Freedom's Pyre ✓ [SAMPLE | Libertas Series | Book I]

Chapter Three: Projectiles

Returning into the house feels strange. My brother is no longer here to watch over. I stand in the hallway for a moment, taking in the stillness of the air, before my parents return. Their movement disturbs the melancholy enough to break the spell.

"Prepare for sparring," my father grunts at me as he heads into the parlour where Kasper's friends are still waiting.

"Yes, sir," I say, heading upstairs to collect my practice sword.

The room Kasper and I share is half-emptied. All Kasper's personal effects have been taken with him. His books, trinkets he has collected through birthdays and midwinters, his clothes. All that remains is an unmade bed.

I plump up the pillows and carefully fold up the blankets before I turn to my own cot, getting to my knees and reaching beneath it for my sword. My own space in this room is smaller, but I have far fewer things than my brother. I mostly own books, and they are all kept in my father's study.

My hand closes around the practice blade hilt. It is heavy and simple. There need be no frills for a blunted sword after all.

I carry it down the stairs and through the kitchen, stopping to pull on my cloak and pull my hood up against the drizzle outside.

I ignore my mother's herb garden, passing through it and hopping over the drystone wall until I reach the patch of grass next to the duck pond that my father and I use for battle training.

I close my eyes and begin to warm up, moving through the basic movements of the various styles of swordplay my father has taught me.

The tension in my shoulders loosens as I move. It was a good idea to do this. It will stop be worrying so much about how my brother will fare on the road.

A spark of awareness runs through me and without thinking, I turn the broadside of the sword outwards and spin around. There is a clang as a rock that was aimed at my head is deflected onto the grass.

"How did you-?"

Urias is in the garden. He has another rock in his other hand. His expression clears from one of shock, to one of sneering disdain.

"So, your brother's gone now. That must be a relief for you," he says, looking back at the house. "No more having to compete with the golden child anymore."

"That's a lot of projection on your part," I reply, stabbing the tip of the sword into the ground and leaning on it.

Urias rolls his eyes, throwing the rock in his hand up into the air and snatching it back again. I can feel the faint whisper of magic around him, guiding the rock so that it can't fail to land back in his palm. That's just like Urias, never attempting anything without a safety net.

"I'm surprised you didn't go with him. But then, I guess your father wouldn't want you out of his sight, telling all the family secrets," Urias continues, hand gripping the rock tightly before throwing it again.

I stay silent. Bullies like Urias don't need my participation to continue, I've found.

"Your mother was at our House the other day, you know," he says, eyes narrowing. "My father asked after you. You know what happened? Your mother looked confused. Like she couldn't understand why my father would even bother to ask after the other son."

I keep my eye on the rock, waiting for the inevitable moment when Urias gets bored with words and turns to sticks and stones instead.

"But your father... Well, he's the real monster isn't he?" Urias says.