Chapter 11
“Iyara.”
Sandora’s gaze locked onto me, dusty and disheveled as I was.
“I see you’re not planning to apologize either.”
“Nope.”
Her fingers twitched, resolve hardening in her eyes.
“Fine. Then here’s how this is going to go.”
She slid off the bed and stepped right in front of me.
“Training, clues—whatever it takes. I know more about the Light than you ever will.”
“But?”
“I’ll teach you everything. On my name, I swear it.”
Now that was an offer I couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been worried about exactly that. When I shot her a doubtful look, she dipped her head slightly.
“But there’s a condition. Just like Edryd said yesterday—this is a competition. Winner takes all.”
“So?”
“The loser kneels and apologizes to the winner.”
The worst part? The way she said it—like the idea of losing to me was laughable. I smirked and caught her slender wrist.
“Don’t try to take it back later.”
“I won’t.”
We threw ourselves into the competition with renewed fervor, stepping outside with even more determination than the first day. Sandora, who’d promised to teach me everything, lumbered to the center of the field like an ox and plopped down. Then she stared at me expectantly—clearly waiting for me to follow suit. Suspicious, but I sat down anyway.
“You’ll be attending the academy this winter too,” she said.
“Academy?”
“The Idriheim—a school floating above the capital, Sephesis. From afar, it looks like an island, but I’ve heard it holds wonders beyond imagination. I’ve only ever read about it in books, counting down the days until I could go.”
“Sounds nice.”
“In theory.” She exhaled sharply. “At Idriheim, wielding Light is fundamental. Every student knows it. I was supposed to start learning from my grandfather this summer, but then you showed up and sped things up.”
This was the most I’d ever heard Sandora speak. I liked her voice—calm, even-toned—but I didn’t let it show. Admitting that felt too much like losing.
“Anyway, the point is, I don’t know much either. But I’ve picked up a few things from books…”
She trailed off, fingers brushing the tip of a stray blade of grass. My eyes followed her touch.
“They say even something as insignificant as this grass holds Light within it.”
“Grass?”
“So all you have to do is feel it.”
My head throbbed at what might’ve been the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard, but I forced patience.
“And then?”
“That’s it.”
“What?”
All that buildup for this? Disbelief shot through me, and I flicked her hand away from the grass.
“That’s your grand lesson? You expect me to sit here groping weeds all day?”
“You don’t want to?”
“Isn’t there another way?”
“I swore an oath, didn’t I? If there were, I’d have told you.”
The tension rose again, and we both looked away. Last night, we’d made one more promise: given the sorry state of our bodies, no raised voices, no fighting. A temporary truce. I sat with my knees drawn up, plucking blades of grass and turning them over in my hands. Sandora, silent, stroked the grass like she was petting a puppy.
It was ridiculous, really. One of us was yanking up grass and shoving it in her face, the other staring blankly while caressing the blades like they held secrets. Under the blazing sun, with no one around—just the two of us, sitting like fools. The thought of it made a laugh bubble up, sharp and sudden.
I tried to hold it in. But Sandora’s expression was too much—her lips slightly parted, eyes closed, handling the grass like it was some priceless relic. Both of us looked like we’d lost our minds.
“Hng—”
And then I broke. The laughter burst out before I could stop it. I clutched my stomach and toppled backward. The harder I tried to stifle it, the more it swelled, unstoppable. Sandora shot me a weird look at first, but when she saw me laughing until tears streamed down my face, she cracked too. She must’ve been fighting it—her face twisted oddly, lips twitching.
Sandora muffled her snorts behind her hand; I rolled in the grass, wheezing. There we were, both of us bruised and battered, laughing like idiots for who knows how long—until one of Grandfather’s maids stumbled upon us, stared in blank confusion, and slipped away.
I still had no intention of apologizing. But the resentment had already melted away, leaving only the task Grandfather had given us. A challenge we had to solve—and compete over. It wasn’t as frustrating as before. Just a stubborn, quiet determination, the kind that lingers after the storm.
* * *
We’d fallen into the habit of bathing once a day. The two of us would shed the grime from our bodies by the small lake near the cabin, our sleep clothes dangling from a tree branch overhead.
We sat back-to-back, careful not to look too closely at each other’s bare skin. Though our backs itched, we weren’t close enough to scrub them for one another.
We couldn’t wash thoroughly—our bodies still hadn’t fully recovered. Last time, I’d instinctively reached to scratch my back only to be met with seizing muscles and pain. Sandora wasn’t faring much better, judging by the pained noises she made the entire time.
Not being able to properly wash our backs made the whole bath feel incomplete. We quickly stepped out of the water and dried off. Unfortunately, the spot where I’d haphazardly thrown my sleep clothes was near Sandora’s side of the shore. Swallowing my embarrassment, I called out to her.
“Hey, toss that over.”
Without turning, Sandora reached behind her, grabbed my clothes, and waved them blindly in the air. Sighing, I started walking toward her—only for impatient Sandora to suddenly spin around and snap,
“What’s taking you so—”
Her voice cut off mid-sentence. Her eyes, narrowed in annoyance, widened like full moons as they raked over my bare body. Annoyed, I snatched my clothes and snapped,
“What?”
Her gaze lingered near my navel—where an old burn scar stretched across my skin. Realization dawned on me.
“It’s from a long time ago. Not your doing.”
“Obviously, that’s a fire scar.”
Clearly, the well-bred young lady had never seen such a blemish before. Even the maid who’d first bathed me had reacted similarly. I yanked my sleep shirt on, but Sandora’s eyes still didn’t leave me.
I stepped out of the lakeshore first. Sandora, who had been momentarily dazed, soon followed. Still, washing up had cooled my itchy body somewhat. As I walked, letting the breeze dry my damp hair, I noticed hesitant footsteps behind me that kept starting and stopping.
“What’s wrong?”
At my question, Sandora hesitated.
“Nothing.”
Today was another failure. No matter how much we tore at the grass, crushed it, or fussed over it, we couldn’t feel a thing. By the time the sun began to set, we had only just realized we needed to wash up—and now, exhausted, it was time for something to finally enter our mouths. Hungry, I left the hesitant Sandora behind and entered the cabin first.
The jam and bread from breakfast were still there. I hurriedly took a seat at the table, spreading jam on the bread and eating. Sandora, who had followed me in, carefully closed the cabin door and tiptoed over. She quietly pulled out a chair and sat down. I pushed the remaining bread toward her.
“Thanks.”
I nodded and swallowed my bread. Sandora glanced at me, then turned her attention back to her share. We both chewed in silence, the air stiff between us. When the quiet stretched too long, I spoke first.
“Maybe we’re going about this wrong. It might not be the grass—could be something else.”
“Maybe. But the texts said you could feel it anywhere. The grass was just an example. That even something as insignificant as a single blade holds Light.”
“My head hurts.”
“It’s not easy.”
She added that some people might not make it to the academy at the expected age. If you couldn’t grasp this, they wouldn’t accept you at all. The Witterbalde family, she said, had never had someone fail to enroll at the right age. Even the wildest of them understood quickly and went on to achieve good grades at the academy.
“What if neither of us makes it?”
“Then we rewrite history.”
The words threatened to sound too gloomy, so we dropped it and turned in for the night. I imagined us trapped inside these walls forever, rotting in our threadbare sleep clothes.
Enough. Let’s just sleep.
I closed my eyes, evening out my breath—until a rustling came from behind me. She was still awake.
“Hey.”
Sandora’s voice was faint, her golden curls spilling over the pillow. I sighed and rolled over to face her, propping my head up.
“What?”
She bit her red lip, then released it. Whatever she wanted to ask must’ve been difficult.
“Did you get that scar… outside?”
Of course she’d ask. I didn’t know why she cared, but then again, curious little nobles were like that. My reply came out clipped.
“Yeah.”
“How?”
No idea why she was digging.
“Why does it matter?”
“Just wondering.”
Still not honest. But then again, neither was I.
“Fine. Where I’m from, if you’re caught stealing, they lop off your hand—or brand you with fire. Take your pick. Honestly, I got off easy.”
I’d been seven when I first learned to steal. Back then, the choices were simple: sell your body, or your skills. Neither option left you whole.
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