Aelin
Logically I should've hit the target at least once. I lace my arrow and let it fly as I rely on my logic for support. It flies through in deceivingly good form before landing at the base of the target, next to the other pointed reminders of my lack of precision and skill.
Logic.
Logically a target should also not be an illusion able to hold because of simple incantations or be able to dodge my every attempt at nailing this excuse of an exercise, so maybe logic has little influence in my situation. If I missed again, my brother would no doubt wring me out. As if I wasn't already being humiliated in front of the entire guard. I'd like to see him hit a moving dummy without missing once. I mean the nerve of him to even stand there and-
My train of thought is disrupted by the sound of an arrow narrowly missing my face and embedding itself in the wooden stump behind me.
"Athair!" I shriek, looking in disbelief at my grandfather.
He walks over and taps my forehead lightly. "Distractions have no place in the yard. You shoot and you do not miss."
My athair is one of the only people I allow to chastise me that way. He's cared for us since we were children. Grandfather, we called him sometimes, was the closest person we had to a guardian. He looks down on me with a stern look, eyes unmoving but prompting me to focus on the task at hand.
Picking up another arrow, I turn to face the targets and carefully lace another arrow to my bow. "Perhaps if you and Nik weren't watching and criticizing every move I make..." I let go and it flops down with the others.
I turn swiftly to athair, daring him to say anything. He remains stoic, the wrinkles around his mouth betraying his stance. I exhale in frustration and bend to pick up one of my many fallen arrows only to be faced with a pair of very well-known black, worn-out leather boots.
"You're obviously not taking this seriously."
I wince at the sound of my brother's voice and raise myself to face him.
"You're in my way." I say flatly. He doesn't move. "I don't even know why we're wasting time with archery." I prefer my blades to arrows any day. They were so much lighter and easier to use. I love the feeling of the hilt in my hands, the ease at which I could just wield one. I reach for the dagger strapped to my side. "You know I've never been good at it."
"A well-rounded soldier knows how to use any weapon at hand." He grabs two arrows from my quiver, reaching out to me.
I hand him my bow disapprovingly. "Nikolai."
He pushes himself in between myself and two other targets. Two consecutive thumps follow. I stare blankly at the two hit targets and then at my brother. It was no surprise to me he could. My brother trains hard. Discipline, consistency, training. It's how we lived, how we survived and how he became army commander.
Rolling my eyes, I walk to pick up the rest of the arrows. A hard yank on my arm stops me in my path.
"I've earned the right." He says quietly, still gripping onto my arm. "If you will not take things seriously, there is no place for you in the king's guard."
I eye his grip then direct my eyes to his.
"Let go." I say through gritted teeth. "I will not ask again."
He holds on a while longer, loosening his grip when I tilt my head.
"And it's commander whenever we're on duty."
