Blood Bond

My arms shook, the muscles burning with fire as I pushed up from the lacquered, hardwood floor. Ever since my run in the woods had shown how thoroughly out of shape I was, I had tried to get an exercise routine going. The success I had had with it was rather questionable. At the last manor and on the road, I had been able to get some in-place jogs and some jumping jacks in. But neither Meris nor Kael would let me out of their sight, and they wouldn't let me put on anything resembling a t-shirt and shorts. So running out into the woods was out of the question, and definitely no push-ups. "It was far too unsightly," according to Meris.

And so when I got back to my own chambers, I had to go straight to push-ups. My arms were basically sticks; I had been skipping arm day for like ever.

"Thirty-four… Thirty-five," I breathed out the last count. My shaking arms finally gave out beneath me, and I hit the polished floor with a hollow thump and the rush of air from my lungs.

"Your Highness! Are you alright?" Anya's voice cried out. I could hear her small steps rushing toward me. "What… what are you even doing?!"

Almost immediately, a towel wiped at my face as I sat up. "I'm fine, Anya," I reassured her, smiling warmly at the face that had been a constant for me since childhood. How many times had she chased me, giggling and laughing across the palace gardens, and all the times we hid in the nooks and corners as she read me poetry and fairy tales? In some ways, she was more a sister to me than Astrid.

That's right; the "small request" I had asked for from those jackals was Anya. Even before reaching the keep, Stonehand made it clear I wouldn't be able to see my parents or Astrid. They were being well cared for, he insisted, and I would be able to see them "in due time." So Anya was the only concession I could ask for.

My other big sister helped me onto my feet, then her slight figure retreated as she went to fetch some water. I toweled off my arms and looked them over. There were already signs of musculature in my biceps and forearms, which was impossible. This level of progress in such a short time should have taken many more reps, plus a focused diet to boot. I had noticed that even my light exercises helped with my endurance. Could this be another effect of my power? I connected with the blood flowing within my arms and sensed it rushing to my muscles, but I hadn't willed it to do so. It seemed to be acting on its own, just like my healing.

I downed the cup of water. When Anya reached to take it from me, I caught her hand, stilling her movement. My eyes searched hers; they were so large, brown, so innocent. "Were you alright down there? They haven't hurt you at all, have they?"

She blinked, I saw confusion in her eyes. A worried line creased over her eyebrows. "I was treated fine, your highness. Mostly left alone, but you, something is different."

Before I could answer, a sharp, formal knock echoed from the door.

Meris entered, her gaze sweeping the scene between me and Anya. She quickly pulled away from me. "Your Highness," she announced, her tone clipped. "Your instructor is here for your... lesson."

She stepped aside, and Master Steffan walked into the room. He had jet black hair, slicked back so severely it shone like polished obsidian under the light. His equally dark slit eyes were focused with displeasure upon me, taking in my disheveled state with a gaze that felt as sharp and cold as a razor's edge. "Your highness, I must protest. This is a farce, you can't really expect me to teach you to dance?"

"And why not? You move well, and you know how to, yes?"

"Of course, dance is taught to all Nobility. Uhm… well, most…" He cleared his throat and quickly recovered. "But I do not know the ladies' moves."

"I don't think they care how well I dance, as long as I don't trip over the princes. You can get me past there, can you not?" I paused to let the words sink in. "I asked you because there are other things I want you to teach me."

Steffan stiffened, backing up a step. "I promised the King that I would not teach you the sword arts, even if he's confined at the moment. I will hold to my word."

That caught me by surprise. I never realized the extent they went to keep me sheltered. A single question rang through my mind. Why? I caught sight of Steffan's gaze and composed myself. "I do not need you to teach me sword art. Just how to move."

"How to move?"

"Yes," I pressed. "Surely you teach your students how to move to avoid attacks? What to do if they drop their weapon?"

Steffan stroked his goatee, looking pensive. "I suppose. But still the spirit of the oath…"

"Please," I pleaded, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "I've been stabbed too many times. I just need some basics so that—"

"You've been stabbed?!" Anya's voice cried out from beside me.

I looked down and realized my hand was clutching at my chest. "No, no, Anya, it's just a figure of speech."

Her eyes glazed over, and then they widened even more as they focused upon my chest. "You really have been stabbed! What are those wounds? Feora, oh great mother, how are you even still alive Ela?" She nearly shrieked out the words as she grabbed me. Her fingers dug into my arms, refusing to let go.

I looked down at her chest, at her blue-tinted Soul Seed. Within the crystal was an intricately carved rune: her rune was that of a Diviner. Could she see my past wounds? I hope it's not more than that. "Please," I whispered, "don't look."

"Control yourself, girl," Meris snapped. Her voice was sharp, but she led Anya away gently.

Steffan had his fingers pressed into his temple. His head was hung low, eyes squeezed shut, and his other hand was clenched into a tight fist at his side.

"Master Steffan," I said softly. "What is your answer?"

It took a moment, but he finally straightened up, his movements slow and deliberate. His dark eyes gazed into mine, and I held them.

"This dance is tomorrow?" he asked, his voice low.

I let the silence answer him.

"Then we start your lessons now," he declared, a flash of steel glinting over his dark eyes. "Let us show them the grace of Aethelgard."

—

We were in one of my side chambers, which featured a large marble dance floor. The room felt cavernous and cool, smelling faintly of dust and lemon polish, a space that had clearly never seen a single footstep of any sort of dancing. Master Steffan stepped into the center of the large, continuous piece of polished marble, his heeled boots clicking rhythmically over the thick black veins that ran over pure, fine-grained white.

Kael followed him in, his own boots silent on the stone. He took up a position in the corner, a grim statue against the sunlit windows. Meris, ever-watchful, stood near the entrance, her arms crossed. Anya, meanwhile, hovered nervously by a side table set with a pitcher of water.

Despite what I had told her, Anya hadn't taken her now swollen eyes off of me. I followed her gaze to my chest, to the gossamer fabric flowing over my unblemished chest. What could she be seeing with her rune? Was it the bloody, open cavern of a wound that the sword had left behind, or the dripping wet pit where the ice spike had been? Whatever the vision, horror was reflected in her face. I wished I could offer some comfort, but I could empathize with that need to look, especially when someone you care for is hurt.

Kael stood stiffly, his jaw tight and a muscle twitching beside his eye. The bitterness on his face was the same I'd spied when Astrid rejected him. But why? I knew this might be an affront to his role as my protector, but all I wanted was to at least have a way to avoid getting hurt. The way those eyes drilled into me reminded me of the clearing when he held my cheeks in his hands. What if…

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"Let us begin," Steffan said, his voice echoing slightly in the vast, empty room. "I am no master of the waltz, Your Highness. But all purposeful movement, whether in a duel or a dance, relies on the same core fundamentals. We will focus on what I know. The three pillars of movement are: Posture. Balance. And Footwork."

He moved as he spoke, a seamless illustration of his words. "Posture is the frame upon which all else is built. A swordsman with a slumped back is a dead swordsman. A dancer with a weak core is a clumsy oaf. Everything flows from a straight spine, engaged core, and aligned shoulders." He paused, his sharp, dark eyes fixing on me. "Your posture is… adequate for a royal, but insufficient for a fight. Or a waltz."

Before I could bristle, he continued, "Next, balance. It is not merely standing still. It is the art of controlling your center as you move. A swordsman shifts his weight to lend power to a blow or to evade one. A dancer does the same to flow across the floor. They are one and the same."

He took a few gliding steps, impossibly smooth on the marble. "Which brings us to footwork. The foundation of movement. Every step must have purpose. Every motion must be efficient. In a duel, wasted movement is a fatal opening. In a dance, it is an unsightly embarrassment."

He stopped and turned to face me fully, his expression stern and demanding. "Enough theory. Your turn, Your Highness. Mirror me."

He began with simple posture adjustments, tapping my shoulder here, my lower back there, forcing my body into a rigid, aligned frame. Then came the balance drills—slow, controlled shifts of weight and changes in elevation. My body protested against the strange, unnatural positions he contoured me into, but my mind recognized the discipline. I had been doing drills for cross country since fifth grade, and I knew all these seemingly unrelated exercises and routines would pay off at the finish line. So I pushed on, following each spoken word to the letter. I repeated them again and again, my muscles screaming as the movements were etched into them.

I was breathing hard by the time we finished. Anya brought over some of the pink sparkling drink that had been my favorite, but I waved it away, asking for water instead.

"Are you sure, your highness?" she asked as she dabbed at my sweat-drenched forehead with a towel.

"I just don't want cramps."

"Cramps?"

That look of concern crept back over her face, and I hurried to stop it. "No, I'm fine. I only want water for now."

"Yes, water is best for this kind of work," Master Steffan's voice cut in. There was an edge of impatience to his voice. His fingers twitched as they drummed upon his arm, and his eyes looked at me with a hungry intensity, the way my coach would zero in on me sometimes right before a big meet.

"Come," he said, without sparing another moment. "Let us move on to footwork."

He guided me through a series of simple steps, turns, and slides. My body, which had been aching just moments before, had already recovered. It was just like with the push-ups; my blood was doing its work once more. I dutifully retraced each step he demonstrated, knowing that what mattered most was the rigor and putting in the work.

Step left, plant right, angle the body, flow with the hip. Then repeat.

Steffan called a halt, his dark eyes narrowed not with displeasure, but with a sharp, analytical curiosity. "Have you had formal training before, Your Highness?" he asked, his tone clipped. "You learn fast. Unnaturally fast. But most of all, your discipline."

The question hung in the air. How could I explain that I was aided by both my experiences from another world, and my inhuman blood powers?

"None," I lied, and yet didn't at the same time. It was true I was never trained in anything, in this world.

Steffan grunted, a noncommittal sound. "Perhaps you have the right natural mindset," he said, though his expression suggested he didn't believe his own words. "But there is one more fundamental thing you need."

He raised a finger, pointing it at my high collar, where my Soul Seed was hidden. "Awareness." He began to pace slowly across the marble floor. "All the grace and form in the world is useless without it," he lectured. "In a dance, you need to know where your partner is."

Steffan stretched a hand out to me. As I reached to grasp it, my fingers clutched nothing but air and I stumbled forward. "Else you'll fall and shame you both," he murmured from directly behind me.

"And in a sword fight, if you're caught unaware…" I turned toward his voice, but he was gone again, only to reappear at my side. Two of his fingers pressed against the right side of my chest, at the exact spot where the ice spike had stabbed through me. My entire body stiffened.

"Well," he finished softly, "you already know the consequence."

I swallowed hard, remembering how Jarlen had caught me so completely unaware. "Even if it's magic?"

Steffan's eyes narrowed into thin slits. "Especially if it's magic."

"You need to focus on your surroundings, and your enemy… or partner," Steffan continued. "And if you're in tune with your Soul Seed…" He paused, and his gaze drifted down to my collar. "I'm sorry, your highness. I've heard rumors."

I reached up and unbuttoned my collar, pulling it apart to reveal my Soul Seed. Then I raised my chin so they could all clearly see it. Anya gasped from her corner, and Steffan flinched.

"What do you see?" I asked. I never knew how others saw it.

Having recovered, Steffan drew closer. "It looks like a dull red orb. Not a crystal at all. I sense nothing from it."

"It doesn't look blood red?"

"No, just a plain red, almost faded."

I nodded. That explained Jarlen's reaction when he saw it. Astrid was right; only those with our blood would see the glow.

Steffan stroked his goatee. "However, there's something strange. I can't sense mana from it, but rather an absence of it—a void right there." He pointed toward the orb on my chest.

"Tell no one of this," I said, buttoning my collar back up before looking at him. "I would like you to teach me how to sense mana, to be aware like you said."

He looked dubiously at me. "I can try. All you need to do is focus on your surroundings and yourself. You need to sink into your Soul Seed. It's the opposite of casting a spell where you project your thoughts onto your seed; instead, you're drawing from it and sensing through it…"

I wanted to tell him that I was never taught how to cast spells, but that wasn't entirely true. The abilities that I had taken from the minds of Jarlen's elves: some of those were actually spells. At least that's what the bits and pieces of their memories told me.

"Alright, to train for this, you need to learn to strip aside all other thoughts, and focus on a single entity—your Soul Seed…" Steffan continued.

Oh, this was just like meditation. Focus. Calm. Stillness. And all I need to do is to connect my senses onto my Soul Stone instead of my blood.

"Shall we attempt a trial?" Master Steffan moved a few feet away from me, and placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword. "Close your eyes, and try to focus on your surroundings through your soul seed. Open yourself to all that's around you."

I reached inward for my Soul Seed, that orb upon my chest, trying to sink into it as instructed. Nothing happened. Instead, I found myself connecting to it the only way I knew how, through the blood—my blood—flowing up to my Soul Seed. Once I was in, I could sense through it the world beyond. All around me, countless molecules drifted, each one solitary yet bound to the others by an unseen web.

There was a disturbance in the distance. Molecules clumped together, crystallizing into a wave that surged toward me.

All I had to do was dodge it; that was the trial. But a reckless curiosity took hold. I wanted to do more, I needed to, to save everyone. Instead of moving my body, I stayed in my Soul Seed and focused on its connection to all those molecules through that web. I could change things and affect them. I had seen in all the chemical reactions I had run through the simulator, the way phase could change by taking energy in and out. And energy is just motion.

I reached out through my Soul Seed to the oncoming wave and pushed. The crystals collapsed. My hand shot up and water splashed harmlessly against my palm.

I opened my eyes and found Steffan staring at me in shock, his eyes bulging. "You… you countered the spell!"

Then it hit me. A tide of pins and needles, so intense it felt like my nerves were fizzing, crashed down upon me. Pain exploded in my head, a sharp, blinding spike behind my eyes, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. My knees buckled as the world spun around me.

A pair of arms caught me. I found Kael's frantic face staring down at me, shaking me and shouting words that were drowned out by the ringing in my ears.

Both Meris and Anya crowded around me. A wet towel wiped at my nose and came away crimson red. I tried to get up, but found the world spinning again. What had me even more concerned was the sensation of fullness I had ever since draining those elves was now gone. The hunger wasn't back yet, but it seemed controlling the world this way took a toll on me in more ways than one.

Through a few mumbled words, I finally managed to convey to everyone that I was okay. None of them seemed to buy it, but I was helped up nonetheless.

"Regretfully, it seems our lesson today should come to an end," Master Steffan said with a graceful bow. "But I thank you for the time, your highness. It's been enlightening and… inspiring."

He paused at the exit and half turned toward me. "You have done something, an act only those with Advanced Runes would even attempt. Despite what had occurred, I hope you'd consider continuing your lessons."

After the door shut, Kael snapped toward me. "No way. No way you're continuing."

"Kael, I'm fine. I just pushed myself a little too much."

Meris stepped up as Anya gave me another glass of water. "Your highness, if you're well, I believe it's time we start your real lessons. What was taught there was not dance, especially for someone of your station. We cannot have you be made a fool of in front of those scoundrels."