The Ivory Rite

Chapter 39

I keep extraordinarily busy over the next few weeks, avoiding the next assembly of Tricouncil like it's the threshold of hell. Adair delivered my message, told me he suspects the use of the word 'treason' was effective. That will have to be good enough for now.

Meeting with Tricouncil is not the only thing I'm avoiding. I haven't set foot near the rebuild since Adair's return. I lie to myself about the reason.

It's to keep Toryn safe, is what I think.

It's because you're terrified to face him, is what I know.

Every morning I meet with Landon and Adair for the Trinity briefing. I work with Landon on my lessons, specializing in military tactics. We meet no less than three times a day. 

Adair and I have commenced our training. He counts how many repetitions of each exercise I can do in one minute; how long I can hold static positions like squat, lunge and plank. "Your time will get longer," he tells me. "You'll be able to sustain more intense movement than you were able to when you started."

"I already can," I answer. "I've been doing this without you for weeks." He looks pleased with my dedication.

He gets me loose clothing to train in, better shoes. He takes me for runs in the morning before dawn, and at night after sunset, still adamant that as few people see us as possible. I catch him watching the curves of my body as I move, and I wonder if he can see the changes I've achieved. I can certainly feel them. The muscles in my arms and back are stronger, firmer. My legs feel powerful in a way they never have before. It's a rarity that I'm out of breath.

I'm careful not to touch him.

He doesn't try to touch me.

"When do we start with weapons?" I ask.

"Not today," he answers for the first fourteen days. On the fifteenth day, he puts a small dagger in my hand. I stare down at it.

"Attack me," he says, in the same tone one might use to discuss the weather.

"What?" I raise an eyebrow, my hand tightening around the handle of the blade. He doesn't answer, simply waits.

We're standing about ten feet away from one another, in the large common room attached to his living quarters. His combined space is larger than my own room, but that's only because I've refused to move to the queen's suite.

I wouldn't call my living area small, but it's cluttered with enormous, ornate furniture, eliminating it as a feasible training space. The armoire that houses just my dresses takes up an entire wall, and my vanity is sizable. There's a large, plush lounge against another wall, and my four poster canopy bed sits in the center of the room. I'm only afforded one tiny window, which is reason enough to want different accommodations, but I still can't bring myself to set foot in the royal rooms once occupied by Queen Nealie.

Adair's rooms are more simplistic. We train separate from where he sleeps, an area I haven't dared to enter. Through the double doorway I can see a small desk with a leather wing chair in one corner. His bed is large, but not the focal point of the space. There's a trunk against one wall that looks as though it could contain everything he owns, but the rest of his furniture is minimal. Both rooms are decorated in shades of gray and black, along with a rich dark green. I try not to notice how sometimes it matches his eyes exactly, depending upon the light.

The light is what I love the most. The entire outer wall of his suite is one enormous window, the glass stretching from floor to high ceiling. It faces west, toward the ocean.

"What if someone sees us through the window?" I asked the first time he brought me here.

"Like who? The sea birds?" I remember the smirk on his face. "The cliffs are sheer. They drop straight to the water. I'm not worried about it." He had given me a small wink, one that changed my body temperature by at least two degrees.