Kain tumbled through Elena's memories, grabbing at the first coherent thought.
Why…
How could I…
Why am I like this?
Elena Leonhart stood Baron's throne door, trying to ignore the nervous beat of her heart as she waited for entry. She couldn't help but openly stare at the posted guards, both fascinated by the intricate and expensive details of their armor and suddenly self-conscious of her own: dented and dingy, purchased second-hand at a Troian pawn shop with the last of her severance pay.
Elena took a deep breath and stood up taller, reminding herself she was no longer a backwoods guard – the King of Baron invited her here himself, after all. He had sought her out above all others, although Elena still wasn't sure why.
Mutually beneficial arrangement, the King had written, damnably vague, but too intriguing for Elena to ignore. What did the King of a foreign country have to offer her, and more importantly, what did he want from her in return? It had been a timely letter from Baron, arriving just before her life imploded, like a summoned creature from legend to offer aid before she even knew she needed help.
When Elena was finally admitted inside, the guard muttered something under his breath about little girls playing dress up as she passed. Elena felt her face grow hot but said nothing, pretending she did not hear. She knew, objectively, that women were treated much differently outside of Troia, but still hadn't been prepared for all the whispered remarks that followed her wherever she went.
Inside the throne room, a young man, looking not much older than Elena herself at twenty-one, sat on the throne. When the door clicked behind her, Elena was surprised to realize they were alone, with no guards flanking them.
At the sight of her, the King's eyes lit up with greedy curiosity as he looked her over. "Miss Leonhart," he said as he stood from the throne and crossed the room to her. "Welcome to Baron."
"I thank you for the invitation," Elena said carefully, unsuccessfully trying to smooth over her accent. "Your Majesty," she added belatedly, unused to the mannerisms. Troians treated their Epopts reverentially, but not to the worshipful extent that other countries often regarded their monarchs; she found the practice unnerving.
"When it is just us, call me Odin," the king said, smiling through his bushy beard, as if he could sense her discomfort.
"Odin," Elena repeated, uncertainly.
"I asked you to come to Baron so I could show you something," Odin said as he took a step back from her, looking her pointedly up and down. "But first, tell me something – why were you discharged from Troian service?"
Elena hesitated, surprised by the blunt question and his frank assessment of her. "There was… an altercation with another guard," she finally said. "I resigned shortly afterward."
Odin raised an eyebrow. "An altercation?"
Elena closed her eyes, remembering Cassia's wide-eyed horror as blood sputtered out of her mouth and down her chin. It had sprayed Elena across the face and chest and the smell and taste of it was sharp in her nose as she panted heavily.
"It was not my best moment," Elena admitted quietly, opening her eyes again.
Odin was still watching her intensely. "Reports say you injured yourself before just the fight."
Elena frowned and looked aside, unable to bear the scrutiny. "I had an argument with my paramour, and I was highly emotional," Elena struggled to keep her voice neutral as she spoke. "I cut myself with a knife, to… to prove a point—"
Is this what you want, Sylvia? Elena's memory-self hysterically demanded, wrist bared, blade flashing in the lamplight. All you seem to want is to hurt me, after all, why shouldn't I just fucking do it now and save you the trouble…
"—and when someone tried to intervene—"
Cassia, dragging Elena off Sylvia, bloody handprints on the sleeves of Sylvia's gown that looked black in the dim light as Elena grasped after her. Elena, alive and vibrating out of her skin with pain, both from her gushing wrist and wounded heart, launched herself at Cassia, the combination of torment and grief somehow giving her a strange new strength. I hate you! Elena had screamed as she tirelessly pummeled Cassia until her hands were too slick with blood to hold a fist any longer.
"It became violent," Elena finished, her voice clipped. She tried not to remember how much she liked the fear in both Sylvia and Cassia's eyes, or how farther she might have gone if other guards hadn't finally stepped in. She looked back up at Odin, expecting his judgment and dismissal. The Troian military had deemed Elena too unpredictable to be a good soldier, so why would Baron think any differently?
Only, Odin was smiling instead. "Do you feel always more powerful?" he asked. "After you hurt yourself?"
Elena frowned again. "I don't understand," she lied.
"Elena," Odin said her name carefully, like he approached a shy animal. "Before the fight, had you ever hurt yourself before?"
"Yes," Elena reluctantly answered.
"Why?" Odin pressed, ignoring her obvious discomfort.
"Because." Elena sighed slowly. "It makes me feel like I'm in control of something, even when my life is out of control."
"What if you could access that power in battle?" Odin asked, his eyes hungry again. "What if you could use your own pain to hurt your enemies?"
Elena hesitated. The sensible part of her begged her to run away from this madness, that no good could ever come from intentionally hurting herself. But another, more greedy part of her was curiously intrigued by Odin's proposal.
"Tell me more," Elena said, not knowing then how much that decision doomed her.
"You want me to figure out how reliably use the dark knight power," Elena stated as she sat across from Odin in his study, a great tome open on the desk between them. "And teach you how to use it?" she added, this time as an unsure question.
"Yes." Odin barely breathed as he spoke, as if afraid the wrong word would scare her off. "Elena, it's in your bloodline. Your ancestor, Leonhart, traveled the world, searching for this knowledge. He wrote it all down." Odin tapped the page for emphasis; on it was a detailed diagram of an exposed wrist. "This is your inheritance."
"Then why not give it to me freely?" Elena asked. "If this is my birthright, as you say."
"Ah." Odin smiled, a wide, pleased with himself grin. "That's what we call leverage, my dear."
"You will only share it with me if I teach you as well." Elena frowned at the emerging realization. "Is that the bargain?"
"Yes." Odin leaned back in his chair, watching her carefully.
Elena looked over the open tome between them and its grim illustrations. "You were unsuccessful on your own," she observed. "You wouldn't share this information if you didn't have to."
Reflexively, Odin touched the inside of his left wrist. "If I can see it in use, I think I would understand it enough to do it myself."
"And what do I get from this?" Elena asked.
"Besides access to the Leonhart artifacts?" Odin said, closing the tome and drawing it possessively toward himself. "You would have the gratitude of a king. Tell me, are you an ambitious woman, Elena?"
Elena's tongue felt dry in her mouth as she replied, "You could say that."
"You want wealth? Rank and position? Influence?" Odin asked, too eagerly. "Easily done. But this?" He gestured to the dark knight tome. "This is the path to greatness for you and me, not just here in Baron but the whole world." He paused to consider her, before quietly asking, "Do you want all of that?"
"Yes," Elena answered in confessional whisper, as if she were afraid to admit it even to herself.
"Good." Odin gave a relieved exhale. "Give me some time to prepare everything for our training. In the meantime, get settled in the castle and get to know Baron and its people. You might find you'll like it here."
Elena was hit with a sudden pang of homesickness, missing Troia's green forest and blue waters, but Sylvia's warmth most of all; how could Baron hope to compare to such beauty? Elena forced a smile. "I will try."
Baron Castle was notably bigger than Troia, both in size and its population; it was also much wealthier. Elena was shown to her quarters and was surprised by the lush furnishings offered to a common soldier.
"But you're not a common soldier," Elena reminded her reflection in the mirror. She adjusted the ill-fitting strap on her left pauldron and frowned. "You need to prove that to everyone."
Elena had failed spectacularly in so many ways already – perhaps Baron was the place for a new beginning and the start of an impressive military career. Without her stubborn heart distracting her, Elena could focus on being the best. If Odin believed in her, she could too.
But there was still a lingering doubt in her reflection's dark eyes; she was determined to prove it wrong.
The training yard was situated in one of the castle's courtyards, an open stretch of land with several sandy pits for sparring, each surrounded by a circle of fencing. On this sunny afternoon, soldiers dueled one another while onlookers watched from behind the fence, shouting their encouragement for one fighter or expressing displeasure with another; gil often exchanged hands.
Elena drew in a deep breath and stepped out inside the sunshine.
After her eyes adjusted to the bright light, she looked around and saw that only one sparring circle wasn't being used. Instead, a figure in dark blue draconic armor leaned casually back on the fence, several ladies standing around him in a semi-circle; Elena wasn't close enough to hear their chatter but saw one dressed in white mage robes, who giggled behind her hand at whatever the dragon knight said.
Behind the women stood another soldier in green draconic armor; he shifted nervously between his feet as he unsuccessfully tried to get the first soldier's attention, who either didn't notice or actively chose to ignore him.
Elena stood there near the courtyard door's archway, hesitating, when she heard someone sigh behind her and mutter, "Ah, shit."
Elena looked behind and saw a tall, lanky man; he was unarmored and wore simple civilian clothing, his shoulder length blond hair tied back in a neat queue at his neck. He held a bouquet of wildflowers in his left hand, watching the dragon knights with a deep frown. He stared after them awhile longer before his eyes drifted to Elena; he startled at the sight of her.
"Apologies for the language, my lady," the man said as he swept into a low bow. "I saw your armor and assumed you were a fellow knight."
"I am," Elena said, her words feeling awkward and ungainly compared to his flowery speech. She stood up a bit taller as if to prove a point.
He looked her up and down, carefully taking in the details of her, the armor, and the sword at her hip. Elena felt suddenly exposed under his scrutinizing blue eyes. "I see," he said, suddenly grinning. "Then I must offer my apologies again. Are you a new recruit?"
"Yes," Elena answered shortly. "And you are?"
"Roland Farrell," the man replied, extending his hand for a shake. Elena took it and he gripped her hand firmly. "Welcome, first, to the knight; Baron is sure to benefit from your skills." His fingers shifted under her palm, flipping her hand over, knuckles up. "And second, to the lady, whose beauty is most distracting," he murmured as he leaned over her hand, then brushed a quick kiss across her knuckles. "You both are sure to cause quite the stir."
Elena blinked in surprise, drawing her hand back. Loud laughter and giggling shrieks erupted behind them. Elena turned to see the blue dragon knight holding something over the white mage's head. She jumped after it, swiping her hand uselessly for it, but too short to reach. On her last attempt, she stumbled and fell into the dragon knight; he caught her easily and righted her, his hand lingering on her elbow to hold her steady.
The hood from her white mage robes fell off, revealing the woman's face fully, and Elena was surprised by her beauty, the shining weight of her golden hair, the ease of her smile, the brightness of her green eyes.
"Damn it," Roland muttered beside Elena, breaking her daze.
Elena looked aside at him. "What's wrong?"
Roland frowned, then gestured toward the dragon knight and white mage. "There's a masquerade ball next week. Richard – that's the dragoon – and I were supposed to be away on a mission, but it's been delayed. I was hoping to ask Joanna –the white mage— if I could escort her, but…" He looked at the flowers in his hand, now slightly squashed from his too tight grip, and sighed.
"But Richard has the same idea?" Elena prompted. Mentally, she repeated the word dragoon, trying to commit the foreign word to memory.
"I suppose so," Roland agreed glumly.
"You may not be too late," Elena said, nodding toward the two. Joanna, noticing the green dragoon lingering nearby, disentangled herself from Richard and put a little distance back between them. "Who is that?" Elena asked. "Another rival for the lady?"
"Albert? No," Roland chuckled. "The Dragoon Commander recently acknowledged Richard as his next in line and everyone's been clamoring for his attention. Albert's freshly graduated and eager to show off his Jump technique."
Elena looked between Joanna, Richard, and Albert, then back at Roland; she needed allies in this place, she decided.
"If Richard were properly…" Elena hesitated, searching for the right word. "…distracted," she found it and there was suddenly mischief in her dark eyes, "would that give you enough time to talk to your lady?"
Roland looked briefly confused, then understanding softened his expression. "Oh, aren't you clever?" he said, now smirking. "And if anyone could turn Richard's head, it would be you."
Elena, ignoring Roland's comment and her burning cheeks, looked back at Richard and Joanna. "Ready?"
"As ever," Roland said. He swept into another bow from the waist but kept it this time. "After you, my lady."
Elena frowned but said nothing as she passed him, striding forward further into the training yard. She heard a low murmur of conversation start and the press of eyes on her as she walked; she was suddenly self-conscious of all who might be watching.
The conversation between Richard and Albert abruptly stopped as they turned to Elena. Albert was young, his legs and arms still gangly, shaggy brown hair in a tousled mess; Richard, tall and broad-shouldered, with sandy blond hair cropped in a short cut around his ears, was surprisingly handsome, looking amused at Elena's approach.
"Up for a spar?" Elena asked with a nod to the sandy fighting pit. "I haven't had a good fight in Baron yet."
"I could not fight a lady," Richard said with a laugh. Behind him, Joanna peeked up and over his shoulder, watching Elena with curious eyes.
"You'll quickly learn I am no lady," Elena said as she drew her sword from its sheath at her hip, the metal hissing with the movement. "But more importantly, I wasn't speaking to you." Elena looked at Albert, offering him a kind smile. "I heard you've been working on your, how do you say, Jump technique? I would love to see it."
"R-really?" Albert stammered in surprise.
At the same time, Richard scowled, but did not say anything, while Joanna stifled a giggle behind her hand.
"Really," Elena confirmed as she pushed past the swinging gate into the sandy pit, with Albert trailing excitedly behind her.
In the middle of the pit, Elena took up a position with Albert opposite her. He'd put his dragon helmet on and now two sets of eyes watched her: the yellow, unblinking dragon's, and Albert's, nervously darting back and forth. No one else in the training yard mattered now, Elena told herself.
"Do not hold back," Elena spoke quietly, so that only Albert could hear her. "If you don't fight me in earnest, no one ever will." She held her sword up with a flourish. "Let's establish both of our reputations, shall we?"
Albert nodded; he looked her up and down and adjusted his footing in the sand. "Are you ready?" he asked, drawing his own short sword, then settled into a battle stance.
"I am," Elena confirmed with smirk, then without further delay or chance at flagging courage for either of them, she charged.
Albert looked surprised as their swords clanged harshly together, sounding discordant chimes through the training yard, but he recovered quickly enough. Despite Albert's youth, he was still taller and bigger than Elena; her footing was faster as she danced around him, taking easy swipes at his defense, but Albert was stronger, easily meeting her attacks and holding steady against them.
Eventually, Elena drew back, needing to catch her breath. Albert let her retreat without reprisal, but she saw his stance change as his knees bent and he sank into a crouch. Before Elena could react, he shot high up into the air. Perplexed by his sudden disappearance, Elena ran over and looked up, then saw his dark shadow against the bright sun as he started to fall back down. She had no time to flee as he crashed hard into her.
They fell together, a tangled mess of limbs fighting for control. It was Albert who landed on top, though, being bigger and heavier; his sword had fallen away in the tumble, but he held her down with a firm grip on each of her shoulders, holding her pinned to the sandy ground. "Do you yield?" he asked.
Elena sucked in a breath, lungs struggling to fill under the combined weight of his body and armor pressing down on her. She felt pain explode on her shoulder, where her ill-fitting armor rubbed raw into her skin. She closed her eyes, imagining how the deep mark would blossom into a purple bruise, spreading out in dark splotches against her white skin. What was the point of pain, then, if she did not use it?
From there, Elena felt her pain as a darkness flooding through her, both contracting and expanding each muscle, stretching each tendon, filling each cell of her with purpose: to fight back.
With a grunt, Elena pushed both her legs and arms with an unexpected but welcome strength, effectively throwing Albert off her. He hit the ground hard on his back beside her, too stunned and rattled in his armor to react. Elena rolled and was quickly on top of him, her blade still in hand, hovering over Albert's head. "Do you yield?" Elena asked this time, through panting breaths.
Albert swallowed hard. "I yield."
Elena visibly relaxed, her sword dropping harmlessly away. She shifted off Albert and stood, then offered him a hand. He hesitated for only a moment, then took it, using her help to leverage himself to a stand.
Elena kept her grip firm on Albert's hand. "Thank you," she whispered. Then, more loudly, "I owe you a rematch, sir." She shook his hand emphatically. "And a drink."
Albert, still a little stunned, nodded. "Oh… okay."
Elena finally released his hand and looked around: the other fights had paused as watchers gathered around to watch Elena and Albert's spar. She saw Richard, arms crossed over his chest, watching with a grim frown; he started to open his mouth to say something, then hesitated and said nothing. Then, as if he just remembered, he looked behind him, where Joanna had been standing, only to realize she was gone.
Instead, Joanna was walking with Roland, holding the bouquet of wildflowers up to her nose as she sniffed them with a smile, while Roland chattered excitedly beside her. Roland said something then stopped mid-stride, watching Joanna expectantly as she stopped beside him, too, then she nodded emphatically in reply. Roland took her hands in his, then leaned in, and brushed a kiss against her cheek. He said something else, then released her hands, walking away with a huge smile on his face.
Roland paused only once, looking across the training yard to find Elena's dark gaze following him. He offered her a quick thumbs up and a wide grin, confirming their success. Elena returned both the thumbs up and the smile.
Elena, returning her attention to the sandy pit, knelt to pick up her forgotten sword. As she started to lift it, a boot appeared, stepping down on it, pinning the weapon onto the floor. Elena looked up to see Richard towering over her, his head blocking out the sunlight behind him.
"That's a cute stunt you pulled to help Farrell. Did he pay you?" Richard asked.
Elena scowled but did not struggle to pull her weapon free, instead she only stood up. She was dismayed to realize how much taller he was than her; she squared her shoulders to seem bigger. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do," Richard said, not moving from where he stood, uncomfortably too close.
"I think you have had your ego bruised, both by your subordinate and your romantic rival," Elena retorted sharply. "And if you want nothing else bruised, you'll back off."
Richard blinked in surprise, then stepped aside. "Of course, my lady."
"Elena Leonhart," she corrected him. "I've told you before I am not a lady; I will not tell you again."
"Elena," Richard repeated. He knelt and picked up her sword from the sand, then stood and offered it to her, hilt first. "Your weapon, Elena," he said, with special emphasis on her name. "Although you may not have need of it with that sharp tongue of yours."
"Thank you," Elena said as she took the sword and sheathed it back at her hip. She looked past Richard to where Albert stood watching, his eyes wide with awe. "Albert, is it? Why don't you show me where to get a drink in Baron and I'll buy you one." She strode toward Albert, deliberately passing Richard by.
Albert looked surprised at her approach. "I should tell you, my lady – I mean, Elena. I've got a girl back home that I'm sweet on, and while I'm deeply flattered—"
"Hush," Elena hissed as she took his arm, dragging him with her as she walked on, further away from Richard. "I'm taking you for a drink," she said, this time more slowly, "and then you will tell me everything there is to know about Baron's Knights and Dragoons."
Elena then remembered Joanna, her inquisitive eyes and dazzling smile, with not one but two men chasing after her. "And the White Mages," Elena added. The sun suddenly felt too warm overhead, and Elena hurried inside.