The Annex

Chapter 8

"Faster!" Grim's voice rang throughout the training grounds. His mere voice was enough to awaken soreness deep within my muscles. The past two weeks had been a monotonous yet painful mixture of training and lectures. At this point, I didn't know who I dreaded more, Grim or Gallo. The sword in my hand shook, like holding a blade of grass in the breeze; the result of my quickly tiring muscles. My orders were to block my attacker, and my blocks were losing momentum.

"Come on," Tomas bit out. I knew he was taking it easy on me. Despite my performance in the tournament, I had quickly come to realize that my skills weren't superior. I had just met the right opponents on a good day. With one more lunge, Tomas disarmed me, my sword falling from my hands with a clatter.

"Disgrace," I heard Grim mutter under his breath as he stalked toward another pair of soldiers, deeply embraced in combat. I felt the hot sting of fresh tears threatening to spill over. But I didn't want to give Grim the satisfaction of knowing he'd broken through to me. I was much too stubborn for that.

"You've been slowing down recently," Tomas could tell he was treading on thin ice as I shot him a tepid gaze. "What's going on?"

"You want to know what's going on? You want to know what's really going on, Tomas," I returned the sword I had just retrieved to its place on the ground with an angry flick of the wrist. "In the morning, I wake up. My feet are still blistered, having never had the time to heal and grow calluses, I slide them into my boots, rubbing them raw once more. I go on these damn runs. I hate running. I hate it. Then I come back to the training grounds and get yelled at by Grim, called a disgrace and train with a bunch of meat heads that don't think a girl can keep up with them. But I'd like to see them train, then sit through lectures with Gallo and still put on a pretty face around court members. I'd like to see them walk a mile in my damn blister inducing shoes." I collapsed at the end of my tirade, only just realizing I had forgotten to breathe. "I hate running." I added, for emphasis.

"I should not have asked," Tomas chuckled nervously.

"Probably not, I'm sorry for unloading," I grunted, slightly guilty.

"If it's any consolation, you've shown a lot of improvement in such a short time."

"Consolation would include someone delivering a message that stated that I'm done training."

"I believe I can help with that. Cara, I've come to retrieve you early. I have cleared your early excusal already," Gallo appeared next to me.

"Gallo, I have never been so happy to see your face."

"I do believe that's the nicest thing you've said to me yet," Gallo rolled his sleeves up revealing a tattoo I was witnessing for the first time. It was worn and faded, as if from many years ago, but the depiction was not marred. A serpent slithered up the length of his right forearm. Unable to harness my curiosity, I grabbed his arm to inspect it further. Gallo snatched his arm back.

"Where did you get that?"

"As a boy, it was a statement of independence." Gallo turned on his heel. "Come on girl, we have much to go through today." I paused momentarily to say goodbye to Tomas before giving chase.

"Wait up," I called after Gallo. "I hate running, don't you dare make me run." I let out a string of curses as Gallo's pace remained brisk. I finally caught up to him. "What are we going to be doing today?"

"Today, you must think about your project. I figured I'd guide you through the committees," he began. "There are many committees that you could sit on and develop a project. There's the arts, there's architecture, gardens and palace grounds, literature, outreach, law, strategy, armory. You get to choose one and design a project. Next week, you will present your project proposal to the committee and try to secure support and any necessary funds. I thought, since you are not only a Vos descendant, but a descendant of a long line of architects, you may want to do an architecture project." Gallo shot me a furtive glance. He was treading lightly around the subject of my late father. I turned the idea over in my head. Working as a tribute to my father is not the worst idea. However, requiring me to draw or design something might be.