“And where do you think you’re going?”
Arilyn Bullian went rigid, slowly turning her gaze toward the voice’s source. Karinlyyn Bridger Kel-Solan stood in the hatchway leading into the Firelance’s cockpit, dressed in the silver mesh armor of an Auyn, her honey-brown hair plaited into a braid. Ari swallowed bile as she looked her mentor up and down. The other woman was armed to the teeth.
Must be pretty serious Order business if the open Warmistress is on her way up. Continue reading
The sun was just creeping up over the horizon in the east, the sky blood red, promising another storm in the very near future. Arilyn lay in bed, awake and sweat-soaked, staring at the view outside her window without quite seeing it. The dreams had come again. They always came. Continue reading
Her throat was so tight, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Arilyn squeezed her eyes shut against the tears welling up, hands clutching at her pillowcase, balling into fists. I can’t just let it happen. I can’t just let it happen. But I have to, don’t I? Don’t I? But I can’t just let him…
She choked on a sob, shaking her head hard. “What if it’s not real? What if it’s not real and I stop him from doing something good?” She grabbed her pillow, held it against her face, screamed into it—screamed for so long that she was out of breath when the lights came on in her room.
Sleep had come restlessly, elusive for hours despite her exhaustion, and now she awoke cold, shuddering and sweating, twisted in her covers. Rain pounded against the windowpane, thunder rolled above, rattling the house to its foundations with its deep growl. Arilyn squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to be awake but knowing unbroken, dreamless sleep would continue to escape her grasp.
One thing that keeps you alive is the realization that nothing—nothing—is ever exactly as it appears to be. ~ Karinlyyn Bridger Kel-Solan, Auyn Warmistress
Her chest heaved as she moved through her blade forms, jumpsuit stripped to the waist with the sleeves tied there. Sweat streamed down her spine, her tank top sticking to the damp. She’d lost track hours ago of when she’d started. Her thoughts were tuned to her blade, to its movements.
Focus. Nothing but me, with this blade as an extension of my arm, of my will. She exhaled a breath, whipping the blade around, leading with it.