On the days his Commanderâs war meeting went well, she was courteously chipper in their sparring sessions. Aden would always get a greeting and a fond ruffle of his increasingly messy hair. Aden knew the other boys and girls whispered behind his back of favouritism but he found he didnât quite care. His Heda had chosen him to spar, and quite often he would be nicknamed âThe Commanderâs Second'âexcept he was clearly not.
If anything, Titus enforced that. Commanders did not take secondsâbut Lexa liked to smirk at him and go against Titusâ iron-strong teachings anyway.
Today, Lexaâs meeting with the Southern clans had been satisfactory to say the least. They picked up their weapons in silenceâlightly-carved sticks from the finest wood within the Trikru territory.
âDo you see how it falls just below your eye?â Lexa said, nearly jabbing Adenâs eye out. âThat is when you should get your hair cut. Sometimes it gets in the way.â
âMy mother says I look better with longer hair,â Aden replied.
âYour mother is not acquainted with the ways of sparring.â
They laughed at that, and then they sparred. One of the many, many things Aden admired about Lexa was her refusal to give Aden any opportunity to better her. Lexa fought fairly, and Aden suspected at not even half her capacityâbut she would never just roll over on one side like some cuddly bear and allow for all the children to attack her good-naturedly. Lexa was harsh and demanding, sparring for hours and bruising and causing nosebleeds and scratches until Aden was bent over, panting and gulping in breath. If he forgot to surrender, Lexa would continually smack him down whenever he moved until he tapped out.
âDonât forget the importance of that,â Lexa had scolded him, âotherwise your opponent will be well within their rights to keep attacking you. Tap out if you must. There is no shame in it.â
It came as no surprise to anyone, then, that Aden continually tapped out whenever Lexa bettered him. He was aware that Lexa would not hesitate in beating the living daylights out of him if he did not. And Aden was a swift learner. He picked up in some of Lexaâs defining moves, though his agility did not match hers and neither did his cunning. He got better. He tracked his progress in the seconds it took for her to knock him downâand along the weeks, when the seconds grew to minutes, he felt his heart swell in pride.
He could see it in Lexaâs eyes too. âWere you trained?â Lexa asked conversationally as Aden grunted to keep up with her lightning pace, shifting so that his feet were almost trained to dance around the pits. âAs a fighter, I mean?â
âNoâarghââ Aden ducked from a wayward swing of the log from Lexa, retreating as they circled each other. Lexa smiled, pleased. âMy mother reads fortunes in the Square. My father passed.â
âIâm sorry to hear of it.â
âThey trust her,â Aden said. Lexa made no move to attack. âI suppose it must be legend: if a boy or a girl bleeds black, then their parents must speak the truth.â
Lexa dug one end of the log into the boggy marsh. âWhat do you think?â
Aden shrugged. âWe must eat somehow.â
âI didnât call for you.â
âI know, Commander, but I thoughtâas I usually spar with youââ
âI specifically didnât call for you!â Lexa reprimanded him. Today was different. The sun had disappeared and instead, the clouds rewarded them with harsh, blunt rain. It soaked through Adenâs tunic and he thanked the spirits he had finally cut his hairâfor he would not be able to see a thing if his fringe still existed. âI asked for a warrior!â
It stung, because Aden knew Lexa was telling the truth. He was no warrior, and he knew that. He was not of Indra or Anya or even Titusâ calibre, but they had been suspended with questions and diplomatic meetings. Ever since the dark happenings of the Ice Nationâs declaration of war and rejection of the coalition, the sun had not dared to peek upon Polis. Aden had only heard rumours from the chefâs kitchenâwho had slipped him an extra ration of pork bellyâthat his Commanderâs lover had been executed by Queen Nia of the North.
Judging by the way Lexa roared at him to go away, wielding her log like she wanted to smash it against something, Aden doubted it was far from the truth.
âYou are here to spar, surely,â he called across the room, wobbling a little as the mud nearly twisted his ankle. âWhy else would you be in the sparring pits, Heda?â
âThere are opponents I spar with,â Lexa said, âand then there are those I am unafraid to unleash upon.â
âWhy canât I be both?â
âBecauseâyouââ Lexa sighed heavily, staring up at the skies as the rain smattered down on her face. Exasperation tore through her body, because this boy just would not give up. âYou are my student, Aden. I will not beat you.â
âYou have been fair before. Remember?â
Lexaâs eyes flashed withâŚsomething. Aden didnât recognise it. âI donât want to be fair.â
Nobody else came to the sparring pits.
When his fellow Nightbloods assisted Nyko in patching up a near-unconscious Aden afterwards, he could only recall the angry way Lexa came after him, smacking down against the weakening grip on his log with her own, down, down, down, downâuntil it flew from his hand. And then sheâd twirled it in her hand, smashing it upwards against his chin so he sprawled backwards from his staggered position, his intent to get to his feet.
In her ferocity he had barely moved an inch, his boots sinking into the sparring pit that became a bog. Logs cast aside, they had moved to fisticuffsâsomething Aden was hugely unfamiliar with. He ducked desperately, his lungs gasping for air in the unforgiving rain as Lexa swiftly jabbed at him, catching his jaw with a heavy left hook. She took no defensive position. She only advanced as he held both his fists up, feeling woefully inadequate as she decked him in the stomach, giving him milliseconds to yell in pain before her palm went up to shove at his face, sending him sprawling backwards into the dirt.
âIn a box,â she said haggardly, advancing as Aden gingerly got to his feet, wiping blood from his mouth. His entire body ached all over. âOn my bed. My bed!â
Her fist connected with his cheekbone, and his body clattered to the floor, unconscious.
The Wanheda had been missing for months now, and in her absence, in her silence, her legend only grew. At first she had simply been the Sky girl who had brought the Mountain down with some otherworldly forceâbut now she was one of the most powerful beings in all of the earth, second only to his Commander.
Aden was a few years older now, and knew better than to listen to kitchen gossip. But he could not help and admire Clarke kom Skaikru for her tenacity despite his Commanderâs decision. He knew people of Polis spoke highly of his Commander but others within the coalition or others in outlying villages spoke differently. He disagreed with them.
Teachings of politics and geography and village chiefdoms and old earth history with Titus and Lexa had been most revealing and informing. He liked to think of himself, as he stared at his baby-faced reflection in the mirror, as standing on the precipice of being a man. He had not had his first appearance of stubble, but his shoulders had broadened with years of sparring with othersâlads bigger than him, lads quicker than him, and the Commander herself, too.
He was among the hopeless and the curious in the crowd as Prince Roan of Azgeda towed a masked prisoner into Polisian walls. Whispers said it was Clarke kom Skaikru, the Wanheda, herself; Aden did not know what to think, but that kind of rumour did not sprout from nothing. He had heard Lexa and Titus converse about it once in a training session, which had ended with Titus storming from the sparring pits. Lexa had made some joke about him, and everyone had laughed, but Aden chewed on his lip and wondered if Polisian hearsay turned out to be true.
Aden was beyond relieved that afternoon when the Commander chose him to be her sparring partner yet again. It was fun, conversing with her about the dayâs war meetings and how the Rock Commanderâs joke sunk like a rock itself and how the Water Commanderâs mead consumption was still hideous. He enjoyed gossip when it came from the Commanderâs mouth itself.
Instead, she remained tight-lippedâand for the most part, unfocussedâas she parried with him. Mostly on the back-foot, Aden took advantage of his smaller size and manipulated their parries so he ended up jabbing her throat three times. Her footwork was slow, and her gazeâso often drilled into his eyes, to anticipate his every moveâwas everywhere. She looked over the city sometimes. She looked at the floor. She stared at some gap above Adenâs head.
Quite simply, Lexa was out-of-sorts and Aden didnât have it in him to embarrass the Commander and point this out in front of the other Nightbloods and Aden. Instead, he tried to slow his moves down, each parry growing weaker and weaker as he thought of it like a game of checkers. Every carefully constructed sequence would be the sameâand Lexa spotted it within seconds.
âNo holding back,â she said absently, tapping Adenâs makeshift weapon. âDo you think youâll be able to hold back in the trials, Aden?â
âThen letâs train properly.â
But Lexa did not hold up her end of the promise. At the end of the day, when Aden decked her on the chin, upwards, and she reeled back in surpriseâas if that had knocked some sort of responsibility back in herâthe gaze she gave him was not one of danger, but one of wonderment. He could only stare back, panting heavily as she half-smiled at him, studying him closely. Titus dismissed him and he quickly gathered his items, wanting to go home to a bowl of hearty soup and a heavy lump of bread. He didnât wantâwhatever this was today.
âClarke elevates herself,â he heard Lexa say wistfully as he sped past, stopping in his tracks. He was behind the conversing duo. He hated eavesdropping, so he left quickly after that. But he ate keenly that night, knowing legends were true.
Aden moved slowly, this time with a blunt blade instead of a wooden stick. He focussed heavily on his footwork, making sure he was quiet, quick and efficient. He would be slender like the night, bold like the daylight, and most of all, he would be silent.
âA lot of the time, itâs in the footworkâin fact, Iâd say itâs most of the time,â Lexa said in front of him. âIt depends on how deeply you study your opponent. If I took my fight with King Roan in Niaâs vote of no confidence, it was easy to note that his foot stepped forward every time he was to lungeâwhich was usually his move.â
âThen one must anticipate,â Aden said.
âYes. The fight is usually won in hereââ Lexa tapped the side of his head, and Aden closed his eyes, smiling, ââfirst. It is rarely won out of physicality.â
âWhat use are muscles if you cannot wield them properly?â Aden recited, and he thought he could hear Lexa laugh. Making his Commander laugh, properly, was no mean featâand heâd achieved it, proudly, multiple times. Maybe that was just his overactive imagination. âI saw you against Roan. I watched you every step of the way. I have never seen a recovery so magnificent. I have never seen sword-workâŚtwo of them!âŚso quick, soâŚso elegant. So beautiful.â
âAnd yet there were points I had to work on, then,â Lexa said. âI left my defence exposed in the hope that I would overpower him. But Roan was a powerful opponent with a much more advantageous weapon than mine.â
âI remember the way my heart sunk when he kicked you.â
âI remember seeing Clarke kom Skaikru in the crowd. I thought she was going to run to you.â
âThat wouldâve been illegal, Aden.â
âI wish she had run to you. You needed nothing to spur you into killing the Ice Queen. But in that moment, when you were alone on the ground, I wished she had to run to you to tell you that she loved you.â
âBecause she loves you. She loves you, she loves you, she loves you.â
Lexa smiled softly at him and ordered him to take a defensive stance again, jerking her head so he cast his weapon aside. Instead, he raised both fists defensively, as Lexa circled him. He kept light on his toes, knowing he would have to duck and sway as Lexa swung for him.
She swung right; he ducked down. She swung left; he ducked down.
The art of a fight did not always lie with weaponsâbows and arrows, spears, swords, macesâthey mattered not when neither of you had a weapon to go for. When it came down to your fists, your mind and your feet mattered, as did your ability to react quickly. Once you were smacked down with a bloody nose, it was hard to stagger upright without being hit back down yet again.
Aden stared in front of him, determined eyes jabbing forwards in a serious of drills. It would coordinate his footwork with his punches; and then heâd advance to a left hook, meant for cheeks. The uppercut was meant for the chin, a blast only to be used lastly when he was surely guaranteed victory. He wasnât convinced this style of fighting was the best for himâhe was slim, and excelled at archery as well as swordworkâbut Indra had insisted he had to be capable in all areas.
It was raining, much like that day Lexa had taken him out in the rain only to beat him within an inch of his life. Sheâd apologised the day after, staying by his bedside for three days, applying some of Nykoâs potion to his swollen eye. Aden swallowed the lump in his throat and jabbed forwards harder, sighing when Lexa jerked her head to one side and his wayward punch had missed her completely.
âAden?â Clarke leant against the palisade, worry etched over her features. âWhat the hell are you doing? Itâs freezing!â
âSparring,â he called back, shouting above the pitter-patter of the rain. Lexa nodded silently in agreement, grinning at Clarke. âItâs fine!â
âIâm fine, Clarke!â
Clarke surveyed the sight in front of him. The boy was jabbing at thin air, two sets of towels neatly folded by the edge of the pits. There were two flagons of water there too, neatly arranged side-by-side. Two blunted swords had also been discarded, and Clarke, feeling the lump rise to bile in her throat, understood.
âTend to your Commander,â Clarke ordered. Aden had his back to her, but as soon as sheâd said it, his shoulders deflated. It was hard to tell if the boy was crying when the drizzle became a downpour, and he trudged over towards where she was stood. âKeep her warm. Youâd do well with warming yourself up, too.â
âHow long will it take?â Aden asked impatiently, closing his eyes.
Clarke leant over the palisade. Fuck the barriers; fuck custom. âAs long as it takes,â she reassured him, just like Lexa had reassured her once. She cupped Adenâs cheek. âGo.â
He left without another word, and Clarke tided up after him. She picked up the remnants of the stuff Aden had left behind, including his training sword, which heâd carved a clumsy âADENâ into the wooden blade. The other was unmarked, but its hilt was wrapped in the Commanderâs signature red sash. Clarke stood for a moment in the rain, seeing only black liquid seeping into her hands as she desperately hoped for the rain to wash it away, but it stayed, persistent like treacle. Reshop, Heda, sheâd told Lexa one night, and now she could not wait for Lexa to wake up.