She picked her tree and asked Ronan for a boost. Instead of extending a knee for her to step on as she was expecting, he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her above his head. Her heart jumped into her throat, and she scrambled onto the branch in front of her. She stammered her thanks down to him, gave her heart a moment to settle, and —when it didn’t— continued climbing, thoughts scattered. No one had ever touched her like that in such a casual setting. Her hand drifted down to her waist. And no one’s touch had left such an impression before.
She shook herself. Ronan wasn’t part of her parents’ game. He wasn’t an available choice.
At the top of the tree, she leaned her head back against the trunk, eyes closed. She inhaled and held her breath for the count of five. She opened her eyes, blew out her held breath, and nodded. Taking out a couple slim nails and a foldable hammer from her belt pack, she secured the decoy flag to the tree trunk, then scanned the horizon for landmarks. Hills to the north, crumbling tower to the west. Lowlands to the south and east.
She called down to Ronan. “Are you holding your end of the rope?”
“Yes, of course,” he yelled back.
“And your footing is secure?”
“Yes.”
She heard the question in his tone but ignored it.
“Good. I’m coming down.”
She untied the rope from her waist, wove it around the trunk and her current branch, and retied it around herself. She jumped down, skipping two branches. The rope wrenched taut as she landed. She grinned and jumped again.
“Myra!” Ronan grunted as she landed. “Stop jumping. The rope’s not long enough.”
He waved the tail of the rope. She sat with a huff, close enough to see him clearly, but too far to jump safely to the ground. She watched him staring up at her, his chest heaving while a muscle in his jaw twitched. Was he . . . angry?
“Call the others over. You can all catch me.”
“Absolutely not.”
She inhaled. Counted to three. Tilted her head. Smiled.
“I meant if I fall. I’ll climb down properly the rest of the way.”
He looked up at her, at the tree, at the rope in his hands. His tensed shoulders loosened, but that muscle in his jaw still ticked.
“Fawx! Soren, Owain,” he called. “Myra needs us.”
The three halted mid-bickering and rushed over.
“Are you a cat, Myra? Shall I rescue you from this tree?” Fawx winked.
She smiled and shook her head. “If anyone’s a cat, it’s the one in black behind you.” She waited for Fawx to notice Soren, then continued, “Rescue is not necessary. All I need is for you to spot me as I climb down. The tree was” —she unknotted the rope around her waist— “taller than expected.”
“Um, Princess,” Owain called, kicking the base of the tree. “I may not be much help. Things that require steadiness tend to go poorly for me.” His voice trailed off at the end.
“You’ll do fine. I’ve climbed up and down hundreds of trees in my life and only slipped twice,” she reassured as she moved down a branch. “Both of those times I wore a dress and tripped on the skirts.”
From the branch beside her, Fawx whispered, “I see you could never be anything as common as a cat.” He winked and scampered upwards.
“What are you doing?” she called after him.
“Freeing the rope.”
“Why?”
Soren answered from below, “It could create suspicion and ruin our decoy, if we left it in the tree.”
Myra’s foot slipped as she swung from the last branch and she lost her grip. Owain turned to catch her but bumped the toe of his boot on a root. He landed face-first on the ground, breaking her fall with his back.
Fawx’s laughter rustled the branches above. “His Gracelessness strikes again.”
“I’ve told you not to call me that!” Then he muttered, half to himself, “I told him not to call me that.”
Owain tried to roll over with Myra still on top. She scrambled off and extended a hand to help him up, but the panic in his sky-blue eyes had her backing away instead. He dusted off his pant legs and winced as he regained his feet.
Sitting two branches up, holding the coiled rope, Fawx taunted, “Fine, fine. Catch me and I’ll stop.”
“What?!”
“One, two, three. . .”
He released the rope into Owain’s outstretched arms, swung down backwards off the branch, and dropped to the ground beside him with a grin. Fawx tried to lean his elbow on Owain’s shoulder, but the blonde prince was enough taller that it was too awkward. Instead, Fawx leaned against Owain’s side, arms folded with one foot crossed over the other ankle.
“If you two are done fooling around” —Soren pulled out his scroll and charcoal— “we should get on with our battle strategy.” He held the charcoal out to Myra. “Would you please sketch the battlefield?”
She took the stick of charcoal and started drawing. “When Father announced there would be five teams, I knew there were only a handful of options for the layout. Most of our capture the flag battle simulation layouts are for two and four teams. And our court magicians don’t like to create new spells.” She shrugged. “When we popped up in the forest, that narrowed it down further into two possibilities.” She tapped the square she’d drawn in the middle. “This is our forest area. To the north are hills full of caves. To the east will be a fort. The south has a river. And in the west,” she trailed off.
“What’s in the west?” Ronan prodded.
She sneered. “It’s the reason this is my least favorite layout: the ruins. The river is bad enough; it’s so hard to predict what people will do with their flag. But the ruins. That’s where the magicians get creative.”
She glowered at Soren. He licked his lips and looked away. Ronan put a hand on her shoulder.
“What do you mean?”
“The structural stability is inconsistent, as well as the contents. Sometimes there’s a bridge or a tower, but not always. Sometimes you can safely climb around the ruins, but again, not always. It’s. . . frustrating.”
Fawx chimed in. “Well, anyway, we should probably start by scouting our competitors. See if we can find where and how they’re keeping their flags.”
Everyone agreed and Myra continued, “Owain, are you up for taking the first decoy guarding shift? It should give your back a chance to recover from serving as my cushion.”
He rubbed his back and flinched, but swiftly smiled, trying to cover it. “Yes, my shield and I will guard the decoy as if our very existence depended upon it.” He bowed with a flourish.
Soren said, “I don’t believe it will be necessary to go quite that far.”
Myra gave them both a look. “The rest of us will scout in pairs. Fawx and Ronan, I’d like you to check out the north and east. Soren and I will go west and south.”
Fawx pouted. “Why does he get to go with you, Myra?”
She stretched then patted him on the head. “Don’t worry, my little fox. We’ll rotate pairs throughout the day. I want to spend time with each of you.” She looked into the eyes of each man for a few seconds, trying to ignore the thumping in her chest when she reached Ronan. “I know why you’re all here. My parents and each of you have taken the first steps. Now it’s my turn.”
*****
Myra and Soren peered through the brush at the tower ruins ahead.
“Look. Their flag is up there.” She pointed near the top of the tower and squinted. “I think it’s above a balcony.”
He let go of the bush, sat back, and closed his eyes. “Why did you choose me for this?”
“Huh?”
“I’m not a magician. I can’t read spells, so I cannot tell from here how stable those ruins are.” A razor-sharp edge hid under the velvety softness of his voice.
“That’s not. . . I didn’t . . . You’re not a magician?”
He looked away. “No.”
“But your uncle—”
“Is the Grand Archon, the leader of all magicians? Yes, and he utterly despises me, his worthless heir.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked from his clenched teeth, and she suspected from held-back tears as well. She laid a hand on his shoulder. His deep brown eyes connected to her stormy blue ones.
“You are not worthless.”
One corner of his mouth lifted, and he tucked a stray piece of her brown hair behind her ear, still staring into her eyes. Her stomach fluttered at his touch.
“I have not as yet proven that to you.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Then I suppose we’d better get on with it.”
They laughed at that together and peered through the bushes once more. Three of the opposing team’s members stood at the base of the tower. The remaining two emerged from a nearby door. Myra and Soren watched them talk in a circle, then four of them set off in different directions, leaving only one behind to guard the tower and flag. After observing the guard for a time, she tapped Soren on the arm and moved a few steps away.
“Let’s get this flag while we’re here.” She grinned; her eyes lit up with anticipation. “He’ll be easy to evade and there must be stairs inside. They didn’t have ropes or climbing gear.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It seems a little too easy. Perhaps it’s a trap?”
“If we do it now, or come back later, will that make it any less of a potential trap?”
He looked up at the trees. Down at the ground. Over through the bushes toward the tower. And finally back at her. He shook his head.
“Then we’re going now.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
The cat smile and muscle twitch were back. She glared at him but headed out anyway. Together, they silently navigated the surrounding area until they could see the base of the tower. There they saw an open doorway and the bottom of a stone staircase. She pointed at the stairs and beamed. He ignored her. They waited for the guard to circle the tower, then dashed across the open ground and inside.
As they crept up the spiraling stairs, she whispered, “See. Easy.”
He continued ignoring her.
Halfway up, she bumped a loose stone off the center edge. It clattered to the ground. They waited a few moments but kept climbing when they didn’t hear the guard below. She apologized, and again, there was no response from him.
Three-fourths of the way up, she whirled on him. “Are you seriously sulking?”
From his spot by the wall, he answered. “No. I don’t do well with heights.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Oooohhhh. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
The coldness in his eyes made her step back. She nearly lost her footing, but he grabbed her upper arm before she fell.
“It’s something else that makes me worthless.”
He stepped around her, sprinting to the top of the stairs. He froze at the open door, staring out at the stone balcony.
Myra paused in the doorway with him. “We all have weaknesses. They don’t make us worthless.” When he looked down at her, she smiled. “Wait here. I’ll go get the flag.”
She strode out onto the balcony, searching all around. Spotting the flag above her head, she jumped for it. And missed. She tried jumping again —and failed again— so next she tried climbing the wall. Also a failure. She gritted her teeth and looked for something to stand on.
“Soren,” she called. “I’m so sorry. It’s too high. I can’t reach it. You’ll have to come out here.”
As he stepped onto the balcony, the door slammed shut behind him. The tower shuddered.
“No!” he cried.
He pushed and pounded on the door.
“It’s locked.”
“I’m afraid we have a bigger problem,” she called.
When he turned, she gestured to the crumbling balcony railing. He flattened his back against the wall, beads of sweat dripping down his face, chest heaving rapidly. She could see his hands trembling and hear him swallowing. The tower’s movement ceased, leaving little more than a ledge’s worth of the balcony. She slid over to Soren and slipped her hand into his.
“Close your eyes.” Her voice was strong and steady; he obeyed. “Good. Now, inhale. That’s right, slowly. Hold it. And exhale. Once more.”
She coached his breathing until he had it under control. He turned his head toward her and opened one eye a slit.
“You saved me, Myra. Thank you.”
His closed his eye again and rested his head back against the wall. His body still trembled and the sweat beading off his forehead mingled with tears streaming down his cheeks. It was the most open —the most vulnerable— she’d seen him. And she had a hunch there was more than a simple fear of heights in play.
“You’re worth saving, Soren.”
Her hand ached from how tightly he gripped it, but she didn’t dare let go. With her other hand, she searched her belt bag for a spare cloth and wiped his face. He took one last shuddering breath before opening his eyes.
Forcing the velvet lightness back into his voice, he said, “My uncle would disagree with you.”
“I highly doubt that. You are his family, after all.”
With eyes unfocused and cast heavenward, he shook his head. “Not family. A useless piece of non-magical waste.”
“Has he ever said that?”
The deadness in his eyes chilled her to core. “All the time. I am intimately familiar with high ledges, Myra. From the age at which my magical ability should have presented itself until I reached seventeen years —and gained the physical ability to defend myself— my uncle punished me by locking me out on a ledge for hours and days at a time.” She gasped. “At first, he thought if I were scared enough, it would awaken the latent power. Later . . .”
She squeezed his hand. He returned the gesture.
“Later, he did it to vent his frustration and anger at my nothingness.”
“Do you still have that scroll of paper from earlier?”
He pulled it out of his tunic with furrowed brows and passed it to her. One-handed, she clumsily unrolled it, ignoring her diagram of the battlefield layout, and pointed to the drawing above. It was a beautiful charcoal sketch of her.
“I noticed this before. Would a worthless person be able to draw something this stunning in the few minutes it took you?”
He tried to protest. She stuck the precious drawing back into his tunic.
“Plus, I thought I was good at strategy, but you saw the holes in my plans, and this trap.” He opened his mouth, but she covered it with her hand. “You’re not useless or worthless or nothing. You are helpful and valuable and unique. And right now, I need you.”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to his chest, embracing her. He rested his head against the top of hers and whispered his thanks into her hair. Wide-eyed, she listened to his heart beating a fast, but steady rhythm. Hers felt like it had jumped into her throat and the bottom of her stomach simultaneously.
She cleared her throat and swiveled back beside him. “How about we get that flag now?”
He reached above her head and yanked it down.
“Show off,” she muttered.
He smirked and tucked it inside his tunic. “How are we going to get down?”
She swung the pack off her back. “This is why I always bring rope.”
His hand trembled as he pushed his black hair off his forehead. “You expect me to climb?”
Myra held his gaze. “No. I need you to be my anchor, Soren. There’s nowhere to tie the rope. Once I’m down, I’ll come back and unlock the door for you.”
“And the guard?”
With a fiendish gleam, she patted her hand scythes. “Do I look helpless?”
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