Frost & Shadow

Chapter Thirteen

The training grounds of Kaelora were like nothing I’d ever imagined. An open courtyard carved from pale stone stretched before me, ringed with slender archways that clawed skyward like skeletal fingers. Sunlight poured through the arches in shards of gold, scattering across a floor etched with ancient runes that hummed faintly underfoot. At the far edge, a fountain spilled water from the carved likeness of a long-forgotten fae king, its song mingling with the clash of practice blades and the sharp bark of orders. The sounds vibrated in my chest, and my stomach fluttered, part fear, part something else I didn’t want to name.

I tugged at the light clothes Aelith had pressed into my hands. They were thin, fitted close enough I could move freely without tripping over myself. I hated how exposed I felt, my bare arms prickling under the sun and the sharp eyes of the fae around me. They watched me like I was some rare beast dragged into the light. And yet… beneath that exposure, a thrill rose in me, wild and unfamiliar. I felt alive in a way I hadn’t for months. The air smelled of flowers, not smoke or frost. My muscles stretched and flexed, aching in ways that had nothing to do with hunger.

“Keep your feet apart,” Fen’s voice came from behind me, low and unyielding. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a law.

I stiffened. He had been close all morning, shadowing my every move like it was his sworn duty. I told myself it was because Aurelis had assigned him to me. Still, the heat that chased down my neck whenever his gaze lingered was impossible to ignore.

I adjusted my stance and gripped the training spear Aelith had thrust into my hands, trying to remember everything she’d shown me. Fen circled me slowly, shadows licking along the edges of his boots. “Better. Now—again.”

I lunged forward clumsily, front leg too heavy, spear nearly slipping from my fingers. Fen’s hand shot out to catch it, brushing mine. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to that cool press of skin, the way his shadows coiled tighter, protective, almost unwilling to let go.

I jerked my hand back, scowling. “I’m not some soldier. I didn’t come here to—”

“To what?” Fen’s voice cut in, edged with steel. “Smile and charm Aurelis into giving you what you want? You came here to make a pact. To survive the trials. That means learning to defend yourself.”

My chest tightened—not from fear, but from the truth in his words. I didn’t want to admit it, not to him, but a part of me knew he was right. I lifted the spear again, jaw set. “Fine. Again.”

This time, I forced myself to move with intention. Balance held. The spear felt like an extension of my arm rather than a foreign weight I was battling.

The sun climbed higher, turning the courtyard stone almost blinding in its pale heat. My arms trembled, muscles screaming with every lift, every pivot. Every motion was deliberate now, slow and careful, yet exhausting. I could feel every muscle protesting: arms, legs, back. My mind screamed at me: I can’t even do this properly. And I have to survive here?

Fen’s voice cut through the haze, low and commanding. “Wider stance. Feet planted. Core tight. Eyes forward.” Shadows slid along the stone like ink, tracing his boots, looping around the arches, alive in a way that made my pulse thrum.

I clenched my teeth and adjusted. Sweat stung my eyes, my hands slick on the spear, but I forced myself to focus. Fen stopped in front of me, his dark gaze locking onto mine. “You’re holding the spear too tightly. Let it flow with you, not against you.”

I pressed my lips together, frustrated. “I am flowing. You just… don’t see it yet.”

A shadow flicked at my ankles, sharp as a whip. I stumbled, nearly dropping the spear, and his hand shot out again to steady it. The brush of his fingers sent a flare of awareness through me I wasn’t ready to name.

“Your body is stiff because you’re afraid of failing,” he said quietly, just above the wind rushing through the arches. “You think if you fail, everything falls apart. But that’s not what will happen. You will stumble—but you will rise. You must.”

My chest heaved. I wanted to snap, to tell him I didn’t need this, that I could handle it alone. But the truth throbbed beneath my ribs: without this, I wouldn’t survive what awaited me in Ninkoral.

I gritted my teeth, bracing myself. “Fine,” I said, voice tight. “Again.”

His shadow coiled closer, brushing my sleeve like a silent test. He didn’t speak. He watched as I lifted the spear, planted my feet, and thrust forward. My movements weren’t perfect, but they held. Enough.

“Better,” he said. The single word twisted something inside me, made my stomach coil. Keep that. Remember it.

My arms burned, legs ached, back screamed—but beneath it all, a spark of triumph flared. I had done it. Not perfectly, not yet, but I had moved right. Just enough to feel possibility, to taste progress.

Fen stepped closer, gaze unreadable, shadows curling around his boots like coiled smoke. “Rest,” he said at last. Not gentle, no, but softer than before. “Catch your breath before the next drill.”

I sank onto the stone, spear clattering beside me. Sweat dripped down my temple. I refused to look at him, to acknowledge the way my pulse still raced from both exertion and… him.

“Tomorrow,” he added, standing a few paces away, “we add footwork with defense. You’ll see why the spear alone won’t keep you alive in Ninkoral.”

I exhaled sharply, closing my eyes. Tomorrow. My body shivered—not from cold, but from the thought of what it would demand of me. I can do this. I have to.

Somewhere beneath the fatigue, a quiet awareness settled in my chest: Fen wasn’t just observing. He was seeing me—really seeing me—in a way no one had in years. It unnerved me, made my skin prickle, but also anchored me.

I flexed my hands around the stone, knuckles whitening. I would survive this. I had to. And somehow… I knew Fen would be watching every step.

I lifted my head, wiping sweat from my brow. Across the grounds, other fae moved like liquid, blades and staves slicing through the air in precise arcs. My movements felt clumsy and sluggish in comparison. My muscles screamed at me, threatening to give out with every shift.

Fen circled silently, like a shadow tethered to me. Always present, always watching, reading me before I knew what I would do.

“Feet wider,” he said again, low and cutting. Shadows curled along his boots, almost alive as they followed each step. “Lower your center. Protect yourself, Laine.”

“I am protecting myself!” I snapped, voice rough from effort. Still, I adjusted, gritting my teeth, ignoring the burn in my arms, legs, and shoulders.

Fen stopped in front of me, eyes unreadable. “Your body is weak from the frost. Strength isn’t just muscle—it’s control, knowing your center. You don’t have it yet. Not fully.”

I set my jaw. “I’ll get it.” Voice fierce, almost defiant. Exhaustion tugged at my pride, but I forced myself onward.

He watched, a faint flicker of impatience in his features. “Good. Again. And don’t stop when it gets hard.”

I let out a breath, tightening my grip. “How long until it stops feeling impossible?” I muttered, partly to myself, partly hoping he’d answer.

“You’ll learn,” he said, stepping back, shadows lingering closer than they needed. “It won’t feel easy. Not here. Not in Ninkoral.”

My gaze drifted toward the courtyard gates, toward the frost-bitten village I’d left behind. My chest ached at the thought of them.

“Fen…” I began hesitantly. “Have they sent supplies? Food… for the village?”

His expression hardened. Shadows flickered at his boots. “They’ve started, yes,” he said, voice clipped. “But don’t count on it. Your people will still need you. You know that.”

I nodded, stomach twisting. “I know. I just… need to be sure they’re okay.”

“They’ll survive,” he said, gaze returning to my stance. “Just like you will. Focus on this first. Every movement, every strike—it’s what will keep you alive.”

I swallowed hard, throat tight, lifting the spear again. Each motion felt heavy, awkward, but I pushed through. I imagined the frost, the biting cold, and let it sharpen my focus.

“Again,” he ordered. I lunged, thrusting, pivoting, blocking—not perfect, but determined, and my heart thudded wildly in my chest.

Fen circled, shadows dancing at his boots. For a fraction of a second, I thought I saw… concern. Or something softer, hidden beneath duty.

I pushed myself harder, muscles screaming, sweat pouring, and for the first time, I felt a spark of progress. Not mastery—not yet—but the faint, undeniable flicker of possibility.

I glanced up at Fen, locking eyes with him, and despite myself… I felt seen.