“I will,” Andor said. He held the stone reverently, staring down at the light at its heart.
They slipped out one by one, Andor walking slowly with the stone held in both hands. Nyx could tell they were itching to tell him everything that had happened in his absence, but they’d taken this walk enough times by now that they knew better than to let their voices carry.
There were a number of rooms for soldiers at the side of the palace. Nyx had moved into one a few years ago, when Lamont caught him teaching Kelta how to wield a bow. Lamont had developed strange notions about women in the military. He claimed it was because of Nadia’s injury, at first, but now he spoke of women as though they were inherently less able to fight, which was a strange claim when they made up half of his army. But that meant that Kelta, who was as eager to pick up a sword as her mother was to finally set hers down, had to train in secret, wandering the halls of the palace by witchlight.
They stopped in a training room, and Nyx locked the door behind him. Kelta ran off to light the sconces, but Andor leaned against the wall and sank down, breathing heavily. He glanced at Nyx and shrugged, his little face looking too somber and wise for a boy of nine. “The palace is kind of bigger than I am, Uncle Nyx.”
“Tell me if you need breathing salts,” Nyx said. He knew Andor hated being doted on, but it concerned Nyx, seeing the boy so winded. It used to be that he could practice a few drills before he was too tired to continue, but now, Andor had a faint sheen of sweat on his brow from the walk alone. “Was it all right, Andor? My time away.”
“He had me recite all the emperors and empresses again.” That was a typical punishment for misbehavior. “Because I told him to be nicer to Mother.”
Nyx gave Andor a long, steady look, and Andor squirmed. His voice dropped to a whisper. “He has another mistress.” He glared down at his hands, clenching them on his knees. “A mean one. She sits in Mom’s place on feast days, and he doesn’t even look at Mom anymore.”
Nyx sighed. Lamont had tired of Nadia by the time it was clear Andor was never going to be strong enough to wield a sword, and he barely paid attention to Kelta. He spent most of his time trying to get one of his concubines to birth a son, something that was starting to alarm the witches. There was no law stating that the emperor had to have a son as an heir, but Lamont seemed obsessed with it, openly humiliating Nadia during private dinners and exclusive parties for not giving him “enough.”
He didn’t dare do so in public, though. Nadia was still loved by the people, particularly the army, who saw her as something of a representative at court. Lamont couldn’t risk alienating his soldiers, so he saved his disdain for quieter moments.
“I hate the new one,” Kelta said, running over with a pair of wooden swords under one arm. “She keeps saying she’ll send me and Andor off to the sea when she’s empress. Except she can’t be empress.”
“Not unless Mom dies,” Andor said.
Kelta stumbled to a stop, glowering at her twin. “You promised you wouldn’t say that. You promised.”
“Sorry.” Andor’s mouth pressed into a hard line, and he looked down again. Nyx crouched next to him and rubbed his back. “It’s fine. We’ll be fine.”
“We will,” Kelta said. “Because we have Mother. And Uncle Nyx.”
Nyx nodded. “Yes. You still have me.”
Andor looked up at him, something accusatory in his expression, but Kelta was already trying to drag Nyx into the center of the training room. She handed him a sword and swung her own in an arc, face twisted in concentration.
“You’ve forgotten your footwork already, little rabbit,” Nyx said, tapping her foot with his. She went tumbling, remembered herself in time, and rolled as Nyx had taught her when they first started this. She bounced back up to her feet, scowling.
“You tricked me. Try again.”
“If you stick your feet out more, you won’t fall over.” That was Andor. For all that he couldn’t perform the drills as Kelta did, he remembered all of them. The boy was like a sponge, taking in everything he heard and considering each word carefully, like a jeweler looking for flaws. “And don’t hold your sword so tight. Your enemy can knock it out of your hands like that.”
“Good,” Nyx said. He moved in, testing Kelta’s reflexes. She was fast, if a little too enthusiastic, and she only fumbled once or twice before she fell into the rhythm of blocking, shifting position, and parrying Nyx’s strikes. Her messy hair kept getting in her face, and after a while of her spitting it out, Andor groaned and pushed himself to his feet.
“Stand still,” he said, tottering over to her. Kelta bobbed this way and that, unable to stay put for more than a second, as Andor tied her hair back. He smiled at Nyx over her shoulder, then went back to the wall, where he sat down with a huff.
“And how are you, rabbit?” Nyx asked as they resumed their practice, Kelta attacking while he blocked her.
Kelta scrunched up her nose, a habit that had earned her her nickname. “I’m trying to be good. If I’m good enough, maybe Father will let me and Andor join you with the army. Not to fight,” she added, when Nyx gave her a warning look. “To do page stuff, you know? Like fetch water and put up tents or pet horses. I’m good at horses.”
“Horses are nice,” Andor said.
“See? Andor agrees.”
“I’m not the one who can make such decisions, you know.” Nyx disarmed her, and Kelta scrambled to pick up her sword. “Can you tell me how I did that?”
Andor raised his hand, but Kelta just glared at her sword as though it had betrayed her. “You were faster.”
Andor waved his hand. “I know!”
“All right,” Nyx said, smiling at them both. “Go ahead, Andor, and let’s see if you’re correct.”
They trained for another thirty minutes, until Kelta started to wilt and Andor kept falling asleep against the wall. Nyx carried him up the stairs while Kelta held the witch stone, then gently set him down in his bed of stuffed animals while Kelta collapsed on her mattress.
