Page 60 of Unseen Eye
Callon continues, his voice a low growl. “She was escorted by a small party that consisted of Erik, Theo, and Izzy’s father, Eamon, and a small group of guards.”
His voice grows quieter, yet each word carries the weight of the memory. “Rebels ambushed her. Eamon failed to protect them and left her and Erik there—turning his back on them. We didn’t find out until a day later when she didn’t return. That’s when I made it my personal mission to make them pay. A life for a life.”
His eyes meet mine, and I see the sadness etched there, but more than that, I see resolve—unyielding and fierce. “I don’t regret what I did,” he says, almost as if daring me to judge him. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
I don’t know what to say, and there’s no point in lying to him, so I nod. Tears sting the back of my eyes, the loss of a loved one all too familiar.
Callon’s gaze softens as he looks down at our hands, his fingers curling around mine. “Sometimes, I wonder if she’d be proud of me,” he admits quietly. “But there’s no regret. I couldn’t let them get away with it.”
I squeeze his hand gently, my voice thick with emotion. “She would be proud of you. Of the man you’ve become.”
He lets out a breath, his eyes still locked on the painting. “Maybe,” he whispers, but there’s doubt lingering in his tone, like he’s never allowed himself to believe it. His fingers tighten around mine, his gaze dropping to our hands. “Sometimes, I’m not so sure.”
Chapter Nineteen
The next couple of weeks fall into a rhythm that I start to find strangely comforting. I wake up every morning and chat with Ingrid over a cup of coffee before training with Theo. I’ve graduated from sparring with Izzy and now duel with him.
After training, I dive into hours of practicing magic with Izzy. What used to be a struggle—locking and unlocking doors, lighting candles—has now become second nature. I’ve even mastered creating a minor energy shield to deflect small objects and levitating items within arm’s reach. My confidence in my abilities grows by the day, and it feels incredible. However, despite this progress, still find ourselves pouring over the Fate’s prophecy, that still remains as cryptic as ever. A puzzle we just can’t seem to crack.
I don’t see much of Callon after our outing on the first day. Despite several attempts to ask Theo about him, I haven’t been able to learn much—apparently, Callon is as good at keeping secrets as Theo is at sparring. But the more I think about it, the more I suspect Callon is tangled up with Astermiri, caught in their attempts to find me or to secure their own interests. Baron and Garet haven’t given up on me. I can tell by the way people dance around certain topics, by the way the ambassadors glance at me when they think I’m not paying attention. The requests, the offers, the promises of peace—each one a ripple between the kingdoms. Every word, every action seems to pull things tighter, and it’s impossible to ignore the fact that the longer I stay here, the deeper the rift grows.
But I refuse to let the guilt eat me alive. Instead, I use it. It’s motivation now, something to fuel me—something to remind me of what I’m fighting for. I won’t let it define me, like Callonwarned me against. I’m taking all of this—the uncertainty, the guilt, the pressure—and turning it into something more. The longer I stay here, the more I feel myself changing. The bruises from training with Izzy and Theo aren’t just reminders of my struggle; they’re badges of my effort, proof that I’m getting stronger. Stronger, not just for me, but for anyone who can’t protect themselves.
If I can get strong enough, maybe I’ll stop feeling like the one who’s always being protected. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be the one who does the protecting.
One afternoon, with nothing to do, I find myself aimlessly wandering the halls. Izzy was called away to handle a diplomatic issue with Sawyer and Quinn, her fellow ambassadors. From what Theo has told me, there’s an ambassador for each kingdom, with Izzy representing Coire on her trips to Astermiri. They are the first line of communication, negotiators of treaties, and, when necessary, the ones who wage wars with words instead of swords. With Izzy’s no-nonsense attitude, I can only imagine how those meetings must go. Before leaving, she gave me strict orders to practice my magic and not embarrass myself, so naturally, I find myself in the library.
I spend part of the afternoon flipping through books about Morosith. Apparently, Valtris had a keen interest in keeping tabs on the other Divinities, and Morosith was no exception. I find records of several audiences Morosith had with Valtris not long before the war started, though the details are frustratingly vague. There are also mentions of Morosith being spotted on the outskirts of Coire and Skorda, as if he was searching for something.
After hours with my nose buried in a book, I decide to stretch my legs. Passing the barracks, I notice a crowd has gathered, focused on something. Curiosity wins out, and I squeeze my way through. A mix of soldiers, maids, and cooks are watching twofigures spar. Throwing a few elbows of my own, I finally get a clear view.
Callon and Theo. Sparring. Shirtless.
Well, that explains the crowd. I can’t even pretend to look away—honestly, who could blame? This is a sight I could get used to.
Theo’s toned muscles glisten with a sheen of sweat under the afternoon sun, highlighting every muscle as he moves with precision. His breath comes out in controlled exhales.
Opposite him, Callon stands slightly leaner but no less powerful. His chest rises and falls with each controlled breath, muscles rippling beneath his skin. Tattoos snake across his torso, including the same eagle I spotted on Theo’s neck—a symbol of Valtris. The eagle represents dominance, power, and the keen vision needed in battle, always watching, always prepared to strike. But it’s another tattoo on Callon’s shoulder that grabs my attention—a pattern of intertwined lines and circles, eerily similar to the one on my own forearm.
The intensity of their sparring match captivates everyone around, soldiers and staff alike, their eyes glued to the spectacle. The sound of coins trading hands fills the air, bets being placed on who will hit the ground next.
As I scan the crowd, I recognize a few familiar faces, but it’s the one on the far side that makes me laugh. I push my way over and stand next to her.
“Ingrid,” I say with a smile, “what are you doing out here?”
Ingrid turns her gaze from the fight and grins at me. “Oh, you know me,” she says with a laugh. “I can’t resist a good fight, especially when it’s between my boys.”
“Oof!” she exclaims, pretending to feel the impact as Callon lands a punch across Theo’s cheek. The swords have been discarded, and they’re now down to a good old-fashioned fistfight.
“Who exactly are you rooting for?” I ask, my eyes now transfixed on the fight as well.
“What can I say?” she replies. “I’m a sucker for the underdog.”
“Which one is that exactly?” I ask, genuinely unsure.
“Theo,” she says without hesitation. “Your boy, Callon, is a lot stronger than he looks.”
“He’s not my—whatever you called him,” I counter quickly, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.
