It wasn’t that Ven disliked young children.
On the whole, he had no strong feelings about them one way or another, except when they were dead, which was sad, wasteful, and made him want to bash things. Live children . . . he hadn’t spent much time with them since he was one. He was impressed with their ability to annoy one another.
“Mama, he’s doing it again,” the older one—the girl, Erian—said.
“Am not.” The younger one was . . . oh, what was his name? F-something? B? Ven watched the boy deliberately slide a stick behind him and poke his sister, lightly, in the side. She swatted at him, but he was quicker, dropping the stick and spreading his hands to show his innocence. “I’m all the way over here, Mama. I can’t even reach her. Must have been a spirit.”
Their mother, Naelin, was sewing a fresh charm onto the boy’s jacket. She didn’t look up from her neat, even stitches. “Llor, we don’t joke about spirits.”
Llor. He’d been that close to remembering.
Well . . . not really.
“You may joke about rabid squirrels,” Naelin added, “like the one behind you.”
Both children whipped around so fast they nearly toppled off the branch. There were no squirrels behind them, rabid or otherwise. Just a blackbird, who cocked its head at them, then cawed before flying off its branch. “Mama,” Erian said, with a note of profound disapproval in her voice.
Ven saw the corner of Naelin’s mouth twitch into an almost smile. He liked that she had a sense of humor. Boded well for her ability to survive what was to come. “Say good night to Champion Ven and Captain Alet,” she told them.
In unison, the children said, “Good night, Champion Ven. Good night, Captain Alet.”
Putting down her sewing, Naelin helped secure both her children into the netting that Ven had strung up between the branches. She wrapped blankets around them and kissed them both on the cheek. “Sweet dreams, my loves.”
It was a simple act, but so full of absolute love that it made something ache inside Ven’s rib cage. He rubbed his chest as if it were indigestion.
“I don’t want to dream,” Llor told her.
“Why not?” Naelin asked. “Dreams can be nice. You might have one about a friendly bear who carries you for a ride through the wood. Or a dancing bear, who performs on high wires.”
Llor giggled. “In a dance dress?”
“With ribbons in his fur.”
He stopped giggling. “What if I have a nightmare?”
His sister answered, “Then I’ll hug you until you fall back asleep.”
“What if you have a nightmare?” he asked her.
“Then I’ll tell Mama, and she’ll tell me silly stories until it goes away,” Erian said.
“Tell me a silly story now,” Llor demanded.
Naelin kissed them both again, on the foreheads this time. “Now it’s time for sleep. You’ve had a very full day.” Ven flinched as she said that, though she hadn’t looked at him. He’d kept forgetting the children didn’t have long legs. They’d needed to rest frequently, drink water, and poke at each other. He hadn’t crossed half the miles he normally would have. Still, she managed to make him feel guilty with that one statement, as if it had been his idea to bring children on a training journey.
Speaking of which . . . I have to start training her, he thought. Tonight. He’d neglected it in the interest of traveling as far from her home village as possible, to minimize the risk of her changing her mind, but now they were sufficiently far away and also not near anyone else, so he wouldn’t have to worry about endangering any innocents.
He waited while she told the children a story—apparently they had finagled one out of their mother—about a snail who wanted to climb a tree to see the sunrise. The snail was swallowed whole by a bird, excreted over the ocean (“Poop!” Llor shouted with glee), and then washed ashore on an island known for its beautiful sunrises on the beach—but the snail never saw a single sunrise because he was so tired from his three-year adventure that he slept late every morning thereafter. Ven supposed the story had some sort of moral, possibly linked to a go to sleep right now message, but he couldn’t get past the idea of the snail surviving all that.
“You’re staring at her again,” Alet said in a low voice as she dropped onto the branch beside him.
“I was not—”
“I get it. She’s a mama bear. Even I admire that. I never had that. It was just my sister and me growing up—our mother left shortly after I was born, and our father worked all the time, until he got too sick to take care of himself, much less anyone else. We’d have loved someone to kiss our boo-boos and tell us bedtime stories. I’m guessing you had a less-than-ideal childhood as well? Not that I want to discuss it, because I don’t.”
Watching Naelin did not make him think about his childhood. In fact, it woke very different thoughts, but that was not a matter he even wanted to consider. He had a job to do. “We aren’t discussing anything; we’re training a candidate. Starting now.” He unwrapped the charms from the hilt of his knife and then buried the blade in the flesh of the tree. Wriggling it back and forth and twisting it, he felt the blade cut into the soft pulp and watched Naelin. She’d left Erian and Llor in their hammocks and returned to the fireside, resuming her needlework with the new charm.
After a second, her head shot up. “There’s a spirit nearby.”
“You’re the one with the power,” Ven said, watching her as he deliberately bored the knife deeper into the wood. “Send it away.”
“You’re the one with the knife; you send it away,” she countered, and then stopped. “What are you doing?”
“Starting your training.” He plucked the knife from the tree and used it to point at a branch behind Naelin. “Be alert.”
She flung herself to the side, stretching her arms wide, to block the branch between the spirit and her children. She then grabbed the charm she’d been working on, ripped it from her son’s jacket, and held it ready to throw. Reaching over, Ven plucked it out of her hand and tossed it off the branch. It fluttered down, hitting branches as it fell, until it was out of sight. “What are you doing?” she whispered—he noticed that even scared she kept her voice low so as not to wake and alarm her children.
“Use your power.”
“It will draw more.”
“Then you’ll use more power. You will use it until you understand it.” He twirled his knife in the air. “I know many ways to anger spirits, and I will keep doing it until—”
She didn’t wait for him to finish his pronouncement. Instead, she scooped Llor into her arms and shook Erian awake. “Come on, loves, let’s climb a little, all right? Just a little climb, down to the forest floor.”
Erian rubbed her eyes. “Mama, what’s wrong?”
Llor wrapped his arms around her neck and burrowed his face into her hair. His legs clung around her waist like a baby monkey. Ven was pleased to see Naelin was strong—she appeared to be planning to climb while carrying the child. Physical strength wasn’t essential for an heir, but it helped.
But what exactly was she doing? She wasn’t leaving, was she?
Yes, she was.
“Champion Ven is not making good choices,” Naelin told her daughter, “so we are going to give him a little time by himself to think about what he’s done.”
“Oooh,” Erian said to him, “you’re in trouble. Once Mama locked Father out of the house for a whole night, even though it was raining. He got very wet before she threw him a tent.”
“Champion Ven can handle his own messes,” Naelin said crisply, “as can your father. It’s important to understand that actions have consequences.” She was already climbing down, positioning her body to block Erian from the spirits, while carrying Llor—she’d clearly done this before, climbed defensively. Mama bear, he thought.
Behind him, Alet murmured, “You’re just going to let them go?”
He tried, and failed, to keep the amusement—and admiration—out of his voice. “I believe I’m supposed to stay here and think about what I’ve done.” Above, he spotted a rustle of leaves, and an angular face poked through—its features were twisted bark, its eyes were embers, and its hands were covered in thorns. It hissed at him, displaying rows of teeth. Instantly, he felt less amused. Naelin was supposed to use her power to protect all of them. Instead, she was rapidly fleeing the area, and the spirits had correctly decided he was the one who’d damaged their beloved tree. Behind him, Alet sighed. He heard her draw her sword.
Naelin heard the fighting overhead, and it was quieter than she’d have imagined: the scuffling of feet on bark, the hollow ring of steel as it hit flesh, a grunt, a hiss. She climbed faster. Erian and Llor stuck to her as if glued and didn’t speak.
She jammed her feet into the crevasses of the bark, feeling her way down. Llor clung to one side of her—he’d wrapped her belt around his waist as they’d practiced. Erian was in front of her, climbing within the curve of Naelin’s arms. She felt her daughter’s movements as she brushed against her, and heard the breathing of both her children. Away from the camp, darkness closed around them like a blanket, and Naelin listened as hard as she could, hoping the spirits didn’t notice them.
Eventually, her foot landed in dirt—the forest floor. She peered into the darkness around them. They’d come down between the curves of the roots. “Hide here,” she whispered, and herded Erian and Llor into the folds of the massive roots. They clustered together, roots on three sides of them, snug in the embrace of the tree. Naelin gathered her children close and wished they hadn’t left home. She didn’t belong out here, risking her family, trusting a man who didn’t understand that some risks weren’t acceptable. She thought of Renet and wondered if she’d traded one man with bad judgment for another, but she couldn’t bring herself to miss him. At least Champion Ven had never lied to her. “Sleep,” she whispered into her children’s hair.
“I can’t,” Erian whispered back.
“I know. But pretend, and maybe you’ll fool yourself and actually fall asleep.”
Llor snuggled closer, and she breathed in his sweet little-boy scent. It didn’t seem to matter how many mud puddles he fell into, he exuded a smell that was better than baking. “Mama, I’m scared.”
“That’s good. Fear can be your friend. It tells you when to run and when to hide. The trick is that after you’ve run and hid, you have to tell your fear thank you very much, you’re fine now, come back later.”
“Will Champion Ven and Captain Alet be okay?” Erian asked, her voice small. Naelin held her tighter. It was easy to forget that Erian was still a child too. She was growing up so fast and wanted so badly to be an adult already.
“Yes,” Naelin started to answer and then stopped as she saw a shadow move within the other shadows, a shift of gray. “Shhh.”
They obediently quieted, knowing better than to ask why.
It didn’t feel like a spirit. She couldn’t sense any crinkling in the air, but she heard the nearest bushes rustle, and then Erian let out a tiny gasp and squeezed tighter. An animal? It sounded larger than a squirrel. Raccoon? Badger?
Naelin saw a shape move again and heard a low rumble, a growl. Predator. She held still, feeling as if every muscle had locked. They’d tucked themselves into the crook of branches for safety, but now it felt more like a trap.
And she knew in that instant she’d use her power again. But not as a first resort. Not the way Champion Ven wanted. If she did this, she did it on her own terms.
Resolute, she held her children in the crook of the tree until their breathing slowed, becoming even, and their bodies relaxed, limp against her. Awake, she stared into the darkness.
Night was never just blackness in the woods. It was layers of colorlessness, shapelessness, and silence. Here, the silence was buoyed by the crickets, whose song melded into a steady hum in all directions.
She didn’t intend to sleep at all, but somehow, despite the fear, despite her swirling thoughts, despite whatever lurked out there in the shadows, exhaustion overwhelmed her and she drifted into sleep, curled up with her children.
She woke at dawn, as light filtered, gray and dim, to the forest floor. Seated in front of her, back to her as if he were on guard, was a massive wolf. Naelin tensed, squeezing her children tighter, and she felt Erian and Llor shift, waking. She loosened her grip on them, wiggling one arm free. Her kitchen knife was in her pack . . . which she’d left up with the champion, of course. She cast around for anything that could be used as a weapon—a stout branch, a sharp rock.
Champion Ven spoke. “His name is Bayn.”
She swallowed, not trusting herself to speak. He was here, and he knew the wolf. That was . . . good? Champion Ven was leaning against the trunk of the tree, arms crossed, face in shadows. A streak of blood stained the sleeve of his armor. In the dim dawn light, it looked like rust. He looked like he’d walked directly out of a heroic ballad, and she felt instantly safer. Not safe, but safer. Her heart kept thudding fast, though. “He seems to have taken a liking to you,” he said.
In her arms, Erian woke and tried to stifle a scream—it came out as a shrill meep! The wolf turned his head to look at them. His yellow eyes fixed on Naelin. She didn’t move.
“Doggie?” Llor said, his voice mushy with sleep.
“He’s . . . tame?” Naelin’s voice only cracked a little. She licked her lips and tried again. Show no fear. “He won’t hurt us?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
Because he’s a wolf, Naelin thought. “Don’t mock me.”
“Never.”
She thought she detected a twinkle in his eye, but perhaps that was her imagination. Surely he didn’t have a sense of humor. Erian took the champion literally and addressed the wolf, “Hello, Mr. Wolf, are you planning to eat us?”
As if her question were beneath his dignity, the wolf looked away, scanning the forest once more. Around them, leaves rustled, and above birds chattered at one another, calling as they flew unseen from branch to branch. The forest was awakening as dawn filtered through the leaves.
“Nice doggie,” Llor murmured, and then yawned, as if it were perfectly normal to wake up next to a wolf.
After a few more minutes of no one being savaged by any wild animals, Naelin extradited herself from Erian and Llor and stood. Her muscles twinged, and her back ached. She hadn’t slept outside in years, and never as unprotected as this. She stretched her back and tried to shake out her foot, which tingled from being tucked underneath a not-so-small child for so long. At Champion Ven’s feet, nestled against the tree, were their packs—all the supplies that Naelin had left behind when she’d climbed with the children in the night. She didn’t see Captain Alet and felt a rush of alarm. “Is the captain all right?” Naelin asked.
“She’s fine, but you left us in danger. That’s not behavior appropriate for an heir.”
She considered for a moment how to reply to that. She knew he expected her to be abashed, or at least apologetic that she’d fled, but after searching her feelings, she decided she didn’t feel sorry at all. She settled on, “I’m glad that neither of you were hurt.” There, that was true.
“You agreed to be trained,” he said. “If you’re to survive the trials, you must be trained.”
“You agreed to keep my children safe,” she shot back. “If you want me to train, then tell me what you plan. No surprises. No assumptions. I will not be your performing monkey, dancing to your tunes without questions.” There. Let him respond to that.
“Mama likes explanations,” Erian spoke up. “If you tell her why you want to do something and show you’ve thought it through, she’ll consider it.” She was parroting something Naelin told them all the time. If they acted mature, she’d treat them as mature. She nodded approvingly at Erian. Nice to know she’d been listening.
Champion Ven sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Perhaps you’re right. I am used to candidates who need to be taught about spirits in the wild—they’ve spent years within the academy, learning to use their power within a highly controlled environment, and it’s my responsibility to throw them into the real world and teach them to adapt and bend, so that they don’t break. You, though, you already know about the dangers and unpredictability of the world. Perhaps what you need is the structure.”
Naelin blinked at him, unsure if that was an apology, an insult, or a compliment. She thought . . . maybe the latter? “Exactly what do you mean?”
“Tell me what you already know, and we’ll devise a lesson plan.”
He was trying very hard to be both nice and reasonable, which was impressive given how she had abandoned him to the spirits last night. “I won’t agree to any plan that endangers Erian or Llor.”
“You’ve made that clear.” She thought she heard a hint of amusement in his voice. He was laughing at her, or at least near her. “And Bayn apparently agrees with you. He’s been on guard all night.”
She looked at the wolf again. “Thank you.”
The wolf inclined his head as if he understood.
“If we’re in agreement . . . ?” the champion asked.
Naelin nodded, cautiously, still watching the wolf. She wasn’t certain she trusted this conciliatory mood of Ven’s. It felt like it should be some kind of trap, except he was agreeing with her. What’s the catch? Oh, right . . .
“I still haven’t agreed to become an heir.”
“It doesn’t matter. You still need to be trained.”
She stared at him. He stared back. And for the first time, she felt like she was with someone who saw who she was, all her strengths with all her faults, and . . . approved? “All right then.”
“All right. We begin today. Now.”