When The Last Ember Falls

Three

Cindra:

Cursed by my family name, a fighter by blood...if I didn't win this tournament I was done for. Year after year, I have spent a lifetime preparing for this. Unless we're counting in human years—then it was like three or four human lifetimes.

"Cindra?" My stepmother's voice rang from the stables. Her strict tone made me cringe; luckily, my entire body was hidden beneath battle armor.

I had learned over time not to hesitate, not to show emotion before facing the general. Ah yes, the newly assigned Autumn Court general. She wasn't new to the position, no, she was new to the location.

A month ago, we were at the northern tip of the Autumn Court, a camp called Golnarene. That was until the Morrigan wiped out Will and Idris for good. I had met the bloodthirsty couple once before, silently praying to never run into them alone.

A funeral was held, an immaculate one at that. It was tradition for upper ranks of this court to receive such a festive ceremony. Once the soldiers were buried, it was then time for the High Lord and two of his sons to be buried. For days there was food and wine for the villagers but no one drank, no one ate.

I couldn't blame them...this wasn't a war we wanted. It certainly wasn't a war we had won.

I picked up my speed, listening to the clanking noise of my armor with every step. Rays of light caught the specks of dust in the air; the stables were large enough to fit a fleet of our soldiers comfortably.

My stepmother's back stiffened as she caught my scent, her slender brow arching as she studied me. Scrutinizing every shred of Autumn armor then each of the pinned back locks of my ebony hair. How she had the time to judge the shit out of me—I had no idea.

After meeting her exceptionally high standards, she returned her gaze to the beast in front of her. "Are you ready?" she asked coldly, the frost escaping her tongue with each syllable.

"Yes," I replied cautiously—waiting for her insult, her deathly blow.

Emerald eyes fixated on me again, "you will bring dishonor to our family if you fail."

Instead of drowning, I straightened my shoulders, "I will not fail."

"This transition will not be easy. The eldest Vanserra was briefly an enemy of the court but now that he is the last true heir, he will have the privilege of becoming our High Lord..."

I wasn't surprised. In fact, I knew all of this already. Private conversations eventually turned to open discussions during training practices or at the village market. It was the biggest news since the war broke out. Eris Vanserra, the most ruthless of Beron's sons, was to become our next High Lord.

And I would become his personal guard. If—when, I succeed in the tournament.

Stepmother clasped her hands behind her back, raising her sharp nose so she could look down at me. "Do not make your father's death be for nothing. You will annihilate the competition and you will become the High Lord's personal guard."

"And if I don't make it?" I asked, feeling the shield of chain mail tighten around my neck.

"You wouldn't want to disappoint me, would you Cindra? Tarnishing our name, our legacy...?" she paused, hunting for the right words until a cat-like smile brushed across her thin lips. "If you fail, you might as well be a deserter. For only cowards and whores lie together in failure. I would hate for you to become one of those, if not both."

The sudden urge to attack her had flared but I couldn't do it. No matter how much I wanted to slam her body against the nearest wood column and scream—I couldn't. I bowed my head, clenching my jaw for release. On my ascent, I caught her watchful eye, "I will not fail you," I replied sternly.