Tye was going to kill Klarissa, he decided as he watched Lera sob in pain. He was going to tear the whole damn world apart for making him do this to Lera. For putting the lives and safety of others beneath his care. For making him re-taste a world he’d shut the door on centuries ago.

“Focus on your body; the magic will come later,” Tye said, feeling the stream of power she radiated twitch and retreat beneath the strain. It was amazing, truly, to sense her echoing his own power, the feeling of it as palpable to him as his own. The key difference being that Tye enjoyed pushing his body to its limits. “Let your muscles yield to the pressure.”

The lass was shaking now, thinking herself at a limit that she was still far from. The hitched sobs escaping her throat seared right into Tye’s soul.

Tye felt Klarissa’s eyes burning into his shoulders. Especially with Elidyr here, the elders would know if he let Lera off easy—and the retribution would not be pleasant. Klarissa had made that point clear enough.

And the day was already bad enough without that. The mere sight of the familiar equipment, the soft grunts of athletes, the smell of the chalk he’d used to help keep his grip on the bar, flooded Tye with memories he’d worked hard to push away. Made his body thirst for more, even if that more was poisoned.

“Tye, stop.” Lera’s words escaped between desperate pants. Her beautiful fiery brown hair was in wild disarray, some tendrils plastered to her face with sweat. Her creamy skin was blotchy with exertion. The magic was slipping away from her, but her muscles couldn’t escape Tye’s pressure.

“Easy, lass. Take a breath.” He tried to make his voice soothing, the only comfort he had to offer her as, instead of doing as she asked, he pulled her arms further toward him. “It’s better if you breathe.”

He doubted she could hear him just now, likely busy as she was planning his demise. The worst part of this damn morning was that it was working. Lera’s supple curves responded beautifully to his demands, her magic and muscles yielding better than anyone he’d ever worked with. Not that she’d think so.

Lera sobbed silently, her back arching in a fruitless attempt to escape the burning agony. Her body begged for a reprieve, but although Tye could see the words forming and reforming on her lips, they never came. Not because Lera trusted the exercise, but because she no longer trusted him. She’d asked once. She knew that he knew her request—and was ignoring it.

Tye’s jaw tightened. No one sane ever coached a lover, and this was why. Another minute, Tye decided, and then he’d let her rest while he ran the others through the earlier target exercise. At least two of the remaining seven fae had a chance of passing it.

They didn’t pass, though one—the tall second-trial named Yalis—came close on his second try. Yalis now studied the course for a third attempt, a spark of intrigue flashing in his eyes. The trainee was starting to feel the point of it, no longer trying to brute-force the throws and focusing on precision instead.

At least Tye didn’t have to punish anyone else the way he’d punished Blayne—there was little need to repeat that point—but all the trainees wore a few burns to show for the attempts. Stars. This was like herding cats. Cats with candles tied to their tails while running through straw.

“I wager that your brute of a trainer would have left you wearing those burns the whole practice, just to deter sloppiness,” Elidyr said, coming up to stand beside Tye as he watched Klarissa tend to the latest burn victim—this one having scorched his own thigh.

Tye crossed his arms, his jaw tight. “I was in that training arena by choice. None of them are.”

“The quint magic chose them.” Elidyr’s voice hardened. “Just as it chose you. You are not doing anyone any favors by pretending that fighting the qoru is all stolen wine and dandelions.”

“Why are you doing this?” Tye asked, without turning his head. “And don’t start on the virtues of flex for a warrior, Eli. These are beginners; the specific magic affinity matters less than basic strength and flexibility at this stage. You could teach this class with your eyes closed—you little need me. Or did you think I’d enjoy this for old times’ sake?”

“I’d say your probable lack of enjoyment was more of an inspiration than a deterrent.” Elidyr plucked a blade of hay from his pocket and chewed on the end. “Klarissa wished to remind your quint commander that his choices have consequences. I steer clear of that relationship, but I agree that the weaver needs to be pushed—and your more enjoyable methods are likely to lead to a different type of exercise.”

Tye snorted in spite of himself.

Elidyr glanced over at him, dropping his voice. “I also had a personal reason for wanting you on a flex field.” Taking the blade of hay from his mouth, he turned the dried grass between his thumb and forefinger. “One night, you are Lunos’s presumptive champion, readying for Realm finals; you are a legend we whisper about in changing rooms. And by morning, you are in a prison cell, too drunk to stand, much less compete. I want to know why.”

“Because I like wine.” A chill slipped through Tye, icy dread crackling along his skin until his flesh stung from it. Trust the flex network to find a way to slice him even now, more than three hundred years later. Fine. Shoving Elidyr’s words into the same dark place in his mind where the rest of his memories of that time lived, Tye turned his back to the elder and found somewhere else to be. Not a difficult feat in an arena full of beginners trying to kill themselves. By the time Tye had corrected one trainee’s form and disciplined another for not watching where his flame snapped, Elidyr had moved away.

At least Klarissa had bowed to Tye’s insistence that Lera’s training stay contained to flexibility and strength today. Tye suspected that the only reason the lass had stopped crying halfway through the morning was that her tears had simply run out. By the time the midday bell sounded, he was as ready as the trainees to get the hell out.

Standing back, Tye watched the others file out of the arena, Lera trudging painfully beside Blayne. Stopping at the rungs in the stone, Lera stared at them as if regarding a guillotine. A moment later, Blayne—Blayne!—nodded to her in companionable commiseration.

Fire seared everything inside Tye, the world roaring around him. With long strides, he crossed the arena. One glare at Blayne sent the male scampering up the ladder rungs with a reserve of strength that likely surprised Blayne himself. Good.

Lera turned, exhaustion twisting every muscle of her body. Even her normally gleaming auburn hair looked tired, escaping her ponytail in errant dull-red tufts. A small cut on her palm had a drop of dried blood on it—from where her nails had dug in during a particularly demanding drill.

“Is there something wrong?” Lera asked, her voice wary.

“Everything is wrong.” Tye reached for her, little caring what the other trainees thought of it. What Elidyr and Klarissa thought. No, that wasn’t true. He did care. He wanted them to know damn well that Lilac Girl was his and that anyone who stood in his way would burn to ash.

Slipping one arm behind Lera’s shoulders and the other beneath her knees, Tye lifted the small female to his chest, her body a soothing, perfect warmth against his. He stepped away from the ladder so others could pass them, and soon they were alone in the arena. Lera’s lilac scent filled his nose, even more potent than before. So potent, in fact, that for a heartbeat all Tye could do was stand there, breathing her in and feeling the tired heat from her body spread through his flesh, which woke in more ways than one now that they were close.

Lera frowned, the lines of ache and fatigue somehow making her face even more beautiful. Vulnerable too. And brave. And utterly displeased with him. “What are you doing?”

“I was going to help you up,” Tye said, quickly recalculating his plan to rest his cheek atop Lera’s head. “You don’t have to climb.” It was admittedly a small boon to offer her after hours of misery, but Tye had few options just now.

“No.” Lera’s voice had a bite. “Set me down.”

Tye obeyed, his chest tightening as he set the girl on her feet and watched her step toward the wall. He would kill Klarissa the moment he got a chance. For now, however, it was time for damage control. “I’m sorry I did that to you, lass,” he said, wondering if he should keep standing or kneel beside her. Picking up the female again was clearly not yet in the cards. “I had little choice in the matter, if that helps.”

Ignoring the ladder, Lera slid down to the sand, her back braced against the stone. Her hands curled into fists. “Liar.”

“What?” Tye rocked back in surprise. “How—”

Lera’s eyes flashed. “You are the one who wouldn’t let me do anything, Tye.” The words snapped like a whip. “You. Not Elidyr. Not even Klarissa. That bloody female was more on my side than you were.”