I’m no idiot—that’s eight men dead and one missing. In half a year. Godsdammit, that can’t be normal. Right?
Faelon plugs his nose, crinkling his face in disgust. I try to breathe through my mouth, but even then I cantasteit, Kiernan’s fear.
“Your shields are failing, Kiernan,” Caius barks out. “You don’t want the faravars to know your fear, boy.”
The harsh words make the stench of his fear that much more potent, that much more alarming. I’m no wild beast, but the way it clogs my nostrils and bites at my tongue makes me want to fight something.
