House of Ash and Gold

Chapter 12: Humiliation at the Yard

The hum still lingered in his chest the next few days, like a low thread of music no one else could hear.

It carried him through the days' morning meal, through the dry barbs Jorlan tossed across the table about "soft hands" and "quills where his sword should be." Even when his father's voice cut the room. "We'll see if you've grown enough muscle to stand on your own feet now."

When Edric rose, he only pointed toward the yard.

"Today," he said flatly. "We'll find out if all that scribbling has made you any sharper."

And that was that.

Cael swallowed his last mouthful of bread, pushed back from the bench, and followed Edric into the yard.

The cold air stung his cheeks. The sun had only just cleared the ridge, but already the clang of steel rang from the practice circle, loud enough to draw servants to the windows and a few idle guards to the fence.

Jorlan stood in the yard already waiting.

A padded jack was laced tight over Jorlan's shirt, the cords pulled almost to snapping. Steel bracers gleamed on his forearms, catching the morning light like he meant everyone to notice. Even his practice blade looked newer than the others'.

Of course he had to stand out. Even here.

He grinned when he spotted Cael trailing behind their father.

"I wondered when the bookworm would crawl out of his tower," he called across the yard. "Try not to faint, little brother. You can't just blot out blood like you blot out ink."

A few of the squires snickered.

Cael ignored them.

He kept his eyes on the circle and walked in, feet crunching over frost-hardened ground. His heart raced, but his knees didn't betray him. That frail boy, the one who'd once sat on the sidelines, too weak to lift a practice blade felt like someone else now.

Edric's sharp voice followed him.

"Jorlan, give him a taste of real steel. Enough to remind him he carries my name. But don't break him. We still need him able to hold a quill, if nothing else."

Jorlan barked a laugh. "Relax, Father. I'll only bruise him where it won't show."

Cael stepped into the center and picked up the practice blade waiting on the rack. It felt heavier than it should, rougher than he remembered. But his grip held steady, and he planted his feet just as Matilde had taught him years ago: weight centered, knees bent just enough to move, shoulders squared. He forced his chin up, though every part of him itched to look down.

You can stand your ground longer than a candle burns now. You can. You proved that.

He drew a breath and met Jorlan's smirk without flinching.

"All right," Jorlan said, swinging his blade into a lazy arc. "Let's see what the scribes have taught you about fighting."

The first strike came fast. Faster than Cael expected.

He barely raised his sword in time to catch it on the flat side, the shock of wood-on-wood jolting his arms.

His feet skidded, but he didn't fall.

"Not bad," Jorlan admitted, circling him. "Still weak, though."

Cael adjusted his stance, forcing air into his lungs. His muscles already ached, but at least they moved when he asked them to, no worse than any other boy his age now, maybe even better.

And something else…

There it was again, that faint shimmer at the edge of Jorlan's shoulder, a subtle twitch before his hips turned. A tell...

The Veil's Eye flared faintly as Jorlan moved, and for a heartbeat Cael saw exactly where the next blow would land.

It struck anyway.

The blade cracked across his ribs, driving the breath out of him. He stumbled but didn't drop.

"Come on," Jorlan taunted. "I even showed you that one."

Cael's fingers tightened on the hilt.

He had seen it.

And yet his body was still too slow. Half a second behind, and the gap between what he saw and what he could do stretched, mocking him.

He forced himself upright and lifted the blade again.

Jorlan lunged forward this time, his movements sharp. Again Cael caught a glimpse of the next strike, a faint outline, a glow of motion before it came but his feet tangled when he tried to adjust.

The sword glanced off his shoulder and sent him sprawling in the dirt.

Laughter from the squires rose around him.

"Careful, little lord, don't cut yourself on the wood," one called. "Didn't know they let scribes play soldier"

"Try not to faint this time!" another added.

Cael gritted his teeth against the sting in his side. The yard blurred for a moment as he pushed himself back to his knees.

He caught Edric watching from the fence with his arms crossed and expression unreadable.

Not disappointed or displeased. Just measuring.

He's watching to see if you break. Don't break.

The next exchange went worse.

Jorlan drove him backward with a flurry of strikes. Cael managed to parry the first two, the Eye catching the faint glow of each before they landed but by the third his arms felt leaden and the fourth slipped through, cracking him across the thigh.

He went down hard, breath knocked out of him.

The sand felt cold against his cheek.

The laughter was louder this time, sharper.

"Thought scribes liked lying down anyway!"

"Should've stayed in the tower where he belongs!"

The words cut sharper than Jorlan's blade.

And yet…

The faint hum in his chest was still there. Weak but steady.

Cael clenched a fist in the sand, pushed himself to his knees, and forced himself upright again.

The squires' laughter faltered when he raised the practice blade once more.

Jorlan's grin faded slightly, replaced by a flicker of irritation.

"You don't know when to quit, do you?" Jorlan muttered under his breath.

Cael spat blood into the dirt and met his brother's eyes evenly.

"No," he said.

That earned him a short, hard laugh from Edric on the sidelines.

"You've got some fight in you after all," Edric said. "Now don't stop. Show me how far you can go."

Cael didn't quit.

But he didn't win, either.

By the time Jorlan finally disarmed him, knocking the practice blade from his fingers and shoving him into the dirt. Cael ribs ached with every breath, his thigh throbbed where the wood had struck, and blood welled under his nails from gripping too hard. Bruised, shaking, but unbroken.

Jorlan stood over him, panting slightly but grinning again.

"Well," he said, leaning on his sword, "at least you stood longer than I thought you would. Shame you're still useless with a blade."

Cael didn't answer.

He sat back on his knees, head bowed, and let the mocking roll over him.

It didn't matter. He'd stood longer than he should have. Longer than the boy who, a year ago, couldn't even cross the yard without collapsing.

He'd seen every strike before it landed.

And even if his body couldn't keep up yet… it would.

Eventually.

Later, when the yard had cleared and the squires wandered off, still chuckling to themselves, Cael stayed where he was, fingers buried in the sand.

Jorlan passed him without a second glance, already joking with the others.

And Edric?

Edric simply turned away, tossing a final glance over his shoulder.

"That's enough for today," he said curtly. "You'll be back tomorrow."

No praise.

No condemnation.

Just expectation.

Cael closed his eyes and let the chill of the sand seep into his skin.

He was trembling, but it wasn't fear.

It wasn't even shame.

It was something else.

Resolve.

The next morning he was back in the yard before Jorlan even arrived.

This time no one said anything when he picked up the practice blade and started running through the motions on his own, slow and clumsy but deliberate.

When the Eye caught the faint shimmer of the next strike, he forced his hands to follow, even if they lagged behind.

He kept at it until his palms blistered and his arms burned.

And when he finally dropped the blade and leaned against the fence, gasping, the hum in his chest was louder than ever.

That night, lying on his narrow bed, Cael stared at the faint moonlight crawling across the ceiling and thought of Jorlan's grin, the laughter of the squires, the look in Edric's eyes.

He could still see the tiny tells in their movements, the subtle glow of each strike before it landed.

His body just hadn't caught up yet.

But it would.

It had to.

Because steel still ruled this house.