One year and ten months ago...

Tasha made a loud grumble in the back of her throat. "Please, Mina, can we go now? I've still got my Analysis on Trongs paper to write and it's due in the morning."

"I'm not leaving yet. You can copy mine if you insist on staying," I said, flashing her a glare. She'd asked three times already. I wasn't holding her here.

She sighed and braced her feet on the riser below, putting her elbows on her knees, resting her chin in her hands. "He does fight rather well," she sighed.

"Who?" I asked too quickly.

Tasha tutted, amused. "I'm not dumb, Mina. Your eyes keep finding Rixon."

"Keep your voice down," I hissed, gently elbowing her. "And so what? It's not his fault he's the best of them," I added a touch too defensively. My attention had nothing to do with the broad, muscled chest on display. Nothing at all.

There weren't many witches-in-training present today. We had exams later this week. It was just me and Tasha, and a couple of younger ones on the far end, whose names I didn't know. The training rings were set up across the central floor, sized for different types of weapons and fighting. The left end of the hall was outfitted for long range archery. The right had an obstacle course. And the far wall was lined with every weapon imaginable.

It was loud, too; the sound filled the hall to bursting. The scream of trapped demons, the clang of wood and metal, shouts of surprise, thuds of clashing bodies, all of it reverberated and echoed into the vaulted ceiling above us. There were wielders everywhere. They trained nearly all day, every day. And not just wielders-in-training who hadn't passed their trials yet, but also seasoned wielders who were back from assignments. Their sweaty chests were on full display. All of them shirtless, some with weeping slashes and claw marks and gashes—wounds I'd have to heal once I started my shift in the infirmary later.

I knew why most of the witches-in-training came to watch. I could even understand it. Hell, I was a little guilty of over indulging. But my motivations ran deeper.

"Once we bond to a wielder, Tasha, we are stuck for life. I plan to chose the best." But I was less and less certain it would be Rixon. My failed attempts to speak to him had made one thing painfully apparent: he wanted absolutely nothing to do with me.

"Right." Tasha flashed me a grin and bumped her shoulder against mine. "We all know that's what the trials are for, and besides, everyone believes Cecelia will get first pick."

I snorted, ignoring the jibe. "Others might wait for the trials to decide, but I'd like to be mentally prepared nonetheless."

My eyes fell on Herrin. He stood with a small group of younger wielders-in-training. The corners of my mouth twitched. Judging by the flash of his expression and the way his hands jerked, I knew he wasn't happy. Behind him, confined to a small space within a five-pointed star, was a Xastor, prowling its confines, saliva dripping from its jowls.

"Gods," Tasha tisked, "you really do plan on maintaining your ruse, don't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, turning my gaze back to the wielders in our cohort. To Rixon. He'd just removed the head of the Trong demon in his ring.

Every ring held a carefully constructed star. There were three council witches on duty, capable of summoning various levels of demons, along with a handful of other witches should things get out of hand. Wielders practicing with other wielders was one thing. In the real world, it was demons they had to battle.

"Everyone believes Cecelia is the best witch in our cohort because you let them believe it, Mina. Everyone thinks she's going to get first pick of the wielders."

"And they can go on believing that. You think I want her scorn for the next two years, her jealousy? Don't you remember what happened with Jarrah? When Cecelia got mad about Kaden? I'll pass. Thanks."

A call from one of the seasoned wielders drew Rixon across the hall to a different ring. I watched their brief exchange. He said something and nodded. I wished I was close enough to hear it, to hear is voice. I ignored the flash of jealousy. He'd talk to other wielders, but not me?

A council witch was called over to him. She went over to the ring a moment later and began summoning. Demons popped into existence. It always shocked me, the appearance of them clawing their way out of thin air. Two Trongs, a Xastor, and an Akonn.

Rixon climbed into the ring, his Nebrine blade in hand. When they faced each other, wielders used wooden practice swords. But a wooden blade was useless against a demon. Even steel wouldn't do much. Nebrine was the only solution.

"He's going to take on all four of them," I said, breathless.

Rixon lifted his sword and charged. I envied the way his feet danced, lithe and effortless as he swung his blade to block a swiping claw, and then dodged a snap of jaws. He ducked and slashed and spun and parried each demon's attempt to end him. I watched, open mouthed. It was pure artistry. One of the four got around behind him and he dropped, evading a snap of jaws near his neck that would have removed his head. I disguised my gasp as a cough.

Absolute perfection—I should know. Even if Tasha had no idea the skill it took. Even if none of the other witches in my cohort, or in the entire kingdom, had any idea about the difficulty of wielding a blade.

I knew.

"Why do you think they're making him repeat the trials," Tasha asked, pulling my focus away.

"Hmm...." I grunted, engrossed.

"I mean, he already completed his trials like...seven years ago. Once a wielder completes them, aren't they...finished?"

I sighed, finally withdrawing from the trance of Rixon's fighting right as he removed the first head. "I suspect it has something to do with needing another witch. With Ena's death, they probably told him it was the only way to get another."

Tasha snorted. "There are nearly twenty hopefuls planning to compete, and only eleven witchlings. He can't possibly think his odds are good."

"I'd say they're damned good."

She eyed me a moment, eyebrows drawn together. Shit. Had I been too defensive...again?

"It doesn't matter if he's the best, Mina, or the worst. Even if he finishes on top, there isn't a single witchling who will chose him. Or...have you missed all the rumors flying?"

I grunted. Of course I hadn't. If anything, I'd listened more raptly than anyone. Listened with hunger, trying to figure him out, to understand him, to understand why I found myself so...drawn to him.

"Everyone knows it's expected, Tasha. The top finishing witch always bonds the top finishing wielder. And so on, and so forth."

"Oh. My. Gods." Tasha's jaw dropped, her eyes bulging. "That's what this is about, isn't it? We both know it will be you, Mina. Not Cecelia. You'll finish on top and he...Oh, gods, Mina. Please don't tell me you're considering it?"

"I'm considering nothing," I snapped. "He hates me anyway."

"He...what? What are you talking about? You've never even met him. Never even spoken to him."

"Exactly. Look—" I sighed. "Just...forget it, all right? We can go." With that, I stood and descended the risers, forcing Tasha to chase after me.

As I left through the double doors, I didn't miss the flash of hesitation that came from Rixon's training ring. The sharp set of claws that slashed his shoulder when his eyes caught my retreating figure. The way they widened in surprise at the injury. Like he couldn't believe he'd just been so distracted. Good, he deserved it.

***

I watched in terror as the single Xastor raced for the farmer who straggled behind the rest, an older male who ran with a limp. It reached him just as I snapped out of my shock and surprise. I tunneled deep inside myself, feeling the well of sizzling power dammed up by the blocks I'd placed. Lifting a hand, magic shot out of me, an invisible force directed straight for the Xastor. In that moment, I only had eyes for the farmer. The demon clamped down on his ankle and brought him to the ground with a sharp cry.

I gasped as my magic wrapped around the Xastor, rendering it motionless, frozen, as I forced it unconscious. In the mean time, I pulled more magic, sending it for the other demons breaking through the wards. They'd spread out, but some had found the hole created by the Xastor, scurrying beneath it. The larger demons continued ramming against the invisible barrier. But it was cracking. I felt it in the air, in my bones, the awareness of power that wasn't my own...depleting.

The wielders on horseback reached the fallen farmer whose leg was still clenched in the jaw of the unconscious Xastor. I was barely aware as they slaughtered it. Freeing a surge of my power, I wrapped it around the Olum, the most dangerous of them. It was huge, troll like with its grayish-green skin, but intelligent, directing some of the demons to dive through the open cracks. It bellowed when it felt my efforts, straining against me. I pushed more power into it, caging it, wrapping around its legs and arms, squeezing.

Jarrow had slowed. I didn't need to be close to work. Farrah was already far ahead of me, Rixon with his sword at the ready. He would reach the demons before the other two wielders. And he'd reach them before I managed to snare them all. Fear pooled in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't lose him. I wouldn't.

Taking a deep breath, I worked faster. Snare, squeeze. Snare, squeeze. I sent several tendrils out at once, wrapping around four of the Trongs who'd slipped beneath the ward. They raced over the fields, their slimy bodies blackening the crops they touched. When I squeezed, they dropped like rag dolls, ugly rag dolls with horns and long fingers that ended in sharp talons. There were still nearly ten demons untouched by my magic as Rixon brought Farrah around and halted her, jumping from her back. She was battle trained, but he wouldn't risk her. Something in my heart softened and split open at the tender gesture. Grabbing at the pieces, I put them back together and pushed it out of my mind.

He plunged into the pack on foot, just as I wrapped more magic around those closest to him. Snare, squeeze. Snare, squeeze. I was gasping for air now, fighting the tight pain in my muscles. It felt as if I'd sprinted for miles and miles.

Rixon unleashed himself, the beauty and grace of his movements both lethal and efficient. I wanted to watch—I always wanted to watch.

I felt another force—recognized the touch of another witch's magic, then two. I shook, trembling in my saddle from the effort, dragging in deep breaths of air. The force of them swept past me like cool water, refreshing relief. I wanted to stop. It always felt like this once I reached the halfway point of my well. But I still had to maintain my grip.

I'd already tethered myself to nearly fourteen demons, holding them at bay. I could snare those remaining, but it would dip into my reserves, and the expenditure over such a short time was already making my vision spark. Drawing a shaky breath, I forced myself to slow, to leave the others for the witches, watching only for Rixon's safety as he hurled a dagger from one hand and swept his blade in the other.

Stunning.

Pride ripped through my chest, fierce and hot. For the first time in nearly a week, I was glad of my decision. Glad that I'd put my emotions aside. Glad I'd chosen a wielder purely based on ability and nothing more.

A quick glance told me the other two wielders had picked off the demons who'd broken through. The farmers had all made it to safety. Second by agonizing second, each snared life I grasped was snuffed out. With each broken tether, I gasped, and a little more strength came back to me. A blink later, it was over.

I sagged in my saddle, eyes locked on Rixon. I saw nothing else but him. As the last demon fell, he spun, his gaze searching for me. When he saw me, he froze. Then he was bounding for his saddle, ignoring the calls from the other wielders who tried to speak with him.

Farrah's hooves raced straight for me.

I wasn't in danger. I hadn't even come close to depleting my store of magic. But I felt fatigue pulling at me, dragging me down. Gods, a nap sounded heavenly, even if it was nearly dinner time. Rixon neared. I noticed the concern pulling on his features, cinching his eyebrows together—saw it and frowned. It didn't make any sense.

Taking a deep breath, letting the air leave my lungs slowly, I calmed my shaking nerves and sat tall in my saddle. He reared up beside me, eyes darting over my face as if he expected me to drop dead right then and there.

"I'm fine," I managed, surprised by how sure my voice sounded. "Have a little faith, Lord Wielder. I am not a fragile bird."

I studied him, tying to calm my heart at the sight of blood and gore. There were cuts across his chest. A gash across his thigh near his groin. A small cut on his cheek. Plus whatever else was hidden behind the blues and grays of demon ick. I reached for him, readying my magic.

A tug of his reins and Farrah danced away. "Not yet, Lady Witch. It is nothing that cannot wait for an hour or two."

Swallowing, I dropped my hand, eying him. The gash on his leg was weeping, but it hadn't hit an artery. So I fought the urge to wrap my magic around him, to protect him. He noticed my struggle and his features softened. My frown deepened at the sight of the softness in his eyes, in his expression. It had me staring dumbly back at him.

"Let us get settled first, Lady Witch." He motioned with his head before setting off at a trot towards the wielders. I was left gaping after him, gaping because of the tenderness and care in his voice.

When I finally followed, he was already speaking to the wielders. Their eyes flicked in my direction and they all fell quiet. "Lady Witch," they said, greeting me. If I hadn't been so intensely focused on Rixon's back, I wouldn't have noticed the way he tensed as they said my title. But just as quickly, I saw his muscles relax.

"Lord Wielders," I greeted, bowing my head. "Thank you for your quick action today." Though not quick enough, I wanted to say. This was their fort, their responsibility, and I'd had to drain half my store just to help them. Not that it was entirely their doing. Really, the blame rested largely with their witches. I pushed the selfish thought away. That wasn't what mattered. What mattered was—"The farmer? Is he all right?"

"He is alive. Our witches will tend to him," said the one. "My apologies, Lady Witch, that we were not here sooner." He must have sensed my ire. "But we are thankful to see you."

I didn't recognize either of them. They were older by at least a decade. Perhaps Rixon knew them, perhaps from his own cohort.

We rode to the fort's walls together as they introduced themselves. Knox and Jaxon. They assured me their witches would fix the barrier and they'd see to dispensing of the carcases. Only then did I see the two witches I'd felt earlier, standing as sentinels, watching us from above, high up on the ramparts. I bowed my head to them as we approached, passing under the archway. They did the same just as I was swallowed up by cool darkness. The walls of the fort were made with Nebrine. No demon would pass through. We were safe within.

Rixon didn't speak as we made our way through Barfort, hadn't spoken since I'd ridden up beside him, so I took the opportunity to inquire after an inn. The wielders offered up an address and guided us through the streets before stopping at a cozy three story wooden structure. "Best in the city," Knox said, grinning at me. I didn't miss the way his eyes glanced over me, curious more than anything. Rixon was tense in his saddle, but he remained quiet. I was expected to hold up the entirety of the conversation, it seemed.

"If you do not mind, Lady Witch," Jaxon added, "we would like to come by in a few hours, once you're settled? I feel there is much information to exchange. We will bring our witches. It has been some time since we were last in the Citadel. News would be appreciated."

I bowed my head. "That would be most welcome." Beside me, I sensed Rixon's muscles going even tighter. What was his deal? Did he not want their company? Who was I kidding, of course he didn't. He hated conversation. I sighed, mastering my patience.

Moments later, our wielder escorts said their goodbyes and took their leave. I breathed a deep sigh of relief, craning my neck to look up at the inn. There wouldn't be much time to rest. We'd stay only the one night before setting out to continue our journey. I spared a glance at Rixon who sat rigid in his saddle, gazing openly at me.

He noticed my gaze and held out a hand. "After you, Lady Witch." I couldn't help but note the way he said it was different than the way the other wielders had. His words turned my title into something more, into something that left me warm and heated. Spurring Jarrow forward, I entered the inn yard.

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