99% traumatized dragonriders

Seeing as this was the first time you were practicing archery while such a strong wind was blowing, it was no surprise you were doing worse than usual, but that made it no less frustrating. Looking at your brothers’ targets to the left and right of yours made you feel worse. While their shots hadn’t been perfect either, none had missed entirely.

You kicked at the ground, slow to follow Bodhi, who jogged ahead to collect his arrows now that all three of you were done shooting.

“You know you can curse if you want, right?” Coming up at your side, Xaden gave you a gentle nudge with his elbow. He sounded amused. “C’mon, try it. You'll feel better.”

You glanced to where your dad and aunt were standing nearby, and shook your head. They appeared to be deep in conversation, but that was no guarantee that saying a bad word would go unnoticed.

Clamping your bow between your knees to free your hands, you signed, »I don't wanna get in trouble.«

Being in trouble wasn’t such a terrible thing now as it had been back when you lived with your birth-mother, who’d raged and grabbed you by the nape to shake you over the smallest of missteps, but you still couldn’t stand it. Just the thought of displeasing your parents made you feel like crying.

“You won’t get in trouble for swearing. We do it all the time, you know that! I mean, obviously there are some situations where swearing is inappropriate, but it’s perfectly fine right now. And even if you ever do it when you aren’t supposed to, it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

You barely held back a scoff. For Xaden, nothing was ever a big deal — or at least, so it seemed to you. In a lot of ways, he understood you better than anyone else ever had or would, but he had no idea what it was like to live with this constant feeling that something bad would happen if you let your guard down for even a moment. If he ever got scared at all, he hid it well. You could only dream of being as brave as him.

Since you didn’t want to tell him any of that, you merely shrugged and went searching for your arrows, frustration rising again as you saw just how far astray some of them had gone.

Xaden rolled his eyes, watching for a moment before collecting his own. When you took up position to shoot again, he put down his own bow, moving to stand behind you to provide guidance as you nocked another arrow.

Generally, you disliked it when people stood so close where you couldn’t see them. It made you uneasy not to know what someone was doing, whether they were about to touch you or perhaps mocking you. With your brother, however, you felt secure enough not to mind it.

“The wind is pushing your arrows to the left,” he repeated what Dad had told you a few minutes earlier, when you began this practice session, “so you need to aim farther to the right than where you want it to hit.”

“I know, but how much farther?”

Xaden reached around you, hands covering yours. It was nice — almost like a hug. Together, you pulled back the arrow, pointing it a little to the right of the target, instead of at its middle. That seemed a bit very far to you, but since your earlier attempts of aiming only slightly towards the right had still sent most of your arrows sailing past the left side of the target, you were perfectly willing to try it Xaden’s way. After all, he already knew more about archery than you did.

“And fire!” he whispered, taking away his hands to let you do so on your own.

The shot wasn’t great, landing just barely inside the outermost of the rings painted on the target, but it was a definite improvement.

“Ah, shit… too low,” Xaden grumbled, dissatisfied because that was technically his fault. “But I think you’ve got it now, hm?”

When you nodded, he watched you shoot one more arrow — this one hitting a hands width from the target’s right edge — and went back to his own practice.

You didn’t think of Xaden’s encouragement to cuss anymore until the next day, when, as you lost the boardgame you were playing with him, Bodhi, and Garrick, it became apparent that he had not forgotten about the conversation.

“Still don’t feel like swearing?” he coaxed, sounding both hopeful and teasing.

You shook your head.

“You sure? There aren’t any adults around, so you don’t need to worry about getting in trouble. You could just try how it feels, and if you don’t like it, I promise I’ll never ask again.”

It was tempting — with how much the boys loved to cuss, you couldn’t help be a little curious what it would be like to say all their favorite swear words yourself. You even got as far as opening your mouth, but nothing came out.

»I’ll try next time there is something to curse about,« you told your brother.

At his side, Garrick grinned. “So what you’re saying is that all we gotta do to get you cussing is defeat you again?”

Your brows drew together at the implication that his victory would be so easily repeated. “Well… I suppose. But you won’t!”

“No way in hell, huh?”

“No way!” you nodded.

Only when he made a sound of disappointment did you realize it had been an attempt to trick you — you often answered questions phrased that way by repeating them back as statements, but, unfortunately for Garrick, not always in their entirety. Calling him an asshole for the move would’ve been perfectly justified, you thought. Xaden certainly would have done so in your place.

The little clock on your dresser ticked once, twice; then, the moment had passed.

Next to you, Bodhi began setting the game pieces back onto their starting points. “Well, we’re three against one, so I’d say our chances of giving you a reason to cuss are pretty good,” he grinned.

You shrugged, raking your nails over the carpet.

It seemed like now that they’d gotten the idea of teaching you to cuss into their heads, the boys wouldn’t let it go that easily. Fine, then. You would do them the favor. You just had to wait for the right moment; then, the words would come. (Wouldn’t they?) Maybe if you won this round, you could cheer Fuck yeah! the way Garrick had done a few minutes earlier. That ought to satisfy them.

Mind made up, your mood brightened as you began to play again.

Only, the boys weren’t content to wait for you to win. Every time the game developed in a direction that was even slightly inconvenient for you, they threw you expectant looks across the board, mouthing their favorite curses as if you didn’t know them all by heart. Their behavior was almost more curse-worthy than the fact that it was starting to look like Bodhi would steal your victory.

“Come on,” Garrick pushed as Xaden moved his piece, putting you at even more of a disadvantage, “just say ‘fuck’. Or ‘shit’. How about ‘damn it’? C’moooon, do it for me!”

To them, this was as much a game as the one you were actually playing, you realized with mounting dismay, while for you, it was becoming less fun by the second. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to cuss; in fact, you very much did want to! You just… well, you weren’t sure why you couldn’t bring yourself to do actually do it.

Unable to explain what you did not yourself understand, you silently frowned down at the board, hands shoved beneath your legs.

You were going to do it; you were! When Bodhi won — because during his next turn, it became clear he most certainly would — you were simply going to add your voice to the slew of curses and lighthearted insults Xaden and Garrick would undoubtedly let out. Copying them would be easier than cursing all on your own.

You all took your turns moving your game pieces again, and sure enough, Bodhi ended his turn by snatching victory before you could have done so, since your turn would’ve come after his. He laughed as Xaden and Garrick cursed him, the three of them too distracted to notice you hadn’t joined in. That didn’t last long. Xaden’s gaze turned to you first, drawing the others’ attention as he quietened.

Bodhi nudged you. “So, I beat you after all.”

Yes. He did. And now, he was expecting you to say something about it — they all were. You’d told them you would curse once you got a good reason for it, and after passing up so many smaller opportunities, you really should take this one if you wanted to keep your word.

“Hey.” Xaden snapped his fingers to get your attention, offering a smile once he had it. “Wanna tell him to go fuck himself together?”

You nodded. Together was always good.

“Go fuck yourself, Bodhi,” Xaden said — alone.

»Sorry,« you signed, gaze firmly locked on the carpet so you wouldn’t have to see the boys’ disappointed faces.

“It’s okay, Berry-bug. You don’t have to cuss if you don’t want to.” Xaden’s voice was gentle, the way it got whenever you were upset. “But can you tell me why? They’re just words, and no one but us will hear them. What’s there to be scared of?”

You started to deny you were scared, or in any way upset, though you did not mind at all that he was using his gentle don’t-scare-Berry voice, then paused. Was it fear that prevented you from cursing?

…Well, maybe.

A memory tried to force itself to the front of your mind — one of those you vehemently avoided thinking of, from before the boys had taken you home, before you had learned what it meant to feel safe. So much time had passed since then, but you could still remember that earlier part of your life with terrible clarity, if you let yourself.

Scooting closer to Bodhi for comfort, you hugged your knees to your chest.

Yes, it was fear, alright. It was that same fear that stole your words so often, that made you start kicking and screaming if someone touched the back of your neck, that sent you hiding under tables or inside closets, and other such stupid embarrassing things you didn’t even want to do.

Bodhi put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you to lean against his side. “What is it, Berry?”

All three of the boys were alert now, having noticed the shift in your mood. Xaden and Garrick, who’d sat opposite you and Bodhi, moved around the game still spread on the floor to come to your side, eyes glued to your hands as they waited for an explanation.

»The one time I said something was—« You faltered, then, gathering your courage, forced your shaking hands to form the words that didn’t want to be formed. »That something was crap in front of her she got really mad.«

Bodhi’s arm tightened around you, someone made a sympathetic sound, but it all seemed very distant as the past swallowed you whole.

You’d been walking through the town you could barely remember now, on the way back to the small house you’d lived in, when the complaint had escaped your lips in a moment of thoughtlessness.

“…crap.”

What was it that you’d called crap? That part, you weren’t sure of. Something you’d eaten, maybe. Something you’d eaten, and it had tasted like crap, and because you were fooled by how calm and almost nice your mother had been all day, you’d said so out loud.

A second later, your bare knees hit the sun-heated cobblestone with enough force to take off a layer of skin, your mother’s fingers digging painfully into the soft skin below your ears. Her grip on the back of your neck felt like iron, impossible to escape. She pushed you down, doubled over until your nose was inches from a dog turd buzzing with flies.

“That is crap!” she screamed, giving you a shake for emphasis. “That is crap! Do you want to take that into your mouth? Do you?!”

A fly landed on your face. You wondered if it liked the taste of your tears more than that of the dog shit.

Then you blinked, and the fly was gone. So was your birth-mother. Instead, it was your brother’s hands cupping your face, his thumbs moving soothingly from side to side under your eyes, and there was soft carpet beneath you and your other brother’s body warm and solid at your side, and they were cooing at you, and Garrick was on his feet about to get your dad and—

“Shh, it’s okay. Everything’s alright, you’re safe. You’re okay.”

You surged forward into Xaden’s arms, choking on a sob of relief that sounded only slightly like his name.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. “I’ll keep you safe.”

You knew he would, so why were you still trembling? Why couldn’t you stop crying?

It was over! Only months after the dog turd incident, your birth-mother had taken you into the forest, abandoning you there for the boys to find. You had a new family now, one that actually loved you and never treated you the way she had. Nobody would ever treat you like that again; Dad had promised so, and Mom, too, and Xaden, and Bodhi, and even Garrick and his dad. All of them would protect you if your birth-mother somehow found out where you were, which she wouldn’t, because she wasn’t even looking for you, because she’d thrown you away like a broken toy. But if she did, your real family would keep you safe.

Xaden seemed to be thinking about the same thing. “She can’t get you here. I promise she’ll never lay hand on you again, Berry-baby. I won’t let her.”

Unable to voice, you nodded.

Safe in Xaden’s arms, with Bodhi rubbing your back and Garrick hovering nearby, you were slowly calming down. It had only been a memory, no more real than a dream or a story.

“I’m sorry we kept pushing you to curse,” Bodhi started when you’d stopped crying. Xaden and Garrick nodded, the former adding, “We won’t do it again. If I’d known it’s because of her… well, anyway, you don’t have to.”

You shook your head. You weren’t going to let the memory of your birth-mother keep you from cussing. Knowing it would never happen, you told yourself that if you ever did see her again, you would tell her to go fuck herself right to her face — even if she didn’t know sign language, a raised middle finger should be clear enough.

»Fuck her!«

Xaden beamed. “That’s the spirit! Good job!”

Your own hesitant smile grew with the relief that signing the words had been enough to make him proud. After the repeated urging to say this or that curse, you had been a little worried the boys would insist on you doing so out loud, even though you had no logical reason to think so. They never forced you to voice when you didn’t feel like it, and in fact treated your occasional inability to do so as totally natural. No one ever acted like there was anything abnormal about it — you only knew it wasn’t normal because you were the only one always switching between speech and sign language.

You still remembered how angry your birth-mother had gotten whenever you couldn’t speak to her, which in turn only made doing so even harder. She had never understood, had accused you of being silent on purpose. Before Xaden taught you about sign language, communication had been a nearly insurmountable obstacle, scary and painful. Before Xaden, you’d never had anyone you liked talking to.

“That’s our brave little Raspberry!” Bodhi cheered, and wrapped his arms around you from behind, lifting you up to twirl round and round with you until you were squealing with laughter. Setting you back down, he dropped a kiss to the top of your head.

Brave. Were you really? It didn’t feel like it, with the tears from your flashback still drying on your face. Still, being called so was nice, even if it probably was an exaggeration.

“How about we celebrate baby’s first curse with some hot chocolate?” Garrick suggested.

The stone floor of your room felt cold even through the thick rug that covered it as you padded to the window on bare feet. Though true winter had gone and taken all the snow with it, the temperatures had dropped to freezing once more these last few days, icy winds rattling the roofs and uprooting trees as if in a last rageful act of defiance against spring. It definitely wasn’t the kind of weather that invited one to go on an midnight excursion and throw pebbles at windows.

And yet, as you pulled aside the drapes, there he stood beneath your window — Xaden Riorson. It took only a glance to recognize him in the brightness of the moon, which peeked out between the clouds to gild his features with its silvery light.

Your heart stumbled, then resumed to beat at twice its regular pace. Part of you worried something terrible must have happened, because surely Xaden wouldn’t risk coming here without good reason. The rest of you knew better. His demeanor was far too relaxed for anything to be amiss — looking at him, you might’ve thought he was leisurely waiting for you in the market square as he did so often when you snuck out for dates, instead of breaking and entering your home at great peril.

You let yourself indulge in the sight of him for all of a second before worried frustration took over. He was bundled up in a heavy coat, but wore neither hat, nor scarf, nor even just a hood — nothing to keep him warm, nothing to hide his identity. That godsdamned, beautiful fool. If you could see him clearly enough to recognize him, then anyone else who happened to look out a window on this side of the building would be able to, as well. It was late, but that was no guarantee that your family and their staff were all asleep.

What in Amari’s name was he thinking?!

You threw open the window as quietly as you could in your rising panic. The cold wind raised goosebumps all over your body, curtains billowing like they were trying to wrestle you away from the window. You impatiently slapped them aside.

Xaden’s face lit up with a smile as he caught sight of you.

The ease with which you could make him smile, often with your mere presence, was something you were incredibly proud of, knowing there were very few people alive whom he allowed to see past the emotional walls he’d built. Even under the current circumstances, giddiness bubbled in your chest. You squashed it before it could bring an answering smile to your lips. This was not the time to act like a lovesick fool — not when Xaden was already acting foolish enough for both of you. Did he not realize what danger he was exposing himself to, or did he simply not care?

“What are you doing here?” you hissed into the darkness.

Xaden’s reply came accompanied by a lazy shrug. “Visiting you.”

Your indignation grew. He said it like it was not only obvious, but also the most natural thing in the world.

“Visiting me? Are you out of your godsdamned mind?! If my father sees you, he’ll fucking kill you!”

To your eternal frustration, your parents were so loyal to the King it bordered on fanaticism. You were strictly forbidden from interacting with the marked ones — the traitors’ children, as your parents preferred to call them — which was precisely what had driven you to seek out the pair of them fostered not far from your home, and befriend them. Never in a thousand years could you have guessed you would end up falling in love with one of them, and not just any of them, but the Great Betrayer’s son himself.

Xaden was entirely unlike what you’d been led to believe — neither hateful nor arrogant, and certainly not plotting the kingdom’s downfall like many in your parents’ social circle believed. He was smart, strong, handsome, and accordingly confident. Though he got morose and moody at times, he bore the scorn aimed at him because of his father’s failed rebellion with admirable dignity, never faltering under the burden of his responsibility for the other marked ones. His trust and affection were reserved for a select few, but those, he was fiercely protective of.

In the span of a few short months, you came to adore him more than life itself, though right now, you were sorely tempted to hurl your pillow at his smirking face as he said, “He’d have to catch me first.”

In a fair chase, Xaden would indeed stand a good chance of getting away. Unfortunately, the chase would most definitely not be fair, if an alarm were sounded about his intrusion.

“No, he doesn’t,” you retorted, already shivering in your sleepwear. You should’ve wrapped yourself in the comforter instead of leaving it on the bed. “He has guards to do that for him.”

Xaden waved your concern away, and you noted with relief that he’d at least had the sense to wear gloves. Still, you could see from here that he, too, was cold.

Guilt gnawed at you for keeping him standing out in the courtyard, entirely exposed to the bite of the wind, but encouraging him to come inside would have been madness. The doors were guarded, and while your window wasn’t situated particularly high above the ground, everything from the facade’s rough stone to the windowsill was slippery with frost, making it a difficult climb even for someone as athletic as Xaden, during which any sound he made would mean potential discovery. It was simply too great a risk.

“Damnit, Xaden, you have to leave! You know you can’t be here, and it’s too damn cold to stand there and argue with me. You’ll freeze.”

“If you’re so worried about that, maybe you should let me in.”

“No! Are even listening? Bad enough if you’re spotted outside, but if my parents catch you trying to get into my room they’ll have you executed for sure, and nothing I could say or do would stop them!”

Xaden scoffed, as if the risk of death were nothing more than a minor annoyance. “The only way I’ll get caught is if you keep shouting at me from the window.”

Cocky asshole. You almost wanted to slam the window shut on him, but knowing how obstinate he could be, that was likely to make matters worse: instead of leaving like a sensible person, he would just keep on standing there until he either froze into an ice sculpture, was caught and forcibly removed from the premise, or you caved and let him in.

After a few more seconds of contemplation, you did just that. Letting him inside was a risk, but continuing to argue with him would be an even greater one, he was right about that.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, fine! Get your stubborn ass in here before I change my mind.”

Xaden didn’t need to be told twice. Relief flashing over his face, he dashed forward, and you had to lean farther out to keep sight of him. Your heart pounded with fear as you watched him begin to climb. The hand- and footholds he found in the decorative stonework couldn’t be very secure. If he slipped, fell and hurt himself—

No, you couldn’t let yourself imagine it. Xaden would manage.

Stepping back from the window so he would have the space to pull himself inside when he reached it, you waited with bated breath for his head to appear in the opening. Seconds passed, feeling like hours. You didn’t hear a sound from Xaden, no matter how you strained your ears — the wind was too loud, or he too stealthy. On the bright side, that meant nobody else would hear him, either, but the silence unnerved you, as it left you no way to track his progress, no proof that he was still there. Would you even hear if he fell?

On the verge of worrying yourself into a panic attack, you jumped when a gloved hand gripped the window frame. The rest of Xaden followed. Thank gods.

Twisting through the opening and dropping to the floor was a matter of seconds, the quiet scrape of his boots on the stone floor the only sound he made during the whole process, and you had to admit to yourself that he hadn’t been exaggerating when he insisted he wouldn’t get caught through any fault of his own. Equally silently, he closed the window behind him, shutting out the cold and muffling the sound of the raging wind.

Then, he stood in front of you, murmuring a quiet, “Hi, love.”

“Don’t you hi love me,” you snapped in a whisper, heart still racing as you pointed your finger in his face. “I’m mad at you.”

“For wanting to see you?”

“For putting your life at stake to do so!”

Xaden only looked at you — not apologetic in the slightest, but with so much love in his eyes you couldn’t help but mellow. Pushing back his windblown hair, you kissed his forehead. His skin was icy.

“Let’s get you warmed up,” you softly commanded. Everything else was secondary.

Already peeling off his gloves, Xaden nodded. “Yeah. Get back in bed,” he said, pecking your lips. “I’ll join you in a second.”

You shook your head, reaching instead to unbutton his coat. After so long in the cold, his fingers would be so stiff it’d make it difficult to do it himself. “I’m not the one who went strolling through a windstorm.”

“No, but you’re the one only wearing pajamas. You’re barefoot, for fucks sake.”

He had you there. When you rose, you hadn’t dressed for spending minutes at the open window, an oversight you were now feeling the consequences of, though you tried your best not to let it show.

Xaden was frowning down at your feet like he was about to reverse the roles and scold you. Before he could start, you said, “Then you better cooperate, so we can both be warm and cozy as soon as possible.”

“Fine.” He stuffed his gloves into the coat’s pocket. As you finished unbuttoning the garment and reached up to push it down his shoulders, he caught your wrists and pressed a kiss to each hand. “Thanks.”

He had a natural talent for making it impossible to stay mad at him, you mused, draping his coat over the nearby desk chair before squatting to unlace his boots. You guided his feet out of them and to the floor, relieved to find them considerably warmer than your own, and neatly set the boots side by side below the window. Xaden pulled you upright with a kiss to the top of your head. Lacing hands, you quickly led him to the bed — on the cold floor, his feet wouldn’t stay warm for long, even if he was wearing thick socks.

You made a mental note to check for dirt and footprints around the window in the morning. Nobody would be able to guess the identity of your nightly visitor based on that alone, but the fact that he’d evidently snuck through the window would tell them enough to get you in serious trouble. Your parents didn’t care how or where you spent your free time; all that mattered to them was that you were home when they wanted you to be, stayed out of their way when they didn’t want you there, and never ever talked back or questioned their opinions. If you gave them reason to suspect you of keeping company they wouldn’t approve of, you could wave your freedom goodbye.

For now, you were safe enough, though. While you didn’t have a key to lock your room’s door with, nothing short of a fire would bring any of the estate’s other occupants to your chambers in the middle of the night, so long as you kept quiet.

Reaching the bed, you pushed Xaden to lie down first, grabbed the comforter, threw it around your shoulders like a cape, and settled on top of him. It took some squirming to make sure the comforter actually covered both of you from neck to toes, but a minute of shared effort later, you were comfortably snuggled up and already starting to feel warmer.

“Good?” you whispered.

“Perfect,” Xaden whispered back, kissing your cheek, then the other, and finally, your mouth.

For a while, you silently basked in each other’s presence, no sounds to be heard but the wind outside and your quiet breaths. Xaden’s toned body was soft and pliant beneath you, eyelids drooping as you played with his hair.

“You have to admit that coming here was a great idea,” he mumbled eventually.

“If we ignore the risk involved in sneaking onto the property, yes. Though I wish you’d picked a warmer night.”

“Ah, but then you wouldn’t have had any reason to act as my heated blanket.”

You huffed a laugh. You didn’t need the excuse of being cold to seek physical contact, and you both knew it.

After a moment, you asked, “Won’t you be in trouble with Duke Lindell if he notices you snuck out?”

Xaden shook his head. “Liam will cover for me if need be.”

“Xaden!” you scolded. “Don’t drag the poor guy into your escapades!”

“Relax. No one will notice I was ever here; not Lindell or Lewellen, and not your parents either. I’ll be gone before sunrise, I promise.”

“Alright.” You sighed. “I’m sorry we have to sneak around like this.”

It was an apology you’d made many times before, and as always, Xaden shook his head at it. “It’s not your fault your parents hate me.”

“It’s not your fault, either. I wish they weren’t so… so bigoted. You deserve better.”

Better than someone who could only meet him in secret, who let him stand out in the cold after he came all this way in such horrible weather, who didn’t dare say a word in his defense when his name was dragged through the dirt at social functions because the consequences of speaking up would be too dire.

“Nothing could be better than being here with you,” Xaden insisted, arms tightening around you. “And if I have to face a bit of wind and sneak past your parent’s guards to get that, then it only makes the reward even sweeter. They won’t control your life forever. One day, we’ll be able to see each other whenever we want, and until then, I’ll just keep climbing through your window. I don’t mind.”

“You’re such a sap,” you huffed, but it was exactly what you’d needed to hear.

“Maybe, but I’m your sap.”

For the hundredth time, he wished he’d stayed home with her like she’d wanted him to, instead of attending the banquet the family had been invited to two days past. It would have spared him a lot of suffering.

Pursing her lips, she sat the tea down on his bedside table. “Later, then. You know Tony said it’s important you stay hydrated.”

Xaden nodded. It was hard to forget, seeing as she reminded him of the healer’s instructions almost hourly, determined to ensure he and Bodhi followed them to a T.

His cousin was currently asleep beside him, curled in on himself so he looked child-like and miserable. Their parents had wordlessly accepted that the boys had holed up in Xaden’s room together — it made it easier for them, too, being able to check on both of them at once. They’d been more reluctant to allow Xaden’s sister to tend to them, but after Tony had assured Dad that the food poisoning they’d diagnosed the family with was in no way contagious, he had finally given her permission to assist the healer. Better to keep her occupied this way, Xaden had heard him murmur to Bodhi’s mom, than to leave her entirely to her own devices. Neither of them was feeling well enough to really look after the nine-year-old.

So far, the arrangement was working out great.

She made a very dedicated nurse, if a little squeamish. Xaden could hardly fault her for that; had the roles been reversed, he wouldn’t have wanted to see her puke, either. Tony even entrusted her with making sure the boys took their medicine morning and evening, which she was so visibly proud of that Xaden had to smile each time she shoved the measuring spoon full of bright teal liquid into his mouth, despite the disgusting taste of it.

If Dad had let her, she probably would’ve slept curled up at the foot end of Xaden’s bed as well, in case he or Bodhi needed anything during the night. While Xaden would have never said so out loud, he had to admit Dad’s strict refusal on that front turned out to be justified — they both struggled to stay asleep for more than an hour at a time, jerked awake over and over by nausea, cramps, and bouts of vomiting. Having each other there throughout the night was a comfort, but also inconvenient because they kept waking each other as well as themselves. Their sister wouldn’t have been able to get a wink of sleep if she shared the bed with them.

Xaden sunk back into the pillows, eyes closing as she carded her fingers through his unwashed hair. Maybe he could nap a little, too. He was fatigued enough that he thought he might be able to fall asleep in spite of the way his stomach was currently aching.

He didn’t get the chance to try.

Bodhi woke with a start; rolling out of bed, he ran to the bathroom without a word. Xaden, now wide awake again, noted with concern that he was slightly unsteady on his feet. Two days of essentially no nutrition, since their stomachs were quick to eject anything they tried to consume, were taking their toll on both of them.

Their little nurse sighed. “I’m going to make more tea.”

If he was honest, Xaden was growing tired of the constant taste of herbs in his mouth (when he wasn’t currently throwing up, that was — though even then, he could still sometimes taste the tea in his puke), but he knew she needed something to do, to make her feel like she was helping, so he nodded. “Good idea. Why don’t you bring some to Dad and Bodhi’s mom, too, while you’re at it? I doubt Bodhs will be able to get down more than the half cup we still have, so you can take your time.”

Humming in agreement, she collected the empty teapot and left.

Thus left alone with nothing to help him tune out the pitiful sounds from the bathroom, Xaden clutched his hot water bottle to his stomach and tried to distract himself by speculating about whether the banquet’s hosts had fallen ill as well. Made spiteful by his suffering, he very much hoped so.

Lesser nobles located only a few hours’ ride from Aretia, they had invited what seemed to Xaden like all of Tyrrendor’s aristocracy, plus a bunch of people from other provinces, to celebrate the hundredth birthday of their current head-of-the-family’s retired mother. Xaden had never met the old lady before, but according to his father, she’d been rather influential in her prime, even working closely with his own grandparents on some occasions — which, he supposed, explained why they had to attend the celebration despite not having much to do with the family in current days.

It had been a terribly boring affair, in Xaden’s humble opinion, made bearable only by having Bodhi and Garrick by his side to quietly joke around with. The best part had been the huge buffet, offering so many different foods it was simply impossible for one person to try them all. There was only one thing all guests had eaten, served at the end of the evening: the fruit cake.

In the long, boring hours of lying here and trying to calm their stomachs through sheer force of will, Xaden and Bodhi had puzzled out that said cake must’ve been the root of their illness, since it was the only thing all three boys as well as their parents had eaten, and Tony was absolutely certain that what they were suffering from was food poisoning.

Xaden wished he had a spurned the cake — fool that he was, he’d told himself fruit cake was better than no cake, that it would be rude not to at least try it, even if personally, he would’ve preferred a chocolate one.

The consequences hadn’t taken very long to manifest. Bodhi was the first to feel them: on the way home, already within view of the fortress, he suddenly threw up. Xaden felt a little nauseous himself as they hurried the rest of the way home. He tried to convince himself it was only the sight of Bodhi being sick that had made him queasy, but as he went to tell his sister — who’d been allowed to stay up late to await their return — that they were back, he’d had to shove free of her hug and sprint into her bathroom, making it just in time to vomit into the toilet instead of all over the floor.

The adults, by then feeling sick themselves as well, had summoned the family’s healer. Unfortunately, there was only so much Tony could do. Once they had determined the cause of their illness, they gave the lot of them medicine to ease the worst of their symptoms, as well as instructions to get as much rest as possible while their bodies worked to get rid of the bad food and any bacteria or toxins it may have left behind in their stomachs. The vomiting was the body’s defense reaction, they explained — very unpleasant, but also very effective.

In other words: they had no choice but to deal with it.

The Riorsons retreated to their respective rooms; Garrick and his dad went home to recover in their own four walls.

Thinking of his best friend now, Xaden couldn’t help but feel a little smug that he, unlike Garrick, at least had the advantage of a little sister to fuss over him. On the other hand, Garrick probably wasn’t being pressured to drink litre after litre of herbal tea. Berry insisted the herbs’ healing qualities would help the boys get better quicker. Xaden could neither confirm nor disprove that claim; all he knew for sure was that his sister’s care made it easier to endure the ordeal of being ill, even if she couldn’t actually take away the discomfort.

Bodhi came back to bed, pallid and shaky. Xaden handed him his half-drunk cup of tea, which he gratefully drained in small, careful sips.

“Do you want my hot water bottle?” Xaden offered.

His cousin shook his head. “You need it more than me.”

That was probably true. Bodhi was throwing up more frequently than Xaden, but said his stomach barely hurt at all, unlike Xaden’s, which cramped, ached, and churned almost non-stop. He wasn’t sure which of them had it worse.

They didn’t speak any more, too miserable to make idle conversation.

Their little nurse remained gone longer than Xaden had expected. If he had known she would actually listen, he wouldn’t have suggested she take her time getting more tea. The silence felt unnatural and heavy without her there.

When she finally returned, she was frowning. “Dad is doing paperwork even though Tony told him to rest!” she tattled.

Xaden wasn’t surprised. The province didn’t run itself; as its Duke, their father couldn’t just take a week off because he had food poisoning.

“I’m sure he isn’t doing more than he can safely manage,” he tried to reassure her. “It’s not like he’s running around attending meetings, is he?”

“Well, no. He’s sitting in bed with a stack of papers this high.” She held one hand in front of her at hip height, the other as high above her head as she could reach, indicating the (most definitely exaggerated) size of the paperwork mountain. “And he said he’s taking lots of breaks — I guess so he doesn’t throw up on anything important — but I don’t understand why he would want to work at all when he’s still feeling bad!”

“Probably because there’s going to be three or four such stacks of work waiting for him by the time he’s better if he does nothing now,” Xaden shrugged.

She plopped down beside him with a huff, reaching for the teapot she had set down on the bedside table to pour two steaming cups of tea.

“Don’t forget to stay hydrated yourself, too,” Bodhi reminded her — a good point, as Xaden now realized he hadn’t seen her drink anything at all today.

“I am! I just had a glass of water while I waited for your tea to steep!”

“Good,” Bodhi praised.

The sulky look on her face evaporated, replaced by thoughtful consideration as she scanned the boys and their immediate surroundings for anything else she could do for them. Her gaze snagged on Xaden, or rather, on the item on his stomach. “Is your hot water bottle still warm enough?”

Xaden nodded. “Mhm, and my stomach doesn’t hurt as bad now, anyway.”

His sister beamed. “See? I knew the tea would help!”

Xaden didn’t know what had brought about the improvement — the ungodly amounts of tea she made him drink, the hot water bottle, or simple luck — and frankly, he didn’t care. He was just glad for the respite, which likely would not last long. The pain and nausea fluctuated in intensity, but Tony had said it would take several more days for the symptoms to fully abate, and even then, the cake’s victims would need to keep to a mild diet to begin with, since their stomachs would still be easily upset.

“Bodhi?”

“I’m okay for now,” he replied, reaching over to pat her head. “Honestly, the worst part is how raw my throat feels from all the puking.”

“I could get some honey to put in your tea… I just don’t know if your stomach will like that.”

“My stomach doesn’t like anything right now,” Bodhi scoffed, then shrugged. “Fuck it. Honey would be great.”

She was on her feet in an instant, bounding down the hall to fetch it for Bodhi.

“You’re going to regret that,” Xaden predicted.

“Ehh, it can’t get much worse than it is. Might as well make sure my tea tastes good, if I’m going to have to taste it twice.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

“You don’t say.”

Xaden rolled his eyes and took a sip of his tea. Disgusting or not, there was a certain logic to Bodhi’s reasoning. Xaden would just have to hope that when their cups inevitably got mixed up again, his stomach wouldn’t begrudge him the honey too badly.

Their sister returned with the honey, Bodhi plopped a big spoonful into his tea, and Xaden dozed off.

When he woke, he was pleasantly surprised to find he’d managed to sleep for almost two hours without being bothered by his stomach. The pain was back, but still bearable, as was the nausea. He sat up slowly, not wanting to test his luck with any sudden movements. It would be amazing if he could make it through the rest of the day without another round of vomiting.

His sister looked up from the book she’d been quietly reading to Bodhi, curled against his side in the small space between them.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said. “It’s almost time to take your medicine so it can take effect before we try if you can keep down dinner today. Do you need anything first?” She didn't give him time to reply, so eager to be helpful it was backfiring. “Hot water bottle? Tea? You don’t have to throw up, do you?”

Xaden let the flood of questions wash over him, glad she was feeling so talkative.

“A hot water bottle would be nice,” he admitted when, falling silent, she gave him an expectant look.

“Coming right up!”

After she returned with the requested item, she gave them their medicine; then, the three of them curled up together, and she read to them to pass the time until dinner. The book was one of those adventure stories she favored, the sort where the good guy was obnoxiously kind and always managed to escape seemingly certain death at the last minute to bring down his evil foes. She had a few dozen of them on her shelves, and although Xaden wasn’t familiar with this particular one, it was easy to follow the plot despite having missed a few chapters while he napped — at their core, they were all the same.

With the hero securely tied up in the middle of his enemies’ camp while they discussed whether to kill him right away or use him as bait to capture his comrades as well, the book snapped shut, and their little nurse announced, “I’ll go make you some broth now.”

So she did, returning with the two bowls swifter than Xaden would’ve liked. Though uncomfortably aware of how empty his stomach was, he didn’t have much appetite, and dreaded the possibility that the food, plain and liquid as it was, would make him throw up again. Bodhi appeared similarly unenthusiastic as he accepted his bowl.

“Thanks, Berry,” he muttered, then, clearly stalling, “Did you make anything for yourself yet?”

When she shook her head, Xaden tutted, taking his own bowl and spoon from her and waving her towards the door with the latter. “Go on then. Just because we can’t have proper food is no reason you shouldn’t eat properly either. If you want to take care of us, you need to take care of yourself first.”

His sister pulled a face. “‘s not that I don’t want to have dinner, I just dunno what to have!”

Ah. Xaden should’ve guessed. It was always the same old problem with her. Now that he thought about it, he was surprised at how well she’d been doing in the decision-making department over the past days, presumably too preoccupied with worrying about the food poisoning to overthink anything else. She was unusually assertive when it came to making them drink their tea, broth, and medicine, probably due to being backed by Tony’s instructions.

“Just slap together a sandwich,” Bodhi suggested.

Xaden, dredging up the energy for what he hoped was an encouraging grin, added, “You could even make a sweet one, with aaaalll the chocolate spread you want. Nobody will know.”

She had even more of a sweet tooth than Xaden himself, and tended to use too much of everything: too much butter on too little bread, topped by too much chocolate spread, too much jam, too much honey; too much cocoa powder in her chocolate milk and too much sugar in her tea. The sweeter the better, as far as she was concerned, though savory toppings received similar treatment. She simply wasn’t any good at judging what the right amount would be without help. In any case, Xaden figured she deserved a sweet treat for how hard she worked to look after them.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Xaden affirmed, and Bodhi also nodded.

“Okay... Then I’ll go make a choccy sandwich now. Just call for me if you need anything.”

Xaden and Bodhi nodded obediently, even though they most definitely wouldn’t call for her. They had their own sad dinner, they had plenty of tea, they had a bucket and towels in case they didn’t make it to the bathroom before throwing up; there was nothing else they could possibly need that she would be able to provide, and even if there had been: she deserved to eat in peace.

Since she left the door open, Xaden saw her head in the direction of her own room first, then come past again a moment later on her way to the kitchen with her favorite teddy for company.

For a moment, he considered using the chance to sneak into the bathroom and pour the broth down the drain while she was gone. He thought better of it when his eyes met Bodhi’s. If he didn’t eat, his cousin wouldn’t, either, and Xaden didn’t want to be responsible for that. They had to keep their strength up.

As soon as that first drop hits the mat where you’ve doubled over after taking your opponent’s knee to the face, you know it’s over. That one little drop of red is all it takes to destroy any chance you had of winning this challenge.

The wave of nausea and lightheadedness is instant. You squeeze your eyes shut, but it’s useless; you can still feel more blood trickling down your face. You swallow. The taste of it is in your mouth, too. Fuck. You’re going to throw up.

“I yield,” you croak.

Without waiting for a response, you push to your feet and rush for the gym’s exit, careful to keep your eyes averted from the blood on the mat. By the time you reach the restroom, the bleeding has already stopped. It should’ve been a relief; instead, it makes you question whether the gods are deliberately mocking you.

Your hands shake as you bend over the sink and cup water in them to wash away the drying blood and rinse your mouth. Only once you’re certain all traces of red are gone do you raise your head. Meeting your own exhausted eyes in the mirror, you carefully dab your face dry with a paper towel.

There isn’t much to be seen of your injury — some minor swelling on the side of your nose that took the brunt of the attack, barely noticable. The cold water probably helped.

You try not to imagine what your squad mates will think, but the words they’ve thrown at you before echo in your mind, anyway. Wuss. Coward. Pathetic. And of course, they expected nothing else right from the start. Marked as a traitor, you’re destined to be a failure in their eyes.

True enough, you wouldn’t be here making such a fool of yourself if you hadn’t been forced into conscription as punishment for your parents’ sins against the kingdom. Sometimes, you wonder if it wouldn’t have been preferable if you’d never been offered this path to survival, if instead, you’d been put to death along with your parents. It’s a selfish thought, you know. Although not all marked ones will make it out of Basgiath alive, it at least is a fair chance for most of the others.

In regards to your own chances, you’ve been sceptical all along, and with every day of training and lessons that goes by, your pessimism grows. Though both your parents had been prodigious officers, and you’d always been proud of and admired them for it, becoming a soldier was not what you had imagined for yourself in life. It’s the bloodshed that bothers you most, but not only the bloodshed — you’re terrified to think that someday soon, it will be your duty to defend Navarre’s innocent citizens from those who would bring them harm, given you survive long enough to actually become a rider, and the brutal violence permeating the Quadrant threatens to suffocate you every day, more excessive than you could’ve ever imagined. The need for constant vigilance grates on you, the pressure to always be prepared for a fight… or a knife in the back. The longer you are here, the more painfully obvious it becomes that you aren’t made for this kind of life.

Even if you last until Threshing somehow — will any of the dragons be willing to take a rider unable to stomach the sight of blood? From everything you’ve been told about the creatures, they don’t seem like they’d be particularly understanding of such a weakness, though you suppose they must each have their own personal opinions and priorities just like humans, making it just barely possible, if unlikely, that there might be one who wouldn’t mind.

You sigh, throwing the paper towel into the trash with more force than necessary. It’s no use dwelling on these thoughts. You can only continue to try your best, inadequade as it might be, and if you die, you die.

When you exit the restroom, your section’s executive officer is leaning against the wall opposite the door, clearly waiting for you. The hallway is otherwise deserted, everyone else still in the gym from where shouts, clangs of metal, and the sound of flesh hitting flesh ring out as challenges continue.

You stop short, blurting, “Am I in trouble?”

It’s the only explanation you can think of for Bodhi’s presence. You’re not aware of any rules that prohibit cadets from leaving the gym during challenges, nor from yielding without being pinned or seriously injured, but even if not outright wrong, your behavior had certainly been unusual. Maybe your section leader decided you were making Tail Section look bad, though why he sent his XO and not your squad leader to scold you is beyond you.

Bodhi looks taken aback by your assumption, though, inquisitively cocking his head to the side. “You tell me. It looked like you were doing fine, and then you just yielded for seemingly no reason. I thought maybe that knee to the face did more damage than it looked like, but you seem okay now, so…” He shrugs. “I’m just curious, I guess.”

“It was the nosebleed,” you admit. “I— I don’t do well with blood, even when there’s just a little.”

You don’t know why you’re telling him this. You’re only acquainted in the fleeting way all marked ones are, and due to you being his subordinate — this is the first time you’ve spoken to each other one-on-one. Yet somehow, you’re comfortable around him. Maybe it’s the relief of not being in trouble after all.

In any case, the words are out now. Hearing them is strangely freeing; the last time you were open about your aversion to blood, your parents were still alive. An eternity ago, it feels like.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

You frown. It hadn’t occurred to you to bother telling any of your superiors of your problem — what for, when it would only make you look weak, and at worst would cause word to spread so anyone might use the fact against you? But a second later, you realize that’s not what Bodhi means: he’s hinting at the secret meeting his cousin had held a few weeks ago.

You suppose you could have safely said something then, seeing as the whole point of that gathering had been for those marked first-years that were struggling to get help from the second- and third-years. No child of the rebellion would exploit the weakness of another — in theory, at least.

“I dunno,” you answer truthfully. “I guess I just didn’t see the point. I spent years trying to desensitize myself to the sight of blood in preparation for the quadrant — unsuccessfully, as you just saw. It’s nothing anyone can help me with, and… well, Riorson was very clear about not wanting us to waste his time with problems he can’t solve, so…”

You trail off with a shrug, unsure how to explain that you’ve long accepted that you’ll most likely die on one of those challenge mats, or be incinerated at Presentation if the dragons somehow sniff out your weakness.

“So just because you have a phobia of blood you can’t get rid of, you’ve decided asking for support is pointless? You’re just giving up?”

“What else am I meant to do? I can’t change that aspect of myself, and neither can anyone else.”

“No, but you can find ways around it. A fight needn’t always be bloody. Just because challenges are commonly fought with daggers doesn’t mean that’s what you have to use. With the right techniques, you can defeat or even kill someone without spilling a single drop of blood.”

He’s right, and that’s exactly what you’ve been trying to do, using a dagger only to block your opponent’s own and attacking with your bare hands. The problem? You never managed to win that way.

“Easier said than done,” you sigh. “All I’ve been taught is some super basic hand-to-hand, plus swords and daggers. I can’t win without using blades, and I’m not even good enough with those to get an opponent to yield without cutting them. And it only takes one unfortunate hit that makes me bleed to force me to yield instead.”

During your very first challenge, your knuckles had started bleeding after you got in a good punch, and you’d had to give up to wrap your hand lest you pass out in front of everyone.

“And that is where asking for help comes in.” Bodhi softens the reprimand with a small smile. In a graver tone, he continues, “Assuming you would like an alternative to accepting your doom as unavoidable, I’ll be happy to train with you.”

Your gaze snaps up to meet his. “You’d really do that?”

“I wouldn’t have offered it otherwise.”

“Right. Of course.” You shake your head, chuckling a little embarrassedly. “Sorry, I’m just not used to anyone in this place being nice to me.”

“I get it. The first few months are the worst, with all the first-years who’ve never been around marked ones before and assume the worst of us, and everyone so competitive about Threshing. Most of them will come around in time, you’ll see. Now, about that extra training: how does tomorrow after dinner sound for the first session?”