Page 23 of These Fractured Bonds

“A lord. It’s a generational, inherited position. At the time of Izmari’s founding, Queen Izmari had four loyal families, and thus, granted each of them a court. Their function is to ensure both the well-being of their citizens and Izmari.”

“And you? What court are you part of?”

“… I am the Third General of the Earth Court.”

Yareli’s mind whirled. Scar-face, whose real name was Tuom, was part of the Earth Court. Her hands became sticky, and she gripped the armchair. Was Leo in cahoots withhim? Had her escape been some long-term psychological test? Was Tuom waiting outside the door to take her back to her cell?

“I know it looks bad.” Leo sat still, but he spoke rapidly. “But I’m not one of his minions. Tuom,” he said, spitting the name, “is far from my friend.”

Two sides of the same coin warred inside Yareli. To trust or not?

“Prove it,” she said, surprised at her tone—hard, unforgiving, and demanding.

“Here.” Leo floated documents over to her. “These are official communications between my scouts, who track Tuom’s movements, and me.”

Yareli picked the documents—surprisingly, they were written in English—out of the air one by one, scrutinizing their contents. She picked out relevant information: Tuom spending days away from the Earth Court mansion, Tuom’s visits to Endrim—the acting Lord.

“Why are you monitoring him?”

“I believe he is acting against the Earth Court’s best wishes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “By doing what?”

“Swaying political power into Endrim’s hands and away from our ailing father.” Leo paused. “He’s my brother, and the Great Tree knows I wish to trust in him, but there have been too many coincidences in the past few years that I cannot overlook any longer. My sister, Agatha, and I have been the stopper, preventing his consolidation of power. We don’t understand his ambition. He’s our future lord.”

If he was the heir, then Tuom being his confidant raised concerns. Yareli had a feeling Endrim’s views on humans were similar to Tuom’s.

Deciding to trust Leo, she leveled her gaze at him. “Is it safe here?”

“This is my private residence,” he replied, his tone even, finally without a trace of his excessive energy. “No one may come without my permission.”

She knew he wished to reassure her, but worry took root in her stomach. If something were to happen to him, what would she do? An idea came to her, unfurling like a flower bud until the words slipped out of her mouth.

“Train me.”

If she was destined to live her days out in a hostile land, then she had to learn to survive.

Chapter 10

Itwasoneofthose hot summer days where the blaring buzz of cicadas filled the air and heat hung low and heavy. Sweat rolled down Yareli’s back as she weeded her garden, but she didn’t mind. Since her rescue two months ago, she had come to welcome the sun’s gentle light waking her in the morning, enjoying the cool mornings and hot afternoons.

She led a simple routine that consisted of several quiet activities: reading, gardening, and cleaning. Her only strenuous endeavor was combat training. Although it had been Yareli’s idea, she was reluctant at first, hesitant to pick up a weaponwhen she had experienced her powerlessness against magic. After all, what could a non-magical blade do against someone who could snap their fingers and break her bones? Bri had taken offense at this thought.

“Yareli,” Bri had said, her tone sharp. “Your weakness will be your strength.”

When she didn’t respond, Bri marched to her, putting the dagger in her hand. “Let them underestimate you. Make it their undoing.” Bri had closed Yareli’s fingers over the blade’s hilt, adding in a softer voice, “Don’t let Tuom win.”

Yareli had turned the dagger in her hand, feeling not its weight, but the weight of wielding a weapon. She had thought of the bright white room, painted red with her blood. Even now, it sickened her, haunting her nightmares. An ember had stirred in her, awakening emotions that she had discarded during her imprisonment. The urge to drive her blade through Tuom’s heart raged through her, fueling her desire to fight. She had been an eager student after that.

Now, Yareli was passable with daggers, able to handle them without injuring herself. She preferred the bow, having picked it up quicker, but she kept practicing with daggers. When she killed Tuom, she wanted it to be with a blade; it was, after all, his favoritetool. She pulled a stubborn weed out and dropped it into her bucket.

She had thought a lot about it—taking a life, that is. Tuom was like the weeds she was pulling out. Harmful and unwanted. He spread hurt wherever he went, spewing his bigotry like he held authority on the matter. He had power, but what good was power if he was dead? It was that thought that prevented her from giving up. Tuom’s death was a fact; there was no reality in which both Yareli and Tuom could live. His hatred was seared in the depths of her soul, festering until either she died at his handsor he at hers. This was a truth that settled in her bones, like silt at the bottom of a lake.

The back door closed, catching her unaware. She flinched and gripped her gardening shears.

Leo greeted her. “It’s only me until dinner. Bri is leading the squadron’s training.”

Yareli was unsurprised. Bri’s military prowess was widely acknowledged, and she often led boot camps. She enjoyed teaching and had shared with Yareli that she hoped to be an instructor in the future. She was fair in her judgment but had high standards. Yareli had experienced it firsthand during her training with her, and it had made her a better fighter for it.