Daughter of the Sword

1 || A Treacherous Secret

IT'S BEEN THREE WEEKS since I condemned my kingdom to death. 

I slip out of my dream and lie still, eyes closed, clearing the morning haze from my head as I breathe in, slow and deep. I don't dare move. Not as I repeat my prayer, the same one every morning, that God will realize his mistake and take it away, that I will wake up simple, unimportant, invisible. 

Sparks crackle at my fingertips. 

I ball my hands into fists and smother the light before it can cast onto the walls, before it shines through the curtains and exposes me. My hands twitch with it, this energy just begging to be released, and I take more deep breaths, forcing my heart to calm. 

The first morning, I nearly burnt down the entire manor. 

I was forced to lie, to claim I had fallen asleep with a lit candle, and bear the scoldings from my father, the War General, his wrath like a hot brand on my skin. I was not used to lying. But with a secret that could have me executed, I learned quickly. 

My hands begin to tingle once again. 

"Please," I whisper, looking out to the moon. "Please."

The humming in my veins quiets. The warmth in my fingers recedes. I wait a minute, then another, but it has finally died out. I take a steadying breath and sit up. 

Then I blink, and my nightgown is on fire.

I bite back a scream and whip it off me, stomping it into the floor. Tendrils of smoke waft into the air and I push open a window, tears pricking at my eyes. Maybe I can bury this one, too--I have to hope the servants have not noticed the two missing dresses already. 

I drop back onto my bed, panic swelling in my chest. I can't keep this secret forever. Without control, it's been luck that has kept me hidden, kept me from burning the fields or God knew what else. I need to talk to someone; I need advice. But to reveal the truth...

"I can't," I whimper. "Oh God, I can't." I cover my face with my hands, but the tears won't come. There are none left. I feel the panic sinking in my gut, the fear that fans out through me, prickling along my skin. My body trembles like a leaf, ready to be swept away by the treason of its existence.

Luke has been training his entire life to handle these powers, and the responsibility that comes with them. The oldest male heir of the next Calloway generation, set to inherit the abilities of our father, and his father, and his father before him as the only magic bloodline in the kingdom. Every morning, I see him step out at sunrise and sink to his knees in a prayer of his own. My brother, the genius. The prodigy. The hero.

Because these powers were supposed to put an end to the war. 

A gust of wind pushes my hair into my face, and as I swat at it, the breeze spins around the room, whipping up the curtains, toying with the smoke. "Stop it," I croak. "Please."

It stops.

The first ribbons of dawn creep through my window. I watch them set my room softly alight, bathing my bed in a gentle glow, looking so innocent despite the scorched rags lying in front of it. 

I would give anything in the world to be rid of this curse, this cruel mistake. Women are not fighters. The Champion was supposed to lead; there is no such thing as a woman leader, capable of matching the wits of men. Instead of bringing hope after decades of fighting, I have condemned every person in our kingdom to conquest--they just don't know it yet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a silhouette treading across the field. I watch his slow, purposeful strides, his deep breaths, his head turning to take in the freshness of the morning, tuning his senses to another day of training--and waiting. Twenty paces out, he stops and bows down to his knees, facing the fiery horizon. From behind, I watch its light fall upon him like a halo, his skin glowing in the hope of a new day, the wealth of opportunities awaiting him. He speaks his prayer. Touches his head to the soil. Then he rises, and walks back to the manor.

I hop off my bed and yank my curtains shut. Then I press myself against the cold wall and tip my head back, failing to calm my raging heart.

My brother loves me more than anything in the world. But as I picture him in my mind's eye, bowing before the sun, I'm certain that if he finds out, he will kill me.