Page 95 of Legacy of the Heirs
Elisara nodded slowly, and a small smile crept onto her lips. They finally had something that might lead to more.
“I did it. I really did it,” she said, focusing on that feeling again and her connection to him. She held out her palm, but no flame appeared. Frowning, she tried again. “Urgh!” Using her sword as a crutch, she pushed herself from the ground. The sword glinted in the sun as she swung it, distracting herself.
“Do you remember why you took that sword?” asked Kazaar with a daring look and mischievous smile. His own sword, the Sword of Sonos, screeched when it met hers. Elisara rolled her eyes as they went through their usual training motions.
“I wanted a reminder,” she breathed. “That I had done something for my kingdom.” Kazaar grunted and pushed back, a flourish of movements sending them round and round in circles. Elisara’s sword hit his again, and she could have sworn light sparks burst from the connection. Kazaar dropped his elbows, and Elisara stumbled, their swords crossed between them.
“And you will do so again, with or without the power of all four.” Elisara tried to look away from him but could not. “You will do so again, with or without whatever light and dark exists within us. Our blood is enough. It will take longer, but as long as all fighters have a weapon that mimics the Sword of Sonos, we will win.”
“You do not know that, Kazaar,” Elisara’s voice broke, and her finger twitched on the hilt of her sword. She glanced down. The tendrils she so often saw wrapping around Kazaar’s hand reached out to caress her skin.
“I know it, Elisara.” She looked back up at the certainty in his voice. “There is no world that exists where I am not with you, which means we must win.” They lowered their swords, magnetised by the tie within them, as Elisara leaned her head against his shoulder. Comfort enveloped her as Kazaar wrapped his arms around her, reaching for the back of her neck.
I can do this.
The comfort of the moment was disrupted when someone dramatically cleared their throat. Elisara refused to turn her head,unwilling to leave the safety of Kazaar’s arms.
“He has perfect timing,” Elisara said to Kazaar in her mind, who scoffed.
“He always does.”
The owner of the cough shuffled in the gravel, waiting. Elisara sighed and pulled back from Kazaar, greeting Caellum with an awkward wave.
“Sadira is ready for you both,” he said plainly, glancing between the pair like he had every day since coming to collect them. Elisara recognised the downturn of his features. Something was upsetting him, though she did not believe it was her. Every day, he came at the same time. Elisara did not know why he bothered; they knew when to visit her. Kazaar plastered on a fake grin and intertwined his hand with Elisara’s, who refrained from rolling her eyes. Kazaar didthisevery day, too. Caellum nodded and turned for the palace.
The cool air in the palace was a relief as Elisara kicked off her shoes and followed barefoot. Every day at noon, they gave their blood to Sadira, and every day Elisara hoped it would be the last. Sadira was yet to find success with the imbuement. Elisara smiled politely when she entered the small room that had become Sadira’s workplace. Every surface was hidden by pots and jars and bunches of fresh and dried plants. Elisara did not know how Sadira managed working here each day; a few minutes gave Elisara a headache, overcome by the concoction of scents. Caellum assumed his usual spot in the corner beside the door. Sun streamed in through the glass windows to Elisara’s right, who sat on one of the two chairs in the room opposite Sadira’s main desk. Sadira returned Elisara’s smile. She was unsure at what point the two had become civil, but their working relationship was far better than Elisara and Caellum’s, or Sadira and Caellum’s, for that matter.
Something had happened between them, given how quickly their behaviour around one another had changed. They did not touch or look at one another, and Elisara curiously wondered why.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Sadira
Sadira liked to associate her emotions with plants. Joy was a pale daffodil, and devotion was lavender. Melancholy was violets. But jealousy was an ivy that climbed and festered the longer you left it unattended. She felt it twisting now, suffocating and driving her apart from the man standing on the opposite side of the room while she drained blood from his first love.
Sadira and Caellum had barely spoken during the nine days since the welcome ball. One moment, they were dancing, and the next, they were arguing. She wished she had said nothing, but Sadira had spent all her adult life biting her tongue around Soren. She refused to diminish herself for another.
She replayed Caellum’s reaction to Elisara’s celestial tie, which spoke of a love that still existed and the pain upon realising Elisara was well and truly gone, belonging to another. Sadira had tried to forget it by reminding herself you never truly lost the love of your first. But when she thought about her reunion with Rodik, that had been enough for Sadira to know Caellum was her future. Sadira had bathed in his warmth when they danced at the ball, besotted with one another. Then Caellum had spun her yet failed to catch her when she twirled back. Instead, Sadira stood, waiting for his other hand while Caellum’s eyes followed Kazaar and Elisara, who swiftly left the hall.
Every reminder of growing up in Soren’s shadow had crawled across her skin then. She was the spare heir, and now, in Elisara’s shadow, Sadira felt like a consolation prize again. She did not see the look in his eyes, though a gut feeling filled the blanks withone of longing. Perhaps trusting her gut reaction over logic had been her mistake. Dropping his hand, Sadira walked away. It took Caellum four seconds to follow. Four whole seconds, which she knew because she counted in the hopes he would follow and prove her wrong.
His hand clasped hers before he spun Sadira to ask what was wrong. She wanted him to know and realise without having to tell him, though it felt foolish now to expect someone to read her mind. “Is there space for me?” she had asked him, and silence followed. “Is there space for me in your heart when she still occupies it?”
“What?” Caellum stumbled over his word. “No, it’s…” She left, and he did not follow that time. Their bed felt empty every night, with Sadira facing the terrace and Caellum facing the wall, leaving enough room for the ivy to grow between them.
“Ouch,” Elisara gasped.
“I’m so sorry,” Sadira mumbled, realising she held the knife too deep, distracted by her emotions. Sadira had lost count, but looking at the glass jar of silvery blood, it had been long enough. Sadira removed the blade and wiped the wound, mesmerised as it stitched itself back together.
“All done,” Sadira said, as Kazaar helped Elisara from the stool, who was always slightly lightheaded after the collection.
“Same time tomorrow?” asked Elisara, and Sadira nodded, catching Caellum’s eye. “You do not need to collect us,” Elisara said to him. “We know when to be here.”
Caellum opened and then closed his mouth, nodding stiffly as they left. Sadira rolled her eyes and busied herself by cleaning knives and wiping the table, moving jars before placing a plain sword on the table. Caellum did not leave.
“She is right, you know,” said Sadira. Caellum finally met her eye. “You do not need to escort them here.” Sadira pulled out the chair, readying to sit and work for the afternoon.
“Do you know why I escort them every day?” he asked.
