Weight of the World

Chapter Fifty-One

—The Crooked Forest—

He found her exactly where he had expected, the training grounds. Alistair waited by the entrance, watching Lady Teressa for a few uninterrupted moments. Ever since he had rescued her from Lord Rhys, she had devoted herself to her sword training, wanting to become stronger after all the horror she had faced at the Umbra's hands. Her form was still sloppy. Her footwork unimpressive. But she had made remarkable progress considering she had begun with absolutely no training of any kind. Alistair had seen sons of noble lords who still struggled with the basics of handling a sword. Lady Teressa was determined to learn, an attentive student and devoted to practice. He was proud of how far she had come.

But still—the sight of her swinging that sword broke his heart every time he watched.

It wasn't that he didn't think her capable or that he believed her place as a noble lady was to wait at home. It was the knowledge of why she wanted to wield a sword so badly in the first place. He had never asked for the details of what had happened to her at Lord Rhys' hands. If she did not want to tell him directly, then it was none of his business. But Alistair didn't need her to tell him in words what he already knew. She jumped away the moment anyone touched her. She kept to herself when she could, and when it was unavoidable, she clung to the nearest woman, separating herself as far as she could from any man in the camp. All except him. Alistair was the only man she allowed near her, and even then, he had to remind himself not to touch her, even so much as a friendly handshake sent her into a panic, and he couldn't be too loud, in anger or levity.

He had expected her to ask for an escort home to the kingdom of Iskendryn as soon as she was rescued, but despite his offer, she had declined at every turn. Alistair chose not to push the subject, though he wasn't certain of her reason to remain when she could disappear back to Iskendryn and forget everything that had happened to her in Avarra. Teressa shared very little about herself. She rarely spoke those days, and when she did, her eyes were always unbelievably sad. Alistair wished there was more he could do for her, but Hilda had urged him to let Teressa recover at her own pace, and so, all he could do was allow the passage of time to heal her.

"You've gotten better," he finally said, pushing himself off the fencepost to step inside the wide training ground.

Teressa jumped a little at the sound of his voice, clearly not expecting anyone to approach her. He had given a direct order that the lady be left to her own devices, allowing her to explore to her leisure. But when she saw him, Teressa visibly relaxed, the blunted sword in her hand lowering as she curled an arm around herself.

"Only a little," she shrugged. "I watched a few of your soldiers earlier. They were..." she sighed. "I'll never be as good as them."

Alistair chuckled softly, approaching only as close as he dared to, a large breathable space left between them to keep her comfortable. "You do realize that most of these men and women have been training for the majority of their lives before coming here? There's no shame in not being as adept when your own journey has just begun."

Teressa smiled gently and nodded. "I know. I keep trying to remind myself of that. I just...It's difficult to compliment myself. My family...Rather, my father doesn't believe in compliments."

"I admit, my knowledge of Iskendryn nobles is severely lacking, but even I have heard of Count Phyre's sternness. I can imagine his was a...difficult household to live in."

"It...That is to say...I...Yes, Your Majesty. It was very, very difficult."

Alistair shook his head in a fond manner. "You still can't address me by name, can you? Very well, Lady Phyre, I will return the gesture."