Bloodmark

21: Falling

[first draft; feedback, critique, and comments welcome; please point out any typos] 

The arrow falls to the ground at my feet. When I move to pick it up, the instructor barks at me to stop. His harsh voice makes me stiffen and stumble back into the King's waiting figure. The King rubs my arms, leaving currents of electricity in his wake.

The archery instructor, a tall, sinewy man named Aurulus, releases a long sigh when he straightens from retrieving the fallen arrow. A beckoning hand forces me to shuffle out of King Atlas's comforting touch.

"You must relax, mistress," instructs Aurulus in a strained yet calm voice. At his struggle to maintain composure and to teach me with gentle guidance, guilty flares of heat build in my cheeks.

For an hour, Aurulus has led me through each step in great detail: making sure my stance in correct, that I nock the arrow properly, that my grip is fine and that my aim does not injure someone. But for an hour, I have dropped most of the arrows he's okayed me to use, and my body refuses to relax.

With his permission, I try again. Feet parallel and a shoulder-width apart, my fingers wrap about the shaft of the arrow, just in front of the feathers at the back. The nock clicks into place on the bow string. When I get ready to draw the bow, the instructor gives another heavy sigh. My heart shatters while my stomach drops: I've done something wrong, again.

"Mistress Mara," says Aurulus, voice controlled, "you are holding onto the bow too tightly. Your grip must be loose, relaxed. Bend your knees slightly. Relax your shoulders."

With every instruction he barks, my muscles grow tauter. My knees lock. Encouraging my bow hand to loosen makes it shake with uncertainty. Any looser, and I'll drop both the bow and the arrow.

"Do not fire," the archer commands firmly.

The tattoo on my left arm tingles—the King must be closer now. Then he rests his hands on my shoulders. The bond between us distracts me from the pressure of archery practice, and my shoulders lower. He wraps his fingers about my bow hand. The warmth is overwhelming, and I am convinced I will melt.

"Relax," he whispers against my cheek.

Without intending to, I release the arrow. The sudden snap of the string and puncture of the arrow pulls a gasp from me. I cower against King Atlas, who chuckles and pats me in a congratulatory manner.

"Damn," says Aurulus. "Good shot, mistress."

Their words and the sight before me finally register. The arrowhead has vanished into the inner circle of the target several feet ahead of us. It's not a bullseye, but with how abysmal this first practice has been, it might as well be.

My smile it so large, it aches slightly. I did it.

"See? Relaxing is the most important thing in archery."