Onyx Blood [True North series book 2/3]

I slept deeply, that night. I didn’t know if it had been the physical exhaustion, the sleepless night I’d had the night before, or my walk with Thoridor, but I’d fallen asleep as soon as my head had hit the pillow.

I woke up early, and before even sitting up, I took a sip of the grey potion Phaedra had slipped me the day before. It was supposed to help with the muscle ache. I flinched at the bitter taste of the liquid, and it burned all the way down my oesophagus. I rolled my shoulders and got out of bed.

I quickly got myself ready, and ran down to Warrian’s room. My heart pounded in my throat as I raised my hand to knock on his door.

“He’s out,” a voice called from behind me. I turned around, and found Aricor leaning against the wall, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement.

“You want to see your beau before getting your ass kicked again?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes at him. “I just hoped I could— never mind.”

Aricor jerked his head in the direction of the dining hall. “Breakfast,” he said, and began walking.

Breakfast consisted of some sort of vegetable quiche and a cup of broth. It was just Aricor, Maista and me at the table — no sign of the others. I used the opportunity to get to know Maista a little better.

“So you’re a healer?” I asked her awkwardly.

Maista deadpanned me and pushed her empty plate away. “Yes,” she replied coldly.

“Do you use magic?” I continued, ignoring how uncomfortable her staring made me.

“If necessary,” Maista replied. Her slanted eyes shot from me to Aricor, as if she was trying to figure out if he had put me up to this inquiry. Aricor put his hands up helplessly.

I finished the last of my quiche waiting for Maista to elaborate, and then got up. “Alright, good talk,” I said, and turned to Aricor. “Are you ready?”

Aricor nodded and grabbed a handful of what looked like some sort of fruit out of a bowl on the way out. “Catch,” he said, and tossed one over his shoulder. I bumped my shoulder into the doorpost trying to catch it, and still missed.

I picked the fruit up and dusted it off with my sleeve. “What’s this?” I asked, passing it back and forth between my palms.

“It’s an Ulonmelo,” Aricor explained, “peel it. It’s sweet and slightly tangy.”

I took the dagger Aricor held out to me and sliced into the dark green skin. The peel was tougher than I expected — it felt almost leathery, and when I peeled it back, it revealed the orangey-pink inside. The texture shocked me — it looked like a ball of spun silk, or cobwebs — countless wispy threads spun into a fuzzy mess.

“Try it,” Aricor coaxed, “scoop some out with your finger, or use your tongue if you don’t want to get your hands sticky.” He proceeded to do just that — lick out the insides of the fruit he was holding. I couldn’t help but giggle at how inappropriate it looked.

“Go on then,” Aricor pressed, “don’t just stand there laughing at me. Have some!”

I looked down at the fruit and brought it up to my lips. And then, I hesitatingly scooped out some of the orange flesh with my tongue. The texture was surprisingly delightful — the wispy threads immediately dissolved into a sweet mist upon touching my tongue. It took four licks total to clear the whole thing.

“That was lovely,” I said, “can I have some more?”

“No,” Aricor said plainly, “we have work to do. Let’s go to the courtyard.”

When we got to the courtyard, Aricor walked to one of the corners, and opened the large wooden chest that had been pushed against the palace wall. He pulled out a bow and handed it to me.

“You’re an archer, right?” he said, “I figured we’d do some archery today, give your muscles a break.”

“Wonderful,” I said, and took the bow, and grabbed an arrow from the chest.

Aricor pointed to a target across the courtyard. “Show me what you’ve got,” he said, and took a step back.

I lifted the bow, and pulled back the bowstring, feeling the familiar resistance beneath my fingertips. I rested the arrow against my cheek, and focussed on the target.

Then, I released, and the arrow shot through the air and with a soft thud pierced it’s head into the target — right in the center.

I turned around and proudly wiggled my eyebrows at Aricor. He made an impressed face, and grabbed something else from the chest. He sprinted across the courtyard, and held it up. It was a small ball made of cloth, and looked to be stuffed with hay.

“Ready?” he said, and I quickly grabbed another arrow. Aricor flung the ball into the air. I drew back the string, aimed, and released. I missed.

I dropped my bow in shock. Aricor chuckled amusedly, and shook his head. “That was awful,” he sniggered, “your family relied on your hunting, you said?”

I huffed, and grabbed another arrow. “Again,” I commanded, and readied my bow. Aricor flung another ball into the air, and I shot again. And missed, again.

“I never miss,” I mumbled in disbelief, “I make every shot. What’s going on?”

Aricor shrugged. “It’s been a while since you’ve hunted, right?” he said, “maybe you’ve lost your touch.”

“I haven’t!” I protested, “I’ve been hunting for years. You don’t just lose a skill like that.”

Aricor scratched his chin. “Maybe you just need a live target to really get into the mindset,” he said.

“I don’t kill for fun,” I grunted, “just out of necessity. Let’s try again.” Aricor nodded, and threw up another ball. I missed again.

“I can’t believe this,” I mumbled defeatedly, and put down my bow.

“Don’t give up so easily, Eloweth,” Aricor said, “just try the target again. We’ll figure it out.”

I sighed, and shot an arrow at the target, and hit it straight in its center again.

“So yes, just the moving targets are troubling you,” Aricor said, and walked back over to the chest. He tossed me a blunt arrow. I caught it mid-air, and held it up to my face to study the tip. It had been covered by a piece of burlap with some sort of spongy material inside.

“Shoot me,” Aricor said, and sprinted away. I hesitated for a moment, but then aimed for Aricor’s shoulder blade, and fired my arrow. I hit him exactly where I had intended.

Aricor grunted and turned around. “Again,” he rumbled, and threw back the arrow.

We tried three more times, and I hit him effortlessly each time. Aricor picked up the arrow, and walked back to me.

“I think I know what’s going on,” he said, “it really is the live target that makes a difference. But not just mentally — I think you’ve been wielding your targets all along.”