Page 29 of Power of Five
19
Leralynn
The measurements take half an hour, and I’m waiting at the stable when Coal, Tye, and Shade canter in. Coal’s gaze goes to mine mid-stride and he dismounts before the horse is fully stopped, landing a pace away from me.
I open my mouth to make my request, but Coal is already holding a callused hand out to me. “Come, mortal,” he says quietly. “I know where to go.”
I follow in silence as Coal leads me behind the stables to a sand-filled training yard, where several guards are practicing with wooden blades. The guards’ inquisitive stares upon seeing me dissolve into smoke the instant they notice Coal, who simply crosses his arms and surveys the training court. Within a moment the sand is empty, the males bowing low and scattering, even those who were plainly in the middle of a sparring match when we arrived.
“Are you a prince of something too?” I ask, biting the ends of my words.
“I am a warrior of the quint,” Coal says shortly. Picking up two small leather targets, Coal straps them onto his hands. “The same as you.”
I snort. “The great warrior that is me, yes.”
Coal weighs me with his gaze, his face tense. Turning on his heels, he removes the hand targets and takes three practice blades from the rack. Blades in hand, the male strides over to a training post, a larger version of the rope-covered pillar in the inn’s paddock. Coal tosses two of the training swords to the sand and swings the third one through the air, his whole body a blur.
The crack of wood as the blade shatters takes my breath.
Discarding the now-useless stick, Coal picks up the next sword, his muscles cording into a smooth arc as he shatters the blade in a single blow. With the third blade, Coal cracks the training pillar itself.
“That’s impossible,” I whisper, blinking at the debris.
“You make it possible,” Coal replies shortly. A gentle wind billows his loose black shirt, the fabric on one side outlining his cut abdominals. “We can only draw full power when the quint is complete.” He kicks the wood away. “You may not feel like a great warrior. Yet. But you are essential to our unit as a whole. We cannot function fully without you—nor you without us.”
I take this in silently, anger still sizzling in my mind.
“But in answer to your first question,” Coal continues, “no, River is the only royal among us. And yes, he should have told you earlier.”
“He isn’t the only one who can speak,” I snap. The words escape before I can catch them, but Coal doesn’t flinch.
“It was his story to tell, not ours.” Reclaiming the leather targets, Coal puts them on his hands again and holds them out before me. “Punches. Use what passes for body weight on you.”
I need no further invitation. My hands curl desperately into fists and I sink one into a leather pad, the impact echoing through my arm and making my knuckles sing. I strike again. Again. As if my fists can erase the lies, can reclaim my shreds of dignity.
Weak.Lowborn.Mortal.I punch the pad with each stinging thought.
The fae warrior towering before me starts moving, making me dance for the pleasure of striking the pad, until my breath comes in short gasps and sweat beads at the roots of my stupidly thick hair. His blue eyes glow, his beautiful face placid but for a small smile at the corners of his lips.
River is a prince and I am peasant muck. He never wanted me to step foot in his palace. I was to be his dirty little secret until the Citadel corrected the magic’s mistake.
Strike. Strike. Strike.My knuckles bleed as I pound them into the pads. The sweat coating my skin now soaks my hair, running in thick drops down my face.Strike. Duck. Turn. Whatever I do, however I move or hit, Coal has a new target waiting for me each time.
I am not a toy, my mind suddenly shouts at the pads, my bloody fists slamming into the leather.I am not a pet. Lying to me isn’t all right.Another punch, this one jolting my shoulder and sending a branch of pain through my arm.I...Bile rises up my throat. Because this isn’t just about the lies. It’s worse. It’s about the truth.
I slam both my hands into the targets at the same time, not caring how ineffective it is, because the dark fear inside my chest is now tumbling out, forcing itself into words. “I don’t belong,” I shout at the bloodied leather. “Not here. Not anywhere. I. Don’t. Belong.”
“I know,” says Coal, and I realize the pads are gone from his hands, his palms clamping hard around my fists. “I don’t either. But here we both are.”
I stare at the male, my chest heaving with gasping breaths. Tiny drops of blood escape our desperate grip. His pale eyes’ purple tinge shines in the setting sun, the muscles of his square jaw so tight they tremble. His scent is musky and male and harsh like steel.
My vision blurs, the stinging in my eyes betraying tears. I want to turn my head, but Coal’s gaze won’t let me move. No pity. There is never pity in Coal’s eyes. But something more. Deeper.
Coal’s face hovers above me, so close I can feel him inhale my scent. Feel the warm tickle of air when he releases his breath. His mouth is stern, his lips holding the promise of velvet. Coal lowers our joined hands, stretching my fists to my sides.
“But here we both are,” I whisper, echoing him.
“Yes.” He swallows and steps back sharply, releasing his grip on me as if suddenly realizing he held molten steel. His voice is rough when he speaks again. Commanding. “Come,” he says, jerking his chin toward a small wooden shack at the sand’s edge.
