Aureate Fates

33

    PRETTY LOADS

—MARISOL—

Daylight blanketed the swords and metal in the armory, forcing them to gleam. It would have been a pleasant sight, if not for the fact that Erik was charging at her.

He threw his knife straight at her face with perfect precision. She ducked, and before she rose to her full height again, she flung her own blade at him. It would have hit him right in the heart if not for his catch.

He gripped the hilt of the Orvar blade in his hand, the one that Marisol had stolen from him. Now, hers. It was the special one that blood churners could wield to their own bidding.

"Under normal circumstances, you wouldn't have to aim right for the heart," he said, tossing the blade in the air and catching it. "If you will it, the blade could only nick me and I would bleed to death."

Marisol flickered her eyes to the blade, then back up to him. He was wearing riding attire. No crown. Him and the council had gone out to the many villages near the palace to observe, and only that. Erik insisted that he go with the council, to see for himself the state of his people.

He had called them his people.

Whether he knew it or not, he had come to care for Verskyia. Prophecy or not. Perhaps he only cared for them because it was his job now. And she knew Erik well enough to know that he never failed at a job.

"Quite impressive. Where did you get it?" she asked, taking a seat on the mat. She had been experiencing a wave of nausea for days now. It was like her magic was searching for a way out. There was no one to release it on, not in Verskyia.

She had even vomited last night, when Erik had stayed late in a council meeting.

Erik watched her carefully, gray eyes like stone. He then set the blade at her feet, sitting down beside her. He still kept a piece of distance between them, but the air felt friendly. Tentative, but amicable. She no longer wanted to boil his blood. Most days.

"You're pale," he said, looking over at her.

"I'm fine," she waved him off, fighting off her nausea. Truly, she wasn't. She could barely focus.

"And thinner," he added, never breaking his stare on her.

Her power was chewing away at her body, with no one else to chew on.

Marisol's cheeks burned at the thought of Erik monitoring her weight. Her form.

She grimaced and placed a hand on her stomach, getting a familiar pain there. There was no use in hiding it anymore. "Can you get me a glass of water?" she asked, after releasing a slow breath. Water helped to calm the fire in her veins, temporarily.

Before she could finish her sentence, Erik was on his feet, retrieving what she asked for. There was a tray of water glasses in the corner that the maids arranged before leaving them to train.

He placed the rim of the glass to her mouth, a hard look in his eyes. She shook her head and reached out to grab the glass.

"Let me," were his words. His eyes flashed, as if telling her that he would win the grapple over the water.

Much too tired to fight, she let him feed her the water, slowly. It cooled the fire in her belly and washed away the nausea in her head. Erik pulled the glass away and set it down beside him.

"I think I can help you," he voiced aloud.

Please, she wanted to plead.

"How?"