Chapter 285
Chapter 285
Elara’s POV
“Race me.”
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The shout cut across the training grounds like a bell. My daughter was already running before the words hit me. She took the low hurdles clean, feet light, arms pumping. Her braid snapped behind her like a flag that did not need wind.
Mira stood at the far line with her shield on her back, counting under her breath. Vessa jogged the inside track, calling split times. Eden kept score in chalk on the side wall while trying not to smile like a fool. Cael leaned on the rail at my side, silent and steady, a soft crease at his eye that only showed when he was pleased.
“Form is clean,” Mira called. “Head up. One more lap.”
My girl hit the corner, dug in, and flew. She was not the fastest yet. She was the most certain. I knew that feeling.
Cael’s finger brushed mine. “You let her run in your boots again.”
“She stole them,” I said. “I refused to notice.”
He laughed under his breath. “Honest parenting.”
A group of new students lined the fence. Rhea stood with them, now taller in the way that comes from breathing right. She clapped a quiet rhythm and did not take her eyes off the track. Tor stood behind her with a pack on both shoulders. He did not whine. He learned. I would admit that to him in ten years, not sooner.
Jory stuck his head out of the canteen and yelled about mid–meal. Fenna banged a ladle on a pot and told him to shut it. The flag with two moons pulled against the sky like it had always belonged there. The hinges on the Court door, forged from the melted chain, flashed when the light swung just right.
“Split,” Vessa called. “Faster. Prove it.”
My girl pushed. Breath in, breath out. She passed the last mark and broke the rope on the line with her chest. Mira’s hand snapped down. “Time,” she said. “New best.”
The watching kids cheered. Some loud. Some under their breath like joy might be a secret. My girl bent at the waist, hands on her knees, and then stood straight with her eyes on me.
“Race me,” she said again, breathless, grinning.
“Not today,” I said. “You would win.”
She beamed like I had laid a crown on her head. Then she trotted over and hugged Cael hard enough to make him grunt. He hugged back, then pretended his ribs hurt too much for show. She saw through him and hugged him again anyway.
Mira waved me in. “Bench talk,” she called. “No titles.”
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I walked to the inner ring. My daughter fell into step on my left, bouncing. She had teeth marks on her wrist from a spar. She had dirt on her cheek. She was perfect.
Mira dropped onto the bench and dragged a towel over her face. “She needs footwork drills at dusk. She is cutting wide.”
“I heard that,” my daughter said.
“Good,” Mira said. “Then fix it.”
Vessa tossed her a skin. “Water. Then I want your hands on the rope climb. Grip, not show.”
My girl drank like she had been in the desert, set the skin down neat, and nodded like a soldier. Cael took the other end of the bench and eased himself down. He was healed, but he still moved like he respected pain. Eden sat cross–legged on the grass and started writing a list that I did not ask to see. He would show me when I needed it.
Rhea stood by the fence, then stepped forward like she had decided not to ask permission anymore. “You ran clean,” she said to my girl.
“I want faster,” my daughter said.
“Want is good,” Rhea said. “Work is better.”
My daughter nodded. Respect is a language. She spoke it.
From the far gate, Elder Briar came with a bundle of papers under his arm. He looked like a small man holding a big door. He did not rush. He came to the bench, took a breath, and said, “Charter signs from Ridge and Fenreach came at dawn. The knot mark sits on their tables.”
“Obsidian Howl,” I asked.
“Already carved,” he said. “Cragfen Ridge too.”
“And Direstone,” Cael asked softly.
Briar’s mouth twitched. “They sent a box of hinges. No note. That counts.”
Vessa smirked. “Petty is a bridge.”
“Keep it,” I said.
Briar set the papers down and turned to my daughter. “Your name for the ledger,” he said kindly. “And do not say Wild Pup again. Your mother almost let me write it last week.”
My girl grinned and said her real name clear. He wrote it slow like a prayer and then drew a small knot beside it. “First class next season sits with you for one session,” he said. “Court order.”
Her eyes went round. “Me.”
“Yes,” he said. “You talk to them about fear. About how to break it into work.”
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She swallowed and looked at me. I nodded once. She stood a hair taller.
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Serena came across the yard with a basket of bindings and a set of small jars. “Whose skin needs attention,” she asked. “No heroes. Heroes bleed on my floor and then apologize.
My daughter held out her wrist. Serena dabbed salve and wrapped quick. “Grip rope after this sets,” she said. “Not before.”
“Okay,” my girl said. “Thank you.”
I watched her thank the person who helped her without being told. A knot in me loosened that I did not know 1 still tied.
Cael’s shoulder pressed mine. “You look like you swallowed sunlight.”
“I feel like I put a stone down,” I said.
“Which one,” he asked.
“The one that said I had to wear a name to be worth breath,” I said. “It is gone.”
He listened. He did not talk over it. That was our best habit.
Eden closed his book and looked over the grounds. “Your mother is about to make you cry in public,” he told my daughter.
“I do not cry,” she said, chin up.
“You will,” he said. “She is good at this part.”
“Stop,” I told him. He grinned and did not stop. He never does.
From the roof, Ilia waved. “Rope course open,” she yelled. “If you fall, you owe me three jokes.”
“Why three,” Jory shouted from the canteen.
“Because one is luck and two is a mistake,” Ilia yelled back. “Three means you learn.”
“Sounds like your cooking,” Fenna called.
“Eat your soup,” Ilia yelled.
My girl bounced on her toes. “Can I go.”
“In a minute,” I said. “Walk with me first.”
We moved along the edge of the arena. The grass under our boots was new. The lines were bright from chalk. A knot mark sat on the bench at the field’s edge, burned clean into the wood. Hands had already rubbed it
smooth.
“Do you remember when you asked if I wanted to be Luna,” I said.
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She made a face. “I was seven. I thought crowns came with dessert.”
“They do not,” I said.
“I know,” she said. “They come with meetings.”
“Too many,” I said.
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She laughed and then sobered. “Is it hard,” she asked. “Being the person everyone looks at when something breaks.”
“It used to be,” I said. “It is not now.”
“Why,” she asked.
“Because I stopped trying to fix it alone,” I said. “Because I chose myself before I chose the chair. Because I picked people who do not ask me to be smaller so they can breathe.”
She nodded like she understood more than I had at her age. “I do not want a chair,” she said. “I want the track and a map and a knife for rope.”
“Good,” I said. “Take all three.”
She bit her lip. “Do you think I will have a mate. Or will I be like you before.”
“You will be like you,” I said. “If someone keeps up, good. If they do not, you will still run.”
She looked at the rope course and then back at me. “What if I choose wrong,” she whispered.
“Then you choose again,” I said. “We built a place where that is allowed.”
Her eyes shone. She blinked hard and pretended the light got in them. I let her.
From the yard, Mira called times. Vessa barked orders. The world kept moving without me lifting it. That was the gift.
Cael walked up on my other side. He smelled like cedar and smoke. The cord at his wrist lay soft against his skin. Mine did the same. He tilted his head. “Field or Court,” he asked.
“Neither,” I said. “Walk with me to the garden.”
He raised a brow. “Now.”
“Now,” I said.
We turned toward the small court behind the infirmary. Rhea fell in at a distance to shadow my girl like a quiet guard. Serena peeled off toward the clinic. Eden drifted after us until Fenna snapped her towel at him and sent him back to his lists. Mira shouted that she was not our nanny. Vessa said she was our nanny and then laughed when Mira scowled. The flag moved above all of it, calm.
The night–bloom patch had filled in since spring. Green leaves crowded the stake. Small white cups waited to
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open in the evening. A little scrap of red paint was still tucked under the ear of the statue in the square beyond the wall. I could see it through the gap. It would stay. We had agreed. Stains tell the truth.
My girl crouched and touched the soil with two fingers. “You planted this,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Why here,” she asked.
“Because the ground here held what I needed to let go,” I said. “Because seeds deserve honesty.”
She looked up at me. “Did it work.”
“Yes,” I said. “I am free.”
She smiled like she knew what the word meant in my mouth. Not a door. A field. A track with no rope across
- it.
Cael put his hand on the stake and leaned in. “We should tell her,” he said softly.
My daughter’s head snapped. “Tell me what.”
I took a breath. “Next season, the Crescent Court will ask you to run drills for girls your age,” I said. “Not because you are my daughter. Because you are good at not quitting.”
She went very still. Then she nodded once. “I will do it,” she said. “But I want Mira on the field and Vessa on the edge and Eden far away from the chalk.”
“I heard that,” Eden yelled from nowhere.
My girl laughed. So did I. Cael tried not to and failed.
The sun slid a hand across the garden wall. The air tasted like soup and iron and cut grass. The drums in the field softened into talk. The day leaned toward the hour when the night–blooms would open.
My daughter stood and squared to me. “Can I ask something stupid,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“If I win the next race, will you howl with me,” she asked. “Like loud enough for the square.”
I blinked. The ask was simple and huge. My throat felt tight and good. Cael’s fingers found mine, not to lead, just to share the ground under us.
“Yes,” I said. “I will.”
She grinned and broke into a run before I could change my mind. She hit the track like it had been waiting. Mira saw her and raised a hand without missing a beat. Vessa cursed and sprinted to the timing post. Rhea whooped once, brief and bright. The whole yard seemed to tip toward her with a smile.
Cael watched her go and then faced me. “You sure you want the square to hear you,” he said.
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“Yes,” I said. “I want them to know the sound of a woman who chose herself and stayed.”
He nodded. “Then breathe.”
I did. I breathed in the ground and the flag and the hinge and the small stain under the ear and the girl on the track who was mine and not mine at the same time. The sound rose inside my ribs and waited, patient.
My daughter hit the line and threw her hands up. “Say it,” she yelled. “Say you will do it now.”
I cupped my hands and let the yard carry my voice. “I will howl when you call me.”