Shadowguard

“You had it,” Cedric said from her right. “For about five seconds.”

“Why is one ball of light so exhausting?”

“You’re not used to it,” Wil said. While she couldn’t see him — her eyes were still screwed shut — she knew by the tone of his voice he’d shrugged. “It’s the same issue you had when you first started sparring with me; you don’t have the proper conditioning to handle more than a quick burst.”

“Magic’s worse, though,” Cedric added. “With the sword, you just exhaust yourself. If you try to use too much magic and your body’s not prepared to handle it, you can kill yourself. Or, at the very least, overexert yourself to the point of passing out for several hours, if not days.”

“And how often does that happen?” she asked. If there was one thing she learned about herself during her first assignment, it was that she was far more reckless than she realized.

“Depends,” Cedric said. “If you’re a completely reckless moron like Wil, probably pretty often. Given what you did in Windhollow, I’d have to say you’re probably in the same realm of stupidity.”

She cracked an eye open but snapped it shut immediately after. Dim as the training room was when compared to the rest of the safe house, it was still too bright. The torchlight only intensified the throbbing behind her skull.

“None of you are going to let that go, are you?” she grumbled. The only one who hadn’t had something to say about it was Osain — the one person she expected to tear into her when he found out. He’d merely smiled as if he was aware of something she wasn’t.

“Considering that it defeats the purpose of going through the effort to keep you alive, no. No, we are not,” Cedric chided.

She released a heavy sigh. What was she supposed to do? Sit there and let Shroud kill Wil, then run off with her? Wouldn’t that also defeat the purpose of trying to keep her alive? Wil said she should’ve run, but if she had, Shroud would’ve followed. If they caught her, she would’ve been well and truly defenseless. She was damned if she did, damned if she didn’t.

If nothing else, Windhollow had taught her one thing; she didn’t know herself as well as she thought she did. If someone told her that in a matter of a month she’d go from tending the bar at her parents’ tavern to bartering with monstrous creatures and beheading agents of a vile and evil organization, she’d never believe it. She still couldn’t believe it.

It took several minutes for the headache to wane, though the fatigue remained. This time, when she opened her eyes, the light wasn’t as blinding. It still hurt. The torches were a bit too bright, but it was manageable.

“Not only that,” Cedric added, “you have an alarming habit of getting yourself knocked out.”

“That’s a recent issue, I can assure you,” she argued, though he wasn’t wrong. She spent more time incapacitated than not these days; if she wasn’t drugged or dazed, magically or otherwise, exhaustion put her out.

The situation had gotten so out of hand so quickly; she wasn’t even sure what to do anymore. Was she still supposed to be pursuing answers, as per her agreement with the courts, or was she supposed to sit back and allow Shadowguard to handle the matter? Was there even a point anymore?

The door to the training room opened, and Lisette poked her head inside. “Hate to interrupt the fun, but someone’s here to see Everna.”

“Who?” Wil asked before she could question Lisette herself.

“Sir Swiftbrook’s replacement, supposedly,” Lisette said, peering back into the hall with her eyes narrowed. “Claims he’s a High Knight, though he’s dressed like your average stable boy. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, threatened to run me and Vina through if we didn’t let him in the door.”

Cedric frowned, his brow creased. “And you let him in anyway?”

“If you think you can make him leave, be my guest,” Lisette huffed. “He doesn’t look like a High Knight, but he still looks like he could easily make good on his promise if he wanted to.”

Everna pursed her lips. “Did you get his name, by chance?”

“Corden Shadefell.”

Everna was on her feet in seconds, her exhaustion forgotten. She barreled past Lisette, nearly slamming her into the door frame, and shot up the stairs two at a time. The moment she stepped into the taproom, her heart swelled with relief. Her brother towered over Vina, his face set into grim irritation.

He was built like their father, standing several inches over six feet tall, but where age had begun to chip away at their father’s bulk, Corden was just reaching his prime. He’d grown since she last saw him, his shirt, which once fit properly, tight against his frame, the buttons straining.

Vina had audacity, if nothing else. While she was tall by most standards (though, nowhere near as tall as Leah, who was at least six feet in her own right), Corden completely dwarfed her. Still, she held her ground, shoulders squared with haughty arrogance. Everna would be impressed if that courage came from anywhere but an over inflated ideal of self-importance.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” Vina snapped, her hands on her hips, “but you absolutely cannot come in here making demands as if you own the place. You can stuff your attitude and cart yourself back to whatever gutter you crawled out, preferably before you infest us all with whatever diseases you lowborn commoners carry. It’s bad enough we have that loose whore you came looking for-”

“The next time you talk about my sister like that, you’ll be picking your teeth up off the floor,” Corden snapped.

Many assumed that she and Corden were exact images of their respective parents, from their appearance to their personality, but the distribution of traits wasn’t as linear as it seemed.

Everna might have her mother’s build and intelligence, but she inherited their father’s breezy calm; she wasn’t easily bothered. She had her moments where her temper got the better of her, but most things rolled off her like water on a duck’s back.

Corden might have their father’s stature, but in temperament, he was undeniably Evelina’s son, only with a touch more restraint. That fiery nature, coupled with his inherent protectiveness, often led to similar scenes. He didn’t care who it was, whether it was some snot-nosed brat or the heads of the Three Houses, man or woman; if someone — other than himself, of course — dared insult his baby sister, they’d find themselves on the receiving end of his ire long before they finished.

Vina was lucky Corden wasn’t their mother; she would’ve slapped the daylights out of her the second she opened her mouth.

“Sister?” Vina asked, confused.

“Sister,” Everna confirmed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Vina, this is my older brother, Sir Corden Shadefell, High Knight of Inverness, and, as I’ve just heard, the new head of Pendel’s Guard post. Corden,” she said, pointing to Vina, “A spoiled brat, but I’m sure you’ve realized that already.”

Her brother turned to her, his irritation giving way to wariness. “I wish I could say I’m glad to see you, but considering the circumstances, I’d rather I wasn’t here at all.”

Dread pitted in her stomach. “Who died this time?”

“No one, yet,” Corden sighed. He pursed his lips and shifted on his feet — a nervous tick of his. Whatever he had to say, she wouldn’t like it. “Shroud tried to kill Pala and Mom last night.”