Chapter 7: Great Expectations

 

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“My, you’ve improved.”

Eleanor ignored the compliment and lunged the tip of her blade forward. It was parried away with childlike ease. A single strand of strawberry blond hair fell in front of her eyes, she blew it back with a huff just in time to react to the counter attack.

She dislodged from her stance and sprung backwards, careful not to stumble, and escaped her adversaries’ reach. She planted her feet back into their firm stance on the rock of the training grounds below and raised her rapier just so as to guard against the next strike.

Charlotte backed off and calmly circled her prey. “I mean it you know, this is the longest you’ve lasted one on one.”

She smiled. It was sincere, That made it worse.

“We may just make a fencer out of you yet.”

Eleanor tightened her grip on Sioherst’s hilt.

Charlotte continued to circle. Eleanor kept in step, keeping herself, and her blade steady.

Her mother’s words echoed loudly against her pounding heart. “First Rule of Combat: Take in everything.” 

Charlotte absently twirled her obsidian hair in her free hand while keeping her own weapon, an ornate reddish Katana, steady in her other. Veilrose. Eleanor thought. The weapon had been by the girl’s side since she was barely big enough to lift it. The muscle memory of well over a decade ingrained in it’s wielder guided the blade through every stroke of combat. The sword wasn’t even a weapon now, simply a part of Charlotte’s body. She clasped the hilt with a hand adorned by three distinct platinum rings, the symbols of a dueling champion three times over.

Eleanor stifled a gulp and steadied her heart, her marble white knuckles tightening clumsily against Sioherst.

Despite the tension in Charlotte’s upper body, her muscles taunght and ready to pounce, her steps seemed to flow effortlessly across the rugged battlefield, as if they were gliding over the rocks. Her sun colored eyes analyzed her with a quite hunger for victory. So much for being “just a training match.”

Charlotte was many things, competitive being absolutely one of them.

She slowly inched closer with every circle she made, forcing Eleanor back to the edge of their arena. Their duel was on a plateau of solid granite raised several feet above a patchwork of assorted rock and gravel below. The training field was laid out like a desert canyon, littered with similar plateaus, constant steep drops into low ditches, small crevices to slip through into open zones of barren gravel, and looming overhangs of rock obscuring shadowy hiding places. Her great-grandmother had built it following her return from service in the Scorpio Badlands. She wanted her children trained and ready for the terrain if war broke out again. So of course when war did return it was in the Barrier Marshes to the west. No, the blades of her bloodline never again knew those Canyons. Still, it made for good training. The Fairwinds were nothing if not prepared. Then again, that made Eleanor, regrettably, nothing.

She heard the sounds of melee between other kids training echo from a clearing behind her. She tuned them out as best she could. She needed to focus solely on Charlotte.

She looked ready to pounce. It was now or never. Time to go on the offensive. Eleanor turned her upper body back, rearing to put her whole body into one last strike.

Instead of readying to counter, Charlotte relaxed. Her shoulders loosened and the hunger for victory faded from her gaze. Confused, Eleanor halted. That was mistake number one, she hesitated. In a fight you can never hesitate. Never.

“You look worn out. Water break?” She smiled, the tip of Veilrose lowered to the ground.

Mistake number two: Eleanor gave her enemy the benefit of the doubt.

Now in her defense, she was tired, sweaty, and self admitted to being very, very stupid when it came to a fight. Stars it had taken her near a month to hold her sword correctly, falling for the most obvious trap in history was, quite frankly, progress as far as she was concerned.

She sighed in relief and let the adrenaline flowing through her system peter out. Charlotte held out her free hand, Eleanor reached for it.

Mistake number three: She didn’t even go down fighting.

Veilrose jumped to life, knocking Sioherst out of her hand. Charlotte’s arm flashed blue. A swift kick took out Eleanor’s left leg. In a flash she found herself pressed face first into rough stone. The cold metal of Veilrose grazed her neck.

She could practically hear Charlotte smiling.

“I win.”

Eleanor groaned as her opponent flipped her onto her back and helped her up. Yep, still smiling.

“I’m fairly certain that’s against the rules” she muttered, trying to mute the imaginary sound of her ancestors rolling in their graves.

Charlotte laughed, “All is fair in love and war; and you, my darling, are off to war in two short weeks.” If that was a joke she didn’t find it funny.

Eleanor huffed and wiped the sweat from her brow. Charlotte slung an arm around her, unashamedly drenched in sweat, as her smile changed from one of gloating to one more comforting, more, motherly, “Oh don’t go pouting like your brother, it maybe a look that works for him but not for you darling.”

Eleanor groaned. She had protested for years against that pet name. She grew to like it after a while, but she was too prideful to ever admit it.

She picked up the fallen Sioherst as Charlotte continued her pep talk slash well meaning lecture, “You’re going to have to be ready for dirty tricks like that in the tournament if you want any shot at winning.”

Eleanor was about to retort that Charlotte should be taking her constant  failure as a blessing for her own chances when her ears caught the sound of exhausted gasps for air.

They turned to see a young dark-skinned woman with the Mark of Aries stumble, sweat drenched, from one of the arena’s many narrow hallways and collapse next to the base of the plateau, her sword slipped from her grasp like it was coated with oil. From the state she was in she clearly didn’t see them.

Eleanor instinctually popped her head over the plateau’s lip. “Ezrian? Are you hurt? Do you need any-”

Charlotte pulled her forcefully back as a startled Ezrian sprang to their feet and threw a wild punch upwards, missing Eleanor by hair’s breadth.

Ezrian scrambled for her sword and Charlotte’s hand went to her hilt.

Eleanor frantically tried to diffuse the situation. “Wait, I’m sorry for startling you, I don’t want to fight!”

Ezrian stepped back, sword gripped as firmly in her slippery hand as possible, and seized the two up with a warrior’s gaze. Charlotte did the same to her. Eleanor couldn’t help but feel she had become invisible.

The staring contest broke when a young man ran towards them, calling out Ezrian’s name. Ezrian turned to face him only to be met with a hard slap to the face. Eleanor stifled a yelp. She’d seen Breick do that before, but it never got easier to watch.

Breick was a burly Aries, standing a full foot taller and one year older than his sister and tournament partner. His face was scrunched up in a scowl, as per usual, that exaggerated a long scar down his left cheek, a battle scar, as he always liked to explain.

He appeared nearly as worse for wear as his sister but in a paradoxically different way. While Ezrian looked like she’d just trecked her way across the deserts of Scorpio, Breick had the appearance of someone who’d been stranded in the Peaks of Gemini or Capricorn for a week. His short hair was jagged and brittle, as if the slightest nudge would shatter it like glass. Dew strewn across his face that may have recently been sweat now dug painfully into his skin in the form of harsh icicles. His dark skin was growing pale and, despite his best efforts, his sword hand was shaking ever so slightly.

“Stop screwing around and get back to the fight.” He yelled in her face. Ezrian remained silent.

Breick shot Eleanor a venomous glare. She would have stumbled backwards if Charlotte hadn’t been clutching her shoulder tightly. She didn’t need to look to see her friend’s other hand still on the hilt of her blade.

“We have bigger fish to fry.” He concluded darkly before storming off, Ezrian falling in line behind him like a kicked puppy.

Charlotte remained stone faced and poised for a fight till she saw them disappear into the arena labyrinth.

Eleanor sighed. “You’re all too intense.”

Charlotte chuckled, her face still marred by a lingering harshness. “You aren’t used to it?”

“No.”

The clash of swords continued to echo, a breeze of conflicting temperatures found its way to their pedestal. One second they were smothered by an oppressive heat only for the next to stab them with a biting cold.

Charlotte shrugged while Eleanor shivered. “Never let anyone say your brother takes things in half measures. Come on let’s get out of here till he’s done flexing.”

Eleanor swept beads of sweat from her brown before they could begin to freeze and nodded. She looked towards the steep drops around them with slight concern, “So, how are we getting down?”

“Same way we got up, magic.” Charlotte chuckled as Eleanor groaned. Her mentor pulled her gently to her feet and raised Veilrose above her head before hurling it to the ground below the plateau. The sword sunk blade first into the gravel. Charlotte hummed to herself proudly and Blessed her limbs. The light of the elaborate Mark of Virgo across her collar bone flared to life and granted her the ease at which she casually preformed a standing front flip over the edge of the plateau and landed gracefully on the hilt of Veilrose, one leg held in the air and her arms spread outwards like an eagle towards a less than amused Eleanor. A slightly cocky smile plastered her face.

“Ta-da.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes and took Charlotte’s outstretched arm with her own.

The Mark turned a darker shade of blue as she extended the Blessing to Eleanor. She shivered as it flowed over her whole body. Charlotte had loaned her a drop of her Blessing more times than she could count but she never could get used to it. That feeling of weightlessness, like her body had been reduced to that of a leaf trying desperately not to be blown from it’s anchor, it’s home, it made her feel so, so fragile. How Virgos managed to make something so disempowering look so elegant was an art beyond her.

“Come on, jump. I’ll catch you.”

Sucking in the deepest breath she could, Eleanor took a leap of faith off the plateau. Charlotte effortlessly plucked her from the air, the girl’s newfound weightlessness slowing her fall just enough for Charlotte to swing her around and into her arms bridal style. Using one final drop of her Blessing before removing it, Charlotte used her own weightlessness and the momentum granted by pulling on Eleanor to airily glide off the hilt of her sword and onto the ground. Not a single spec of dust moved from its place upon impact.

The action was over in an instant, yet Eleanor still felt dizzy, “My hero” she muttered sarcastically. Charlotte laughed, letting her down as she absorbed the lingering Blessing from her passenger back into her Mark for later.

Eleanor stumbled to regain her footing as her weight came crashing back down on her. Blessing recoils were a bitch. Especially ones that altered bodily properties so extermley as Virgos and Tauruses.

“Maybe that recoils a good reminder to stay on your diet.” Charlotte commented behind a teasing smirk.

“Did you just call me fat?”

“Oh just come on.” Charlotte said between giggles.

Eleanor tried to cover the rising shade of red in her checks with her collar. She was not fat. In fact she was certain she was lighter than Charlotte. Then again Charlotte was taller than her. She glanced at her as they walked. Despite the rule of thumb that people with Virgan blood were shorter than those of most other Mark lineages, she stood a full foot taller than Eleanor and even a few inches higher than her own brother. It was all clearly the work of the Taurin blood she got from her mother, the same blood that gave her skin a slight brownish tinge. Even with her Mark dormant and her Blessings of elegance lifted, even dressed in fairly tacky training gear sporting her family’s colors of red and pink, she still managed to walk with the poise of someone who had trained her whole life to be royalty.

Because in two weeks she might be.

Or her.

She looked down at the Sioherst in her hand, the precious sword she so easily lost her grip on. Nope, definitely not her.

As they began to ascend the staircase out of the arena, Charlotte glanced back at her, saw her poorly concealed crimson face, and sighed. “Sorry for saying that, but you can’t let little insults like get under your skin. They’ll eat you alive if you do.”

Eleanor averted eye-contact. She hated life in Gracia’s noble courts, much preferring her time in father’s laboratory and clinic. She shrugged. That wouldn’t work now, not when she was on the cusp of adulthood, and definitely not if they won the tournament. The royal family had enough shut ins already, they did not need another.

With that lovingly pep talk over, Eleanor meekly trailed behind her till they found a bench high enough up to see the greater battlefield.

A servant, one of Charlotte’s, scurried over with wooden cups of water and quickly departed. Eleanor didn’t catch his name, then again she never did with Charlotte’s servants. She didn’t even remember the names of her own.

Charlotte took a large and unladylike gulp from her cup, a relaxed smile on her face, as if the last several hours of intensive training had been some happy field trip. She finished her first cup and moved onto her second.

Meanwhile there was Eleanor, small, out of breath, and sweating straight through her clothing. Stars weren’t these training clothes supposed to be absorbent? The patchwork blotches of sweat stains that matted the dark green hue of her garb answered her question.

Throat arid, she still couldn’t work up the gusto to chug her water like Charlotte. Instead she took small sips, dejection clear on her face.

As she heard the sound of her friend reaching for her third cup she laid Sioherst across her lap. The rapier was a third her length and fastened with a thick bronze handguard forged to look like the waves of the sea. At least she assumed that was what it was, she’d never seen the genuine article herself.

She wiped the dust, sweat, and ice from the blade with her sleeve, it’s metal permanently cool to the touch. Beneath the muck and grime she saw her reflection staring back. Her azure eyes drowned out by the jagged twin blue lines surrounding her left eye. The Mark of Aquarius.

She gave up on seeing the sea along time ago. At this point in life, nearing the age of seventeen, she’d honestly be happy with a mere few days out of the city. Stars, she’d only left the upper district once or twice with father to visit old friends of his. Mother put an end to those field trips when she turned ten.

While she was zoning out, Charlotte drained her last cup, spiked it into the ground, and cheerily slapped her friend hard on the back. Eleanor choked and dropped her cup, hacking up a storm.

Unfazed and maybe even a little amused, Charlotte spoke, “I mean what I said earlier, you are improving.”

“Marginally.” she sputtered out after a few coughs.

“I’ll still never catch up to them.”

Her point was punctuated as a wall of searing heat slammed into them. Eleanor winced as she felt the last dry patches of her clothing stick to her skin. Sioherst’s blade whined against the melting air.

Charlotte, ever ready to prove to be her better, did not flinch. Instead she let the joviality of their break suffocate in the heat as the cold persona of Charlotte Havma, dueling champion and heir to the Havma family, emerged. She slid away from Eleanor and leaned forward, her attention now directing itself unanimously away from her acquaintance and towards the battlefield where the day’s training was reaching its climax.

The heat wave that attacked them originated from a single point in the arena’s central clearing. Two men, both teenagers, were locked in combat. One, a boy dressed in red sparring gear, had dropped his longsword clumsily to the ground. He doubled over, barley keeping himself standing, as he cradled the hand that held the hilt. It was a frostbitten, badly.

This unfortunate soul’s name was Edrin Havma, Charlotte’s younger brother. She didn’t seem particularly perturbed by his predicament, simply observed in silence, her eyes brightly analyzing the fight as she slowly nursed her fourth cup.

Edrin staggered backwards as his opponent advanced. They towered a full foot over him and had enough muscle mass to match an Aries warlord. A Zweihander rested across his broad shoulders, a predatory glint reflected off it’s meticulously kept surface.

To focused on the pain in his hand, Edrin stumbled backwards into a large puddle of water. His opponent tapped the surface’s edge with his toe. Edrin’s eyes widened as the puddle transmuted into a block of brittle ice around his feet. He lost his balance and collapsed to his knees at a painful angle, the sound of cracking ice mingled with the telltale snap of an ankle. He yelped pitifully as he went down.

Charlotte muttered under her breath, “Good as dead in a real fight.”

Edrin’s opponent lumbered away to find another fight, a few drops of sweat nailed to the edges of the glowing Mark of Libra that encircled his right eye.

Eleanor shivered in the oppressive heat.

Brieck, body beaten, nibbled by the tendrils of frost, and paler than any Aries should look, stood tall and proud, even if he came in just an inch or two shorter then the Libra. Ezrian struggled to stand up next to him, she was hunched over, grimacing in pain as she clutched her stomach. The heat cramps were starting. No one on the arena seemed to care. Not even Ezrian.

Breick wielded a simple iron javelin, void of any fixtures or decorations, with a cruel jagged tip. Ezrian held a similarly simple sword forward with both hands.

The Libra stopped, took a moment to seize up his new challengers, then lifted his blade from it’s resting place. He swung his Zweihander forward with a single fluid motion, it’s massive weight effectively meaningless to its wielder. His Mark glowed in tandem with his swing, the moisture in the air crystallized in its path, a thin stretch of snow seemed to form across the surface of his blade, leaving a trail of flakes as it moved. Breick’s stance faltered and Ezrian looked ready to pass out from shock. From their sweat, a pattern of ice spiralled out from between their hands and their weapons. The ice that defeated Edrin broke back into the puddle it was before. Edrin crawled feverishly away, as if it had burned him. Eleanor was gut punched by vertigo as the air dropped violently in temperature as far away as their bench.

His range and speed are still growing.” Charlotte whistled, ignoring her brother’s torment. She hissed and dropped her now ice ridden cup, the water leaking out slowly as it carried out miniature ice bergs onto the floor beneath their feet. She turned to Eleanor with the smallest of strained smiles.
“Your brother is really something.” She said, a little awed.

Eleanor nodded.

Breick lunged forward, Ezrian a step behind. Her brother’s face was stone, unamused and unconcerned about his intimidation tactic falling in deaf ears.

Breick went high and Ezrian went low. He dodged the spear and backed straight into the sword’s path. But Ezrian was a second to slow, the radical changes in temperature proving too much for her, and received a swift kick to the gut. She released the contents of her stomach onto his boot. Breick swore at her and pressed on, only to be blocked by a counter strike from the Zweihander.

The brawl continued, each assault from the siblings fell apart more easily than the last. Ezrian used her Aries strength to steady herself but her Blessing could only do so much.

With each clash the Areis’ Mark glared brighter, their swords clanged together a little louder, the arena rumbled more ferociously. Breick was mad and he wanted this fight over. Now. A few strikes managed to push her brother back and, for just a moment, it looked like he would be put on the defensive, on the run.

No, that wasn’t right. Defense and running weren’t the same thing. In the countless times she’d watched her brother spar with the other noble children and even the kingdom’s knights she’d never seen him press an offensive till the last moments.

She couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew exactly how they must’ve looked, how they’d looked since Mother declared him her heir. The day he returned from Barris. Humorless, analytical, distant, with irises tinted an arctic hue far paler than her own ocean blue. When he spoke with someone, Stars even when he fought with them, he never looked them in the eye. Not out of cowardice, more like he was always looking ahead of them, to the next strategy, the next flick of the sword, the next change in the wind. Her brother always stared into the future a thousand yards ahead. Nineteen and already one of the best warriors in the city. Octavian Fairwind, the Living Wall.

Octavian continued unfazed, every stab from Breick effortlessly parried away. He backed further and further away, giving his opponent the illusion of approaching victory. His marked flared brighter with every step, the heat rolling in from the arena intensified and Eleanor soon found herself barely able to see through the deluge of sweat rolling from her bangs. Charlotte seemed unaffected. Sioherst was practically screaming.

Ezrian staggered forward, the swing of her sword slowed to a glacial pace. Her face was scrunched up in indelible pain, as if the slightest movement of her freezing skin would tear her arm down to the bone. Eleanor pressed her palm against her Mark as it itches from sweat and disuse.

Ezrian tried to attack from behind while he was clashing with Breick but gave herself away when she whimpered at the pain in her skin. Detecting her, Octavian knocked Breick backwards, spun on his heels, and drove the Zweihander’s pommel into her forehead. Ezrian crumpled to the ground, knocked out cold. At least he put a stop to her misery.

Breick howled out in anger mixed with a litany of what Eleanor could only assume were swears in Arieric tongue. Eleanor had a bad feeling they were directed at his sister and not Octavian. Correction, Ezrian’s misery was put on hold.

Breick jabbed at Octavian who batted it away with his sword’s crossguard. Breick bit down on his lips to swallow the pain of his frostbitten hand scraping against the freezing cold metal of his spear’s grip. His lip started bleeding, a slight blue tinge grew around the wound.

Eleanor gulped and shakily reached for Sioherst, “We have to stop that fight before brother kills Breick by accident.”

Charlotte grabbed her protectively by the wrist, “We don’t need you getting a chill dear. If Breick wishes to choke on his pride then let him.” Eleanor could hear the underlying message.

If he hurts himself badly enough that’s just another opponent out of the way. Right Charlotte?

Charlotte hadn’t looked her in the eyes during the whole interaction, she just kept watching. Eleanor silently sat back down and muttered a prayer for Breick and Ezrian to Aquarius in broken Aquan. She hoped it was enough, at least, to calm her own conscience.

Brieck jabbed again, was knocked away, bit his lip, and jabbed again. His bottom lip was shredded and his teeth painted red with his own blood. His whole chin began to blue and his spear looked about to rip the skin clean off his hand. He kept attacking, kept fighting, determined, almost desperate, to break the defense her brother had spent his whole life honning. Every strike failed, just to bring more pain, but still he continued.

One night, when she was helping her father patch up an Aries Knight after he was dragged away from a nasty bar fight, he told her with an amused chuckle that doing something over and over again but still hoping for a different result was the very definition of insanity.

She could see that now, as Breick tore himself apart in front of her. She’d spent her whole adolescents going in and out of a clinic, seeing nobles and knights torn up from some fight or another, she’d seen enough blood to make the usual girl her age faint, but this sight in front of her, this churned her stomach. Charlotte finished her last glass when the fight reached its end.

Breick’s fury petered with every failed strike. Every deflection slowed him. He was shaking violently now. His spear fell from his hand. He bellowed with pain that bled into rage. His Mark flared so bright it nearly blinded Eleanor. He bent over and charged, slamming his head into Octavian’s gut and wrapped his torso with his arms. For once her brother made an expression other than impassively analytical, brief surprise claimed his face as the air was knocked out of him. Breick heaved with all his Blessed might and hefted Octavian off his feet and into the air.

Breick stood there, unable to move. He’d meant to suplex her brother into the hard stone then beat him over the head till he fell unconscious, but was instead finding it hard to even stand. His weakened body shook and panted violently.

From the stands Eleanor could see Breick going bug-eyed, gasping for breath. Sweat and color were returning to his body at an alarming speed. Eleanor felt a chill run down her spine. In fact the temperature around her was dropping. The puddle near Edrin froze over once more.

Octavian remained as still as a rock in his foe’s embrace. His eyes were closed and his Mark burned brighter than Brieck’s. Brieck groaned under Octavian’s weight, his knees weakening as he sunk lower to the ground. His groans turned to exasperated wheezes til, in no time at all, he let out an unintelligible croak and fell forward.

Silence smothered the battlefield. Eleanor held her breath till she was as blue as Breick’s wounds. Charlotte padded the sweat from her forehead.

Octavian pushed himself out of Breick’s limp grip and climbed back to his feet, Zweihander still fixed tightly in his grip. Ezrian and Breick, the sibling Aries of Gracia’s highest court, descendants of one of King Xander’s closest confidants, had fallen to the blade and Blessing of a single young man. Octavian took a deep breath and rubbed the sweat from his brow. He was dirty and scuffed but otherwise unharmed, untouched.

That was when Edrin charged him.

Now, Eleanor had interacted with people bearing all twelve Marks, save for Cancer of course, and of all of them there was only one that truly scarred a quiet healer like herself. It wasn’t the titanic strength of the Aries, the silent doom of the Scorpio, or the force of nature of her brother’s Libra. No, it was the sheer, unfettered, frenzy of the Taurus.

Edrin’s ankle was broken yet he rushed her brother like it was perfectly fine, like being able to walk on it ever again wasn’t important.

In her studies to become a doctor she knew there were certain limits the human body weren’t meant to break. Pain kept the body from going past them. In the body, pain was a door locked tight that bit back when one pushed it.

Edrin held his blade up high. Octavian barely had enough time to block.

Octavian disarmed him, grabbed him by the collar, and threw him against the stone wall.

But the Taurus-

Edrin stood up.

The Taurus held the key.

Edrin sucker punched Octavian. He punched and kicked at ever angle the smaller boy could find at a ravenous pace not dissimilar to a wild animal.

The Taurus were given a curious Blessing by the Cosmic Bull.
Octavian rammed him against the wall with his shoulder and smashed the air out of him with a punch to the gut.

They were given the simple yet effective talent of nullifying any and all pain their body endured. Allowing them to go through the doors of pain. But this came with a cost.

Octavian punched him mercilessly, each punch packing enough force, Eleanor believed, to dissuade any sane attacker.

Records show that Taurus have the highest casualty rate on the battlefield.

Blood trickled down Edrin’s chin. He smiled. Eleanor shivered.

Such a shame so few knew that there is a limit beyond pain.

Edrin lunged for Octavian’s throat.

A limit the rest of humanity called death.

“We have to stop him!” She shouted. Eleanor was on her feet and marching down the stairs when Charlotte grabbed her hand.

“We shouldn’t interrupt.”

“He’s your brother!”

“It’s training.”

Eleanor turned to her mentor and found not the eyes of a life long friend, but the eyes of dueling champion three years over. The eyes of the heir to house Havma. The eyes of a warrior.

From where they were they couldn’t see the fight anymore, but they knew it ended when they heard a gurgle of blood and the crack of stone and bone echo through the arena.

Her stomach dropped, and for a moment, she could see a stab of fear enter Charlotte’s gaze.

For the first time all week she heard her brother’s voice, “Eleanor. Edrin needs you.”

Breaking from Charlotte’s grasp, she sped to the clearing. Edrin was curled up on the ground like the others, unmoving and covered in blood. Octavian stood off to the side, fist painted red, and gazing away from the carnage. Eleanor ignored him and went to her patients.

Placing a hand on Edrin’s sternum, her Mark glowed. Her Blessing slinked down her body and onto Edrin’s, forming a thin blanket of greenish blue mist.

He was completely unconscious, good, his Mark was empty of Blessing, meaning he couldn’t nullify pain. If he was awake he’d be screaming. Her Blessing went to work.

The information seemed to pop into her head out of thin air. Numerous superficial wounds. Easy.

Edrin’s skin glowed faintly as cuts and bruises began to mend themselves and fade.

Early frostbite on the legs, but not as severe as Ezrian and Brieck. Have to get to them soon to.

The unnaturally red skin around her patient’s legs soothed till they looked almost pristine.

Left arm broken, only minor fracture. Just be careful and-

Eleanor carefully gripped Edrin’s arm around the break and guided her Blessing along the lines of of how a human arm should be. His arm made an unsettling snapping sound as the bones stitched themselves back together.

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Charlotte silently observing, a small but proud smile on her face as she watched her work. Octavian kept staring off into space.

Surprisingly no concussion, that’s good, can’t heal those with a Blessing.

Her hands instinctively moved to his ankle and grimaced.

Severe bone damage to the area. Large fracture to the left shoulder to.

She froze and a thought barged into her mind.

I’m not good enough, I can’t fix that.

The glow of her Mark flickered and the Blessing blanket across Edrin began to dissolve.

No wait, focus.

It was already to late, the moment she hesitated the process ended, his treatment half finished.

“That was an ammature mistake Elle.”

Eleanor jumped in her own skin when she felt a steady hand clasp her shoulder and a face swam into view. She saw leathery skin, faded cherry hair, and a pair of clean bandged up spectacles over ocean blue eyes. The Mark of Aquarius stretched diagonally across his left cheek.

“Father.”

The man went to work on Edrin like it was second nature. His Blessing danced it’s way down his arm and across Edrin’s body, weaving a thick shroud of glowing angelic fog. He didn’t speak to her, simply muttered a few incoherent words under his breath and making minor adjustments to the placement of his hands as he worked.

Two men in emerald green healer’s tunics that matched her father scurried into the clearing to work on Ezrian and Brieck. Charlotte’s serving man must have called for them. Father’s assistants. For the first time it dawned on Eleanor that her father had assistant, she’d never seen them around him or in his clinic. As a matter of fact, the only one she could recall him ever having-

Her shoulders slumped and she glared down at her training guard caked in dirt and sweat.

-had other responsibilities these days.

Eleanor sat in silence, watching. No sound between her or her father save the snapping of Edrin’s bones.

“Move his ankle thirty degrees to the right.” His voice had the texture of sand.

She obeyed, gently moving the patient’s ankle into the proper position. The cloak grew tightly around it like a cast of water and light. The edges glanced across the tips of her finger. It was cold yet, not. Sterile, yet, homey. Her own Blessing, from what her patients told her, felt more like being squeezed by a brick wall. Both healed, only one comforted.

After a few gross pops, snaps, and cracks, Edrin looked at the pinnacle of health, minus the lack of color in his cheeks. He stirred and opened his eyes.

“Did I win?” He asked weakly.

Her Father sighed and shook his head. He glanced towards Charlotte who stood at attention, “Make sure he gets lots of rest, and no sparring or any other kind of intense physical exertion for two days.”

“Yes doctor Fairwind.”

“Take him to his parents then.”

Charlotte looked down at her brother’s unconscious form with an indecipherable expression on her face and, like with every movement she ever made, delicately lifted him to his feet and slung one of his arms around her shoulder.

Edrin clumsily pointed to Octavian who had pointedly ignored everything that just happened, electing to instead squat on a nearby rock inspecting his blade. Eleanor didn’t doubt he hadn’t even noticed his own father arrive on the scene. She’d put fifty Shells on it.

“That things not human” he shouted.

Octavian’s eyes turned to him a moment before going back to his sword. Eleanor noticed he could see his reflection in it.

Charlotte glared daggers at Edrin, silencing him. She looked back at Eleanor who was still kneeling in the dirt without a patient. “See you again tomorrow?”

Eleanor nodded. Charlotte smiled faintly, “I’ll treasure the thought.” She said before elegantly stumbling off towards the arena’s exit with her younger sibling dragging her down like a dead weight.

The light of her Father’s Mark dimmed as he leaned back against a rock cliff, his gaze fixed on her, expression neutral, and patted the ground next to him. Eleanor took a deep breath and sat down. Her father reached into his bag and pulled out two apples. He handed one to her, “Here, you need to eat more if you’re going to keep up this training.”

She reluctantly took the offering and bit down. It had a simple taste just like any other apple, that’s what made it so good. She scarfed down another quick bite, probably looking very unladylike in the process. Her father smiled faintly and took a bite of his own apple. They stayed there a while longer, silently eating as they watched the her father’s men tend to Breick and Ezrian and, once they were awake, hurried them off to the infirmary.

Octavian eventually put stopped inspecting his sword and laid it across his lap and closed his eyes to meditate. Inspection then meditation, her brother’s post battle ritual ever since they were small, though she didn’t remember him taking as long as he did these days, in fact over the past few years she had a hard time recalling times where she didn’t see her brother sparring, inspecting, or meditating, after all, it wasn’t like he had any other interests….wait did he? SHe tilted her head as in concentration.

“What happened?”

Eleanor shook her head and came back to reality, to her father’s question. He looked at her, his face impartial as it always was these days but his eyes and voice betrayed an underlying sincere concern.

Eleanor sighed, “I panicked.”

Her father shook his head, “If I hadn’t come, if you were on a battlefield, then you’d have been all he had.”

What battlefield, I’ve never left the city. Mother made sure of that.

Still, she lowered her head in shame her father’s criticism not something she ever managed to take lightly. He sighed and grabbed her shoulder loosely with one had, his other pulling at the neck of his tunic. It had the golden crest of the royal family stitched into the fabric, his fingers picked at it like a scab.

“Time is a cruel thing, it doesn’t care if you panic, it keeps on going. If you have a patient who could be dying in your arms you can’t just excuse a mistake by saying “I panicked.””

His words were harsh but his voice just couldn’t muster the same sting. To Eleanor it still sounded far too much like the voice that read her medical textbooks at bedtime by Marklight when she was six and yet still managed to make it the most magical thing she’d ever heard.

She stayed silent.

He sighed again and ran a hand through his hair, it was thining fast. He pointed to his Mark and then to hers, “We’ve got something special Elle, something few people south of the Homeland ever have, we’re needed, remember that.”

Eleanor nodded solemnly, “We have to be perfect.”

His faint smile sunk into a frown as he realized the implication, “Wait Elle, I didn’t mean it that-”

Octavian stood up, his sister and father’s eyes followed his gaze till they saw a figure in large silvery armor descending into the arena.

Eleanor’s breath hitched and she scrambled to her feet, back going straight as a board.

Their Mother’s boots crunched against the stone stairs. She practically marched whenever she walked, even in the confines of her own home and amongst none but her family. She removed her helmet, emblazoned with the symbol of the Knights of Balance. She had short grey hair with remnants of sunkissed blonde and indifferent Onyx eyes that had a weight to them akin to a boulder of which no Aries could lift and live to tell the tale.

Her father rose to his feet with the widest smile he could muster the strength to give, “How was your day, my splendid Wallflower?” He asked, Eleanor couldn’t tell if the pet name was still meant to be affectionate or an insult after all their years.

Her eyes darted to her husband’s and held them for just a moment before surveying her children. Her jaw, seeming to be permanently locked to an expression bordering on a scowl, opened to usher her latest command.

“How did the day’s training go?”

Octavian stood at attention, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword pressed up against the center of his chest, a salute of respect from a Libran soldier to general. Expendable to invaluable, “I sparred with Edrin, Breick, and Ezrian at once. They’re in the infirmary now.”

Their Mother nodded thoughtfully and held her shield against her chest, the inverse salute to Octavian’s. Octavian bowed solemnly and without another word, though Eleanor caught the faintest of glint of happiness flash in his eyes. Her mother’s eyes landed on Eleanor.

“And you?”

“Charlotte says I’m improving.” She rushed out, stumbling over every word.

To an outsider, her mother’s face might’ve looked impassive, as if she hadn’t heard her. But Eleanor could pick out the slight tightening of her crow’s feet and the light creasing of her forehead. Eleanor was already the shortest in the family, that didn’t mean she didn’t feel like she’d shrunk five sizes in the last few seconds.

“I didn’t ask what Charlotte thinks. That girl thinks a lot of things, just like her parents, and while she makes a valuable ally I’d advise you not to treat what she thinks to highly. Now, tell me Eleanor; Have. You. Made. Progress?”

Eleanor reached for Sioherst so she could give her the same salute as Octavian. Her hands touched the grove of her hilt, it wasn’t there. Frantically she looked around only to spy it still lying on the bench out of the arena. She looked back at her mother, who waited with the same look of annoyed impassiveness that she’d come to know as a constant in life.

Her shoulders slumped, “Improvements” she had to push the rest from her mouth, “Minimal, mother.”

Her mother glared a little longer before giving up with a shake of the head, “Manageable” she muttered.

She unlatched a sphere from her armor and dropped it in her daughter’s hands. The stone was light weight, grey, and radiated a barely visible bluish aura. Across its surface lay a carving of a circle with a wavy line out it’s side like a tail. The Mark of Leo. The stone suddenly felt a lot heavier in her grasp.

“You’re done for the day.”  She jabbed a finger towards Octavian, “So give it to him.”

Her father frowned, “Wallflower, Merry, Meredeth, please, you’ve humiliated her enough today haven’t you?”

“She’s done that all herself Clovis. Besides she won’t need it for the rest of the day and her brother needs to work even harder to make up the difference.” She peered at Eleanor who felt like she were shrinking even more, “It’s the least she could do.”

Eleanor nodded slowly, her father sighed, her brother didn’t weigh in.

She turned the stone in her hands, it’s surface as smooth as glass, and held it up to her left eye. She closed her eyes and willed her Blessing forward.

A slight tug on her mind sparked into a violent pull that nearly knocked her over. When the vertigo passed as quickly as it came she felt, empty? Violated? No, hollow, hollow was the right word. She opened her eyes and found the stone glowing brilliantly in her fingers. She didn’t need to look in the nearby puddle to see her own glow gone from her Mark. I’d be back that night by the coming of the moon. But that didn’t make it any less humiliating.

She looked away and handed it to Octavian. He nodded slightly as if to say thank you. Not sorry, thank you. He placed it against right eye where his Mark was nearly dull, and inhaled deeply. The light left the stone and flooded his Mark. And just like that he was ready to fight all over again, like the slaughter of a few minutes ago never happened.

Meredith gestured to the bench, “Grab your sword and off to your room. I want you back down to practice your basic stances in two hours, your brother will spar with you after.”

Eleanor nodded, Meredeth walked away with her brother, all that was left of their presence were the crunch of her mother’s boots.

Her whole body began to shake. Stupid body.

“Same thing tomorrow?” She asked out loud tro nobody in particular, her voice cracked slightly and her eyes itched. Must’ve been from the transfer.

The boots stopped crunching, “At sunrise” she heard in response. The boots continued on.

Clovis stepped closer to her, “Elle, let’s go get you something to eat, maybe we can-”

“It’s fine, father.” Her voice rang dull like her Mark.

Clovis looked at her, his stoic eyes melting into a warm compassion that all to quickly cooled. He sighed again, “Just, stay strong Elle, and remember what I taught you.”

“I don’t think healing can help me now.”

“You’d.” He paused, “You’d be surprised.” He gave her what she assumed was a reassuring pat on the back and awkwardly walked away, back to his infirmary, to the people he knew he could help.

With a shaky step and straight back, as if she were trying to march with a dignity she and everyone else knew she didn’t have, she ascended the stairs and found Sioherst lounging in dusty light next to the empty drinks she’d shared with Charlotte. She held the blade up close to her face. A dirty, pathetic whelp of wasted noble blood stared back at her. At least she didn’t have to look at the wretched thing for long. Her tears soon blurred the image.

It looked prettier that way.