“It’s Calen and Dann,” Rhett said with a hushed voice.
Ella dropped down beside him, worry coursing through her veins. “Rhett, is he okay? What happened to him?”
“They’ve been beaten pretty badly. I couldn’t see who it was. Faenir must have chased them off.” Rhett placed his hands on either side of Ella’s cheeks. “Ella, look at me. He is okay. He’s unconscious, but he’s okay. Ferrin is only around the corner. He told me he was going to The Gilded Dragon after his watch was done. Go, bring him back here so he can help me carry the boys home.” She began to protest, but he immediately stood up to go check on Dann.
The wind nipped at Ella’s face as she ran. The cold air burned in her chest. He’s going to be okay.
Ferrin was exactly where Rhett had said he would be, standing outside the inn, mead in hand.
“Ferrin!” Ella dropped her hands to her knees, panting as she dragged air into her lungs. “You need to come – now!”
“Whoa, Ella, calm down. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Calen and Dann. They’re hurt. Rhett told me to come and get you.”
Ferrin’s expression changed in an instant. He shoved his tankard of mead into the hands of the merchant he was talking to, who took it without hesitation. “Take me to them.”
“Okay, we have this from here,” Rhett said when Ella and Ferrin bounded into the side street. “You need to go now, ahead of us. I will come and see you tomorrow.” Rhett placed a kiss on her forehead and turned back towards Calen.
“I’m not going anywhere. Calen is hurt—”
“Ella, what happens if he wakes up and sees the two of us here? Do you want to explain that? To him – to your father?”
Ella’s shoulders dropped. She sighed. “Please get him home safe.”
“I will. Don’t worry. Now please hurry home. It’s getting cold out.”
Ella sighed, pinching her lips together. He was right. Calen would probably understand, but her father? No, that would not be a conversation so much as it would be a screaming match.
She reached up onto her tiptoes and planted a soft kiss on Rhett’s cheek. She didn’t say anything as she turned around the corner, onto the main street. She slipped her hands in her pockets and tucked her chin down against the top of her chest.
The walk home didn’t take long, but her heart pounded with every step. She eased the front door of the house open, careful not to elicit the creak that always came when it was opened too slowly. The smell of lavender twisted around the smoky aroma of extinguished candles as she tiptoed through the kitchen, stepping deftly over the creaky floorboard beside the kitchen table. Her mother was a light sleeper.
With a hushed sigh, Ella slipped in between the crisp sheets of her bed. She didn’t toss or turn. She just lay there. She knew there would be no sleep for her until she heard Rhett and Calen at the door.
CHAPTER 4
Like Father, Like Son
Calen felt the tenderness in his bones. It had been a week since he and Dann were attacked by Kurtis and his idiot friends, but the bruises persisted. He told his parents that they had gotten in a fight with some drunken traders and that it was all a misunderstanding. There was more than a hint of suspicion in his mother’s eyes. He thought about telling them the truth, but there was no need to cause any more tension in the village, especially with The Proving coming up.
He nocked an arrow. The glaring sun caused him to squint. He took a deep breath as he drew his string back, trying to clear his mind, as his father had taught him.
“Morning, Calen.”
With a whoosh, the arrow sliced through the air and disappeared into the thicket behind the wooden target. Dann chuckled. Calen sighed as he greeted his father.
“I just hope young Lina Styr isn’t still picking berries in those bushes,” Vars chimed, a cheeky smile spreading across his face. “It’s time for sword practice. I figured you would enjoy a break from the bow.”
Vars reached down and unfurled a bundle of cloth on the ground, then tossed Calen his wooden practice sword. It was a hand-and-a-half sword, with blunted edges. Calen twirled the sword around in his right hand, gauging it, getting used to its weight and balance. He knew them like he did the finger grooves that had been worn into its handle. But it was habit.
He barely had a moment to react as the blow came in, just above his shoulders. He turned it away shakily; the collision of swords jarred his arm. Without a chance to take a breath, the first strike was followed by an unrelenting flurry of attacks. It was all he could do just to keep Vars’s blade from marking his hide.
He grimaced as one strike hit his ribcage, which was already a little worse for wear. Another connected with his hip, then his shoulder. Calen knew that he couldn’t keep on the defensive for long. Pressing forward, he shifted his feet, driving his sword straight towards Vars’s abdomen. He felt the wind rush from his lungs as Vars’s knee collided with his unprotected chest.
Calen sat on his knees, desperately attempting to recapture the air that had just been forcibly removed from his lungs. Vars grasped his forearm and dragged him to his feet.
“I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t expose yourself like that, even if you’re sure of a killing blow. Haem would have—” Vars cut himself off. A look of regret crossed his face. “Again.”
Calen stroked a newly emerging bruise on his hip as Vars tossed him a waterskin. He knew by the burning sensations striped across his body that there would be more bruises to follow.
“Is there something on your mind, Calen? You seem distracted today. I should not have connected with that last one.” He spoke matter-of-factly, but there was a
