THE REJECTED LUNA

Training

"Again!" Rowan ordered.

Elara swung the practice sword again for the umpteenth time. Rowan stepped aside easily and tapped her knuckles with his wooden blade. She yelped loudly from the impact.

"Again!"

"My hands hurt," she screamed.

"Your hands will hurt more if a rogue gets hold of them. Again."

He circled her, correcting her stance with a tap of his sword against her ankle, her elbow, her shoulder. "Wider feet. Don't lock your knees. Breathe, Elara. You hold your breath every time you swing. If you faint in the middle of a fight, it won't matter how pretty your form is."

"I'm not holding my breath."

"You turned purple."

The morning mist still clung to the east field, cold and damp, soaking through her borrowed boots. Her arms trembled from the weight of the blade. Blisters had risen on her palms, burst, and risen again, and every swing sent a fresh ache up to her shoulders. But she gritted her teeth and swung again, because stopping meant admitting she couldn't do it, and she was so tired of being the girl who couldn't.

For two weeks, they had trained every morning on the east field, Rowan teaching her to fight and, more importantly, to shift without losing herself. Although control didn't come easy, the first few times she'd shifted, Lyra had taken over completely, and Elara had come to herself panting in the grass with no memory of the last ten minutes. Once she had woken up with a mouthful of fur and a very offended chicken glaring at her from a fence post. Rowan had laughed for ten straight minutes.

But now it was getting better. Lyra's voice was clearer, their balance steadier. Elara could feel the moment of the shift like a door opening, and she could choose whether to step through or not. It felt less like being swallowed and more like being embraced, two halves of the same heart learning to beat in rhythm.

"Good," Lyra would say, when she got it right. "Again. Slower."

"You sound just like him," Elara muttered once.

Rowan is wise, Lyra said, with great dignity. You should listen to him.

She was getting faster too. Rowan said so, grudgingly, leaning on his wooden sword as she finished a drill. "You're a natural. Annoying."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's an observation." But he was grinning, and the warmth of it made her chest feel light. She hadn't known how badly she wanted someone to say it.

Not everyone in the pack was pleased. Whenever she passed a group of warriors, the whispers followed her: the healer, the lost bloodline, the Alpha's pet. Some of them looked at her with hope. Others considered her a threat.

Mara considered her one.

She watched from the edge of the field every morning, arms folded, a hard line between her brows. She never spoke. She never needed to. Elara could feel the weight of that gaze on her back like a cold hand, and every time she turned, Mara was already looking away.

"Sparring pairs," Rowan called one afternoon. "Elara, you're with Mara."

Elara felt the whole field go quiet.

Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Tam stopped mid-bite on an apple. Somewhere behind her, a warrior whispered, "Goddess help her."

Mara smiled, slow and cool. "Don't worry. I'll go easy."

She didn't.

It started fairly. Mara was fast, brutally fast. She feinted left, struck right, and sent Elara sprawling in the dirt twice.

The second time, Elara's ears rang and her mouth tasted of dust.

Her ribs ached. Her pride ached worse. But under it all, something fierce and stubborn was waking up, the same something that had stood up in the rain and howled at the storm. But Elara got up each time, Lyra growling approval in her head, and on the third round she caught Mara's wrist and spun her over her hip. Mara hit the ground, startled.

A few warriors cheered while some passed quick mischievous glances at Elara. Tam whooped from the fence, and Elara felt the grin spread across her face before she could stop it.

Mara's face went red. Her eyes flashed, something dark and bitter in them, and she scrambled to her feet and lunged. Their blades locked, and Elara pushed back with all her might. Their faces were inches apart, and she could see the sweat on Mara's temples, the tight line of her jaw.

"You don't belong here," Mara hissed, too low for anyone else to hear.

"Then why does everyone keep telling me I do?"

Then her practice sword snapped.

It broke clean at the hilt, the splintered end skidding across her palm and tearing her skin open. She cried out. Blood welled, bright and red, running down her wrist in a hot, shocking line. The pain didn't register at first. It was only the sight of it, so vivid against her pale skin, that made her stomach lurch.

"Stop!" Rowan roared, sprinting across the field.

The whole yard had gone dead silent.

Even the birds had stopped singing. Elara stood frozen, cradling her bleeding hand, staring down at the two halves of wood in the dirt. A sword didn't break like that. Not a practice sword, not without a reason. Rowan checked every blade himself before each session. He always did, muttering about careless apprentices and rotten wood. Someone had waited until after he'd finished.

She picked up the hilt with her good hand and turned it over. It hadn't cracked from stress. It had been cut, a thin deliberate groove sawed halfway through the wood, hidden where her grip would cover it.

Rowan knelt and took it from her, his face tight. He ran his thumb along the groove, and the cheerful lines around his eyes vanished. Behind him, the warriors had begun to murmur, a low, uneasy sound, and Elara felt the stares shift from her to Mara and back again.

Her blood ran cold.

All the whispers, all the sideways looks. She had known the pack was wary of her. She hadn't known someone would want her hurt.

Her palm throbbed in time with her pulse. Why? she wondered. What did I ever take from her?

She's afraid, Lyra said quietly. Fear makes cruel things out of people.

Her eyes lifted to Mara, who was already backing away, her face composed again, as if nothing had happened. The anger was gone. In its place was a smooth, polite calm.

"An accident," Mara said smoothly. "These things happen."

She did it, Lyra snarled. She did it.

"I know," Elara whispered.