Page 96 of The Spark that Ignites
And he didn’t demand anything.
Didn’t pry for information or expect a favour in return. He merely held her as she unknotted her grief.
But despite Maela’s request for Emmery to read her letter, each night she held the box in her hand, she couldn’t do it. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the last fragment of her sister.
Maybe she never would be.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Fallen Equinox loomed closer, and each night Emmery laid awake until the morning sun drew her bleary-eyed ass from bed. That damn heaviness in her chest wouldn’t cease. And it all seemed pointless now—the training, the effort, this place that was, and couldn’t be, home.
It would all be over shortly, and at least her sister was safe, happy, and at peace. And she would see her again soon. Permanently.
Emmery had barely seen a glimpse of Vesper, let alone a solitary word, since they summoned Maela. Their only interaction was a single rib crushing hug, that lifted her feet off the ground, before he sprinted to a meeting he was already late for. The unearned sentiment had caught her off guard and left her with tears brimming her eyes and festering guilt in her chest.
But training kept her troubled mind distracted. And with Briar’s help she could now form barriers and shields with herkhaosflame. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to practice her healing. Briar promised they would, but Emmery knew they’d soon be out of time.
Meanwhile, Callias begrudgingly taught her combat. They began with basics—punching, kicking, and where to strike to make it hurt. They then moved to defensive manoeuvres and counterattacks, all of which Emmery suffered through. And when it came to dagger and swordplay, she quickly discovered she was awful at both. How she made it this far without dying was nothing short of a miracle.
As she danced across the training room, wincing at her stumbling footwork, her body cried with fatigue. It was too fast. And she was too damn clumsy, like a newborn fawn walking for the first time. Gripping the broadsword with frustration, she fought through each movement.
Callias impatiently tapped his foot, scrutinizing her with his stormy gaze, before stalking away with a grunt. It was truly inspiring mentorship. Although Vesper was adamant of Callias’s soft heart, she hadn't glimpsed it. Not between his blunt comments, jagged glares, and sharp words.
“No, no,no,” he scolded, throwing his hands up. “You’re holding the sword wrong. And you’re going to hurt yourself. Again.”
Emmery winced. Yes, alright, she cut herself that one time.
Onetime. And it wasn’t even that bad.
He marched up behind her, towering from his massive height as his worn leather and black pepper smell assaulted her. Everything about him was aggressive. Including how he grasped her elbow in one hand and braced the small of her back in the other, while he guided her feet into position with his booted toe.
Emmery’s breath hitched and her heart roared for release. His molten touch practically burned through her sweaty tunic, authority radiating from every pore in his body.
His presence screamed warrior. To bow. To fear. And Emmery willed herself not to flinch from his touch, but her body betrayed her.
When he noticed, his lips pressed into a line and his hold softened, then released. “Youcannotfold like an ape if you want to keep up.”
“Right,” Emmery murmured, her face heating as she bit back a venomous retort. He didn’t need to be so damn rude about it. “Straight, solid, fierce.”
“Once more,” he commanded, though it was never just once.
Emmery swiped at the practice dummy, once, twice, thrice. Gods, she hated that fucking thing with its creepy faceless gaze and gouged wood that shot vibrations clanging up her arm. She swung, sloppier with each slice of the sword. It was too damn heavy. Her arms screamed for relief, and she growled between clenched teeth, refusing to be weak or let him see it.
But the sword slipped in her sweat slickened palm, and she panted, “I need a break.”
“We’ve barely been at this an hour.” Callias’s blue-grey eyes narrowed on her, his stare expressive yet guarded like his emotions bled through even when he spent every moment reining them in. She saw it in each longing look shared with Briar. And as he looked at Emmery, like every other time, there was pure resentment. As if she was some plague sweeping over the population. “To improve you have to push through the fatigue. Fight the sore muscles.”
Angrily swiping sweat from her brow, she groaned, “I know my form is rubbish. Maybe if I catch my breath, I could keep my spine straight and not hunch like an old lady.” Her eyes slid to him. “Doesn’t that sound nice? Not having to correct my stance every three seconds?”
“Fine.” Callias grunted again, this time with an added eyeroll. “Drink some water.”
He chucked a bottle at her and, luckily, she caught it before it shattered on the training room floor. As she gulped it down her parched throat, she leaned on the disgustingly white wall beside him. Someone really ought to paint this room. All that white hurt her eyes.
Callias focussed ahead, feet folded at the ankle, and arms crossed. Gods, his biceps weremassive. They strained against his short-sleeved tunic, veins bulging savagely, his deep skin tone and bronze vestige offset by the oatmeal fabric. His boots were immaculately buffed and dark brown trousers pressed toperfection. He didn’t acknowledge her presence, keeping his attention on the open window. A cool, fresh breeze grazed her hot cheeks.
Emmery released a cleansing breath, choosing to play nice. After all, hewashelping her. Even if he was a prick about it.
Clearing her throat, she said, “So, Ves tells me you were trained in combat at an early age.”
