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I'll be posting my story here as well!  If you're interested in it, please feel free to follow my other account: ManuWrites
Thank you if you take the time to read it!

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All Chapters HERE.

CHAPTER 44: TRAINING

                When Malia was done cracking all the stones Kadem had thrown her way, an appetizing smell called her back into the witch’s tree. She was thrilled to find Bayard preparing dinner instead of the silver woman; Malia’s exhaustion wouldn’t have allowed her to endure the atrocious cooking.
                “Do you need help?” the princess asked when she entered, silently praying for Bayard to refuse her offer. In truth she could barely stand, and her incompetence in the kitchen was more likely to obstruct her friend’s work than to expedite it.
                “Don’t worry.” He replied as if he could read her mind, “I’m almost done. You can rest.”
                Malia sat gratefully at the table, resting her head on its surface. “Wasn’t Aldous with you?”
                Bayard gave the vegetables he was frying a stir, “He’s recovering while I make supper. He was very tired.”
                Malia made a vague sound of approval, but something didn’t sit quite well with her. Aldous was relentlessly energetic; even though he was prone to complaining, he was also tireless. He would often take longer night watches than the rest when they travelled, and he slept deeply but briefly. It was rare to see Bayard still up and about if Aldous was supposedly so drained as to need recovering. “…Did you guys train together?”
                “Partially.” Bayard switched pans and checked the rabbit meat he was stewing, “Kadem instructed us on magic theory together, but she separated us for practical training. She explained she would alter Aldous’ perception of time to help him overcome his physical loss faster.”
                “What?!” Malia raised her head in alarm, the sudden motion dazing her momentarily, “You should never play with someone’s senses like that!”
                “I’m well aware of the danger.” Kadem stepped out of Gabrielle’s chamber, “But it would be even more dangerous to send a cripple into battle. You still don’t trust my judgment, Plum? Do you think I would put that boy through this without any regard for his safety?”
                “…No.” Malia sat back down, “But I can still worry. Knowing about the risks doesn’t mean nothing bad will happen…”
                “For once you have a point.” Kadem joined them at the table, “But Aldous and I made the choice after I spelled out the advantages and disadvantages. Altering his perception of time is the most efficient way to accustom him to the new state of his body, and to adapt to one-armed combat. A few hours of training will feel like a few days to him, and he will be able to sense every movement he makes, every muscle he tenses, in a new intimate thorough manner. Rest assured, I’m supervising him. I won’t allow him to overdo it and incapacitate himself any further.”
                Malia relaxed at Kadem’s rational words of reassurance. Perhaps it was her fatigue that was making her react viscerally and intensely before her brain could catch up. She was starving, too, so she waited motionlessly until Bayard went to fetch Aldous once the food was ready.

                “You look terrible…!” Malia couldn’t stop the words from exiting her mouth when she saw the redhead. The worst part was that she was right: it seemed Aldous had lost weight in the handful of hours they had been apart, he had bags under his eyes, and his skin exhibited the observable stickiness of someone whose sweat had dried and accumulated several times over.
                “That’s really sweet of you Malia.” Aldous sighed a laugh, “Why, you look terrible as well.”
                Aldous was also right. Malia’s face was swollen from her master’s kick, and she hadn’t bothered cleaning the dry blood under her nose. Her ponytail was mostly undone, her clothes and her skin covered in dirt. She had plans to take a bath after eating, but she hadn’t given any thought to how she would look as she appeased her hunger.
                Malia glanced shortly at Kadem’s ever chaotic silver curls before saying, “I suppose we’re all a mess.”
                “Don’t lump me in with the rest of you.” Bayard added softly, “I take good care of my hygiene and health.”
                The princess was eager to reply with a sly remark, but the more she stared at Bayard the harder it got. He had probably had time to wash himself and change: his clothes were tidy, his straight black hair glossy, his pale skin clear. While Malia stank of mud and Aldous smelled like old sweat, Bayard gave off a faint lavender scent. She turned to Aldous, looking for reinforcements in a fellow dirty jester, but all he did was shrug in defeat. Unable to mock Bayard, they gobbled their food. Their comrade’s cooking was excellent, the flavors as fresh and graceful as his irreproachable appearance.
                A creeping loneliness struck Malia when, after bathing and changing, she confronted her undone bed. She combed her long hair in silence, unwilling to trivialize her invaluable treasures by pointing out their absence. Sleep was kind enough to seize her instantly, preventing her longing thoughts from wandering off in the quiet blackness.
                Their respective trainings continued the following day, so Malia spent hours upon hours breaking the white stones, aiming to turn the act of tapping into her magical core into one as instinctive as throwing a punch or dodging an attack. She managed to do it steadily by dusk, but the task had not become any less arduous.
                It was a delightful relief to be greeted once again by the aroma of Bayard’s cuisine come nighttime. Aldous looked even worse than the previous evening, but neither he nor Malia had any spirits left to engage in silly small talk; Kadem failed to see the fun in ridiculing them when they appeared on the verge of passing out, so the group enjoyed their meal in silence.
                Hedera and Licorice returned from their travel the next morning, but Kadem’s teachings were so strictly absorbing that Malia could scarcely afford to glimpse at the twins describing something over a map, and even then she was reprimanded for slacking off.

                Malia’s rock shattering duty went on for another couple of days before the silver witch announced they would move on to the next phase: “You’ll keep doing that with one hand,” Kadem commanded, “while you try to slap me with your other hand.”
                “You want me to slap you?” Malia kept squeezing one of the white stones as she spoke.
                “Your heard me.” Kadem gestured at her to keep crushing, “I may not have any formal combat practice, but getting close enough to slap me will be enough of a challenge for you. You’re a warrior, are you not? You should be able to tap into your core mid-fight. That will be a start.”
                Against all sense, the ensuing days increased Malia’s exhaustion even more. Consistently, by the time the sun receded so did her vitality, her questions, and her curious mind. She had only exchanged a few words with the twins, none with her master, a salute and thanks with Aldous and Bayard respectively. She had yet to smack Kadem, and being thrown around all day by the witch’s magic was painful, but she was now able to break the stones as she ran across the clearing thinking of strategies to approach her target.
                Little by little, her body got used to the strain of the routine, but the stronger her flesh became, the heavier her anxiety grew. Malia’s novel resilience meant her mind could spare time to ponder, to imagine, to drift astray into horrifying hypothetical scenarios. Dawns and sunsets came and went, and there was no sign of Gorken, no word from headquarters. No matter how much she focused on her exercises, her head had a will of its own, filled with doubts and fears. What if Gorken and Lyra hadn’t made it to headquarters? What if once there something had gone terribly wrong? Had it really been a wise decision to send them on their own?
                As she wallowed in her inability to know about them, in her powerlessness to help them if they needed her, she remembered the terror she had felt in the throne room upon hearing her uncle’s lie, eight long years past. Her chest froze at the memory, her throat afire at the thought. Don’t think about it. Believe in them. Don’t panic at nothing.
                It was during one of her sleepless stupors, in the dead of night, that Malia heard the wooden creaking of the main gate. She got up and ran, her legs sturdier than they had been a fortnight prior. She threw her arms around the young man who had opened the door. He really did smell like home.

Description
I'll be posting my story here as well!  If you're interested in it, please feel free to follow my other account: ManuWrites
Thank you if you take the time to read it!

Previous Chapter:
Next Chapter:

All Chapters HERE.

CHAPTER 44: TRAINING

                When Malia was done cracking all the stones Kadem had thrown her way, an appetizing smell called her back into the witch’s tree. She was thrilled to find Bayard preparing dinner instead of the silver woman; Malia’s exhaustion wouldn’t have allowed her to endure the atrocious cooking.
                “Do you need help?” the princess asked when she entered, silently praying for Bayard to refuse her offer. In truth she could barely stand, and her incompetence in the kitchen was more likely to obstruct her friend’s work than to expedite it.
                “Don’t worry.” He replied as if he could read her mind, “I’m almost done. You can rest.”
                Malia sat gratefully at the table, resting her head on its surface. “Wasn’t Aldous with you?”
                Bayard gave the vegetables he was frying a stir, “He’s recovering while I make supper. He was very tired.”
                Malia made a vague sound of approval, but something didn’t sit quite well with her. Aldous was relentlessly energetic; even though he was prone to complaining, he was also tireless. He would often take longer night watches than the rest when they travelled, and he slept deeply but briefly. It was rare to see Bayard still up and about if Aldous was supposedly so drained as to need recovering. “…Did you guys train together?”
                “Partially.” Bayard switched pans and checked the rabbit meat he was stewing, “Kadem instructed us on magic theory together, but she separated us for practical training. She explained she would alter Aldous’ perception of time to help him overcome his physical loss faster.”
                “What?!” Malia raised her head in alarm, the sudden motion dazing her momentarily, “You should never play with someone’s senses like that!”
                “I’m well aware of the danger.” Kadem stepped out of Gabrielle’s chamber, “But it would be even more dangerous to send a cripple into battle. You still don’t trust my judgment, Plum? Do you think I would put that boy through this without any regard for his safety?”
                “…No.” Malia sat back down, “But I can still worry. Knowing about the risks doesn’t mean nothing bad will happen…”
                “For once you have a point.” Kadem joined them at the table, “But Aldous and I made the choice after I spelled out the advantages and disadvantages. Altering his perception of time is the most efficient way to accustom him to the new state of his body, and to adapt to one-armed combat. A few hours of training will feel like a few days to him, and he will be able to sense every movement he makes, every muscle he tenses, in a new intimate thorough manner. Rest assured, I’m supervising him. I won’t allow him to overdo it and incapacitate himself any further.”
                Malia relaxed at Kadem’s rational words of reassurance. Perhaps it was her fatigue that was making her react viscerally and intensely before her brain could catch up. She was starving, too, so she waited motionlessly until Bayard went to fetch Aldous once the food was ready.

                “You look terrible…!” Malia couldn’t stop the words from exiting her mouth when she saw the redhead. The worst part was that she was right: it seemed Aldous had lost weight in the handful of hours they had been apart, he had bags under his eyes, and his skin exhibited the observable stickiness of someone whose sweat had dried and accumulated several times over.
                “That’s really sweet of you Malia.” Aldous sighed a laugh, “Why, you look terrible as well.”
                Aldous was also right. Malia’s face was swollen from her master’s kick, and she hadn’t bothered cleaning the dry blood under her nose. Her ponytail was mostly undone, her clothes and her skin covered in dirt. She had plans to take a bath after eating, but she hadn’t given any thought to how she would look as she appeased her hunger.
                Malia glanced shortly at Kadem’s ever chaotic silver curls before saying, “I suppose we’re all a mess.”
                “Don’t lump me in with the rest of you.” Bayard added softly, “I take good care of my hygiene and health.”
                The princess was eager to reply with a sly remark, but the more she stared at Bayard the harder it got. He had probably had time to wash himself and change: his clothes were tidy, his straight black hair glossy, his pale skin clear. While Malia stank of mud and Aldous smelled like old sweat, Bayard gave off a faint lavender scent. She turned to Aldous, looking for reinforcements in a fellow dirty jester, but all he did was shrug in defeat. Unable to mock Bayard, they gobbled their food. Their comrade’s cooking was excellent, the flavors as fresh and graceful as his irreproachable appearance.
                A creeping loneliness struck Malia when, after bathing and changing, she confronted her undone bed. She combed her long hair in silence, unwilling to trivialize her invaluable treasures by pointing out their absence. Sleep was kind enough to seize her instantly, preventing her longing thoughts from wandering off in the quiet blackness.
                Their respective trainings continued the following day, so Malia spent hours upon hours breaking the white stones, aiming to turn the act of tapping into her magical core into one as instinctive as throwing a punch or dodging an attack. She managed to do it steadily by dusk, but the task had not become any less arduous.
                It was a delightful relief to be greeted once again by the aroma of Bayard’s cuisine come nighttime. Aldous looked even worse than the previous evening, but neither he nor Malia had any spirits left to engage in silly small talk; Kadem failed to see the fun in ridiculing them when they appeared on the verge of passing out, so the group enjoyed their meal in silence.
                Hedera and Licorice returned from their travel the next morning, but Kadem’s teachings were so strictly absorbing that Malia could scarcely afford to glimpse at the twins describing something over a map, and even then she was reprimanded for slacking off.

                Malia’s rock shattering duty went on for another couple of days before the silver witch announced they would move on to the next phase: “You’ll keep doing that with one hand,” Kadem commanded, “while you try to slap me with your other hand.”
                “You want me to slap you?” Malia kept squeezing one of the white stones as she spoke.
                “Your heard me.” Kadem gestured at her to keep crushing, “I may not have any formal combat practice, but getting close enough to slap me will be enough of a challenge for you. You’re a warrior, are you not? You should be able to tap into your core mid-fight. That will be a start.”
                Against all sense, the ensuing days increased Malia’s exhaustion even more. Consistently, by the time the sun receded so did her vitality, her questions, and her curious mind. She had only exchanged a few words with the twins, none with her master, a salute and thanks with Aldous and Bayard respectively. She had yet to smack Kadem, and being thrown around all day by the witch’s magic was painful, but she was now able to break the stones as she ran across the clearing thinking of strategies to approach her target.
                Little by little, her body got used to the strain of the routine, but the stronger her flesh became, the heavier her anxiety grew. Malia’s novel resilience meant her mind could spare time to ponder, to imagine, to drift astray into horrifying hypothetical scenarios. Dawns and sunsets came and went, and there was no sign of Gorken, no word from headquarters. No matter how much she focused on her exercises, her head had a will of its own, filled with doubts and fears. What if Gorken and Lyra hadn’t made it to headquarters? What if once there something had gone terribly wrong? Had it really been a wise decision to send them on their own?
                As she wallowed in her inability to know about them, in her powerlessness to help them if they needed her, she remembered the terror she had felt in the throne room upon hearing her uncle’s lie, eight long years past. Her chest froze at the memory, her throat afire at the thought. Don’t think about it. Believe in them. Don’t panic at nothing.
                It was during one of her sleepless stupors, in the dead of night, that Malia heard the wooden creaking of the main gate. She got up and ran, her legs sturdier than they had been a fortnight prior. She threw her arms around the young man who had opened the door. He really did smell like home.