Scars and Burns (No Light Without the Dark #1)

12. Dinalia

12

Dinalia

“ S aphrina focus! Keep your sword up!”, our fighting master, Christopher, has about had it with her. She hates this lesson and couldn’t care less about learning to defend herself. And why should she? She has armed guards following her everywhere.

“I can’t! It’s too heavy!”, Saphrina whines back.

“It’s as heavy as it needs to be for you to build strength.” Christopher says.

I’m sitting off to the side watching. Her lesson is bleeding into mine. Not that I need it anymore. I’ve bested my fighting master everyday for the last three years. I lean my head forward resting my elbows on my knees. Trying to hide a laugh.

“Enough! Enough! Saphrina, that’s enough for today. I swear I don’t know how you are going to master any of your lessons unless you start putting some effort into them.”

“I am trying. This stuff just doesn’t matter to me. At least, not like it does Dinalia.”

I whip my head up. Not wanting to be a part of this conversation.

“She literally mastered all of her other lessons early. That way she could solely do fighting and magic with our Mother. And then she just wanders off not being seen for hours.”, Saphrina continues.

I stand and walk over to her on the fighting mat. I stare at her. Even though I am eight and ten years of age now and six years her elder, we are already the same height. I’ve always been relatively short but I have definitely stopped growing. “Mother and I don’t do much magic training anymore. We mainly just spend time together.” I say with a small smile.

Rolling her eyes, “Yeah, we know. You’ve mastered all of your lessons and just come to class for fun. Mother just loves spending time with you because you’re so naturally gifted.” Saphrina spits it out. Exaggerating and dragging out the word ‘so’.

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t realize the hours I’ve put into all of my lessons. How many nights I cried myself to sleep for my failings of the day. Doesn’t know how many times my Mother had to hold me in her arms as I cried and she would smooth my hair. No words she could give me to assure me I was not broken and my soul was not torn. Comforting me regarding my mixed blood. Convincing me I am not the disgrace everyone views me as. She has no idea how many scrapes and bruises I suffered at the hands of the very same fighting master. She doesn’t see the scars that riddle my body. Doesn’t realize I have developed my very own style of fighting to compete with my opponents, who are always far larger than I am.

Doesn’t matter.

Let her think it was all given to me. Let her believe it all came naturally. My blood, sweat, and tears lie in my abilities. I doubted myself for so long but my Mother never did. She was there each and everyday lifting me up. Believing in me and giving me strength when I had none.

Even though I am still a disgrace throughout the castle. Everyone still stares and I see their mouth snap shut every time I walk in a room. The whispers about who my Father is. The curiosity in my features. I used to shy away from them. The judgment behind me learning to fight. The rumors about my magic. But now I stand tall. Confident in my striking hair and brilliant eyes. Letting my abilities speak for themselves.

Only my Mother has ever truly seen my magic in its entirety. It’s an odd combination. The Celestial Realm has starlight magic which is where the sparks must come from in mine. It has the unmistakable energy and glow of our Goddess’s moon like the magic of the Middle Kingdom. But the white flame does not match any of the three realms. The Shadowlings have blue flames and black smoke. Except for the most powerful shadow magic wielder. Their flames are black. I’ve heard that honor is possessed by King Perseus. Not very surprising.

Neither the white flame nor the colors that spiral throughout it coincide with the three realms. Resulting in even more questions. Shrouded in mystery.

Although, my magic is still cold. It is powerful. I wield it with ease. Extending my flame far beyond me. Controlling it at will. My magic always hits its mark. I create whips only burning when I deem it so. Focusing on my battle even as my other strike still burns. Extinguishing them only when I see fit. As my ability has developed so too has the appearance of my magic. Once small with flickers of the dark purple and icy blue of my eyes. Now flourish and swirl within my white flame. The small crystal starlight bursting with life. The starlight far and few between before but now without number in each flame. Giving my magic a luminous glow. My goddess mark remains in the same place on my wrist. However, it has grown. What once was a lonely single crescent moon is now two crescent moons back to back. Black as my hair. A tattoo for all to see.

“Fine, I’m done for the day.” Saphrina announces. Pulling me from my thoughts.

Stepping aside, I let her pass me by. Better she goes anyway .

Pausing, I look to my fighting master and say, “Ready?”

He laughs, “Hardly”

I smile and unsheathe my blades. I learned a few years back that the sword wasn’t for me. I felt out of balance every time I tried to wield it. Switching to dual blades my body is in harmony with my weapons.

The current blades I hold are the only ones I ever fight with and carry with me at all times. A making of my own design. Equal weight of the handle and blade. The handles are intricate but the most impressive part is the blades themselves. Razor sharp with a needle’s point. There is a wave to the blades allowing more grip in the ridges when it comes in contact with another. I can then bring the hilt of my blades together and with a turn and a click make a double edged weapon. However, my favorite feature is with a click of a button on the handles, the blades expand and turn into whips with the utmost flexibility and fluidity.

“Will you spare me? It’s been a long day”

I swirl my blades in my hands. Half smiling at him recalling when we first started training. His ruthlessness and how every time I faltered he would strike the final blow.

“Would you?”