Page 74 of The Scarlet Star

“Ten more rounds,” he called over the field. “Then we’ll break and do ten more.”

Not a peep rose from the Folke, but Xerxes knew they probably grumbled under their breath when they looked at him who, even though he was King, was younger than most of them by at least several years.

A feminine squeal lifted from the garden across the field, and Xerxes spotted maidens there.

Only three of them—the fourth was missing.

It was clear they came to watch the Folke practice, or had come to watchhimpractice, by how the two nameless ones clapped. Xerxes’s gaze landed on Calliope a foot away from the others, wearing a gown twice as rich in colour as the other two’s. She was scowling in his direction, standing with her arms folded and her hip jutted out. Xerxes grunted and went back to his spar partner. He cared not for the maiden’s mood, though, he understood why she resented him. But any woman with an ounce of grace would have let things go by now.

“We’re hungry.”

In three swift moves, Xerxes batted the sword and shield from his partner’s hands. The blade rolled across the grass and the Folke jogged after it. Xerxes sighed and shook his head. He’d been intensely trained in the art of swordplay since he was strong enough to lift a sword—but he still should not have been able to overtake every Folke so easily. Who had trained these idiots? Blind, mute cave goblins?

The next Folke stepped up, and Xerxes glared at him. “I thought I told you to stay outside Ryn’s door,” he said and then added, “Matthias, was it?”

The Folke, Matthias, scratched behind his ear. “Ryn is busy all day preparing for the trial tomorrow night. She told me to leave for a while.”

Xerxes’s next question should have been,“And why would you disobey my orders regardless of what she wants?”But what came out was, “What is she doing for the trial? Do you know?” and “Did she happen to mention which sense she chose?”

Matthias raised a shy laugh and shifted his footing. “She wouldn’t tell me.”

Xerxes huffed and glanced off, thinking about that. “Well, be off, Guard. You’re excused from Folke training today.”

“W… Why?” Matthias’s sword drooped at his side.

“Because I made a promise not to hurt you, and I don’t see you being able to defend yourself against me right now. Go read a book or something.” Xerxes flicked his hand back and forth, telling Matthias to get out of the way for the next Folke.

Matthias’s mouth opened and closed, but he dipped into a shallow bow. After he left, the next Folke came to face Xerxes. The Folke swung before Xerxes was ready, and Xerxes almost didn’t have time to leap out of the way. He blinked up at the guard in surprise, and he almost smiled in his cold, strange way.

“Finally,” he muttered. He stood tall and said to the guard, “I’ll give you a thousand pieces of gold if you can make me bleed.”

The sun began to set in the late afternoon hours, glowing through the infirmary in sizzling yellow. Xerxes propped his leg up on the medicine bed while the physician wrapped his arm in slow, delicate movements. The grey-haired man had three pharmacopoeia tomes open as he followed several sets of instructions. Even with all the knowledge at his fingertips, the physician’s hands still trembled as he worked. He wouldn’t meet Xerxes’s eyes either.

“Just do it,” Xerxes urged, wishing everyone wouldn’t be so careful and waste his time.

Coming to the palace infirmary was a mistake. Xerxes originally wanted to train, bleed, and heal alongside the Folke to show they were all soldiers with the same flesh, blood, andability to learn. Now, he knew it wasn’t worth it to refuse special treatment. Even being lonely in his bedroom with his personal doctor would have been better than having the physicians here too frightened to tie a knot or sew a stitch. The medical students at their desks on the far side of the infirmary couldn’t keep their attention on the pharmacopoeia books open before them either, and Xerxes scowled at them.

Xerxes had driven the Folke to their knees in the yard. A guard had even passed out from exhaustion by the time training was finished. Xerxes suffered three minor cuts; one to his arm, one to his leg, and one along his side. The pain was dull and unimpressive, and Xerxes welcomed it. He was pleased the Folke were no longer going easy on him like they had in the beginning.

“We’re hungry.”

“WE’RE HUNGRY.”

Xerxes cursed and knocked his knuckles off the side of his head. If the physician noticed, he didn’t dare comment on it.

A few Folke were scattered around the infirmary, including the one who’d passed out. Maids brought them water and refreshments and offered them little words of encouragement upon seeing their cuts. Xerxes could not believe all the fuss taking place before him.

“You’re finished,” the physician said, sweeping away with his spare bandages and gently closing his books.

Xerxes rolled his sleeve down as he stood from the medicine bed and marched from the infirmary. He stopped paying attention to everyone he passed in the halls, forgetting faces as soon as he saw them. He slipped into the hall with slat windows and came to the door no one dared to enter but him.

Xerxes descended the spiral staircase into the basement. His voices magnified as he drew closer to the tree—to hisrealmedicine those physicians in the infirmary hadn’t the slightestinsight into. He breathed in the smell of fresh, crisp pears, muddied by the damp scent of the palace’s deepest room.

He stopped short when he saw a dark figure standing there, covered in a long hood. He would have recognized Belorme’s frame anywhere, even though the sage was growing thinner these days.

“What…” Xerxes drew a step in. Icy moisture tickled his flesh. “…areyoudoing here?” he demanded.

Belorme turned his head, but his face was cloaked in shadow.

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