Sigyn's Discovery (Part 1)

Training (SIGYN)

Theo finally convinced me to attend formal archery lessons, which commenced on a hot afternoon behind the palace. He praised my natural talent for swordplay and throwing knives—both of which felt like extensions of my hands—but something about the taut bow was foreign and frustrating. I resisted every step of the way.

After my fifth arrow let loose and landed only two-thirds of the way across the field, I groaned and stomped my foot.

Theo sighed, equally as frustrated as I was. "Come on, Siggy. I know you've got the strength for it."

"It isn't about strength," I said, choosing another arrow from the quiver at my side. "This stupid strap keeps hitting my arm. It hurts. Why are you so insistent that I do this?"

"I just want you to be well-rounded, that's all." He put a hand on my shoulder and met my gaze, looking remorseful for my discomfort. His innocent eyes could convince me of anything.

Perhaps you'll appreciate my disinterest in this when I'm well-rounded to the front instead of with fighting. I sucked in a breath and held the bow up once again.

His focus was pulled by someone waving on the other end of the field. "Another soldier's calling me...please keep practicing." He kissed my cheek as he left—a sweet act I fought weeks to achieve after convincing him that such a thing came nowhere close to breaking his purity oath. Until then, his lips only graced the top of my hand.

I held my position and closed my eyes, releasing a long breath. The first bend of my index finger was somewhat sore from pulling back on the bow, making me all the more unsteady. I tried to focus on anything else—the heat upon my shoulders, the woodsy soap from the laundry behind, even the whips of other arrows hitting their marks with swift perfection—telling myself this was only temporary, and Theoric would eventually hear me when I said I had no interest in joining the army.

Unlike the perfect steps I memorized for handling my blade, I had no easy mantra for this. Even with perfect aim, how much does wind interfere? Should I shift my feet? While debating what to do next, the voices of other soldiers hushed as if the wind carried them off.

Concentrate. Breathe.

My peace didn't last long. A man whispered behind me, "Your form is wrong."

I snapped in response, "Right. And I suppose—" It wasn't a soldier, trainer, or otherwise. His presence took the remaining air straight from my lungs and I immediately relaxed the bow. "Sire...forgive me. I thought you were someone else."

False Odin nodded, though the glimmer in his eye was as bright as ever.

I put my hands behind my back to appear meek, which was strange after months of freedom and authority of my own. The awkwardly large bow and arrow didn't help, either.

"Sigyn the archer...that's new, isn't it?" His light tone put me at ease.

"Yes," I said, holding up the weapon again. "Far from star pupil, I'm afraid."

"I'm sure you'll rise to the top, as you have everything else." He stood up straight, absent his usual sceptre, evidently making rounds to check on the progress of his troops. I couldn't recall if he casually conversed much with others before the war, but the nonplussed reactions of the people around us told me this was routine now.

"Everything else...you've noticed my training?"

"You're difficult to miss. Much has reached my ears about how you bested my finest swordsman. Theoric is quite impressed with you." False Odin stepped closer, nodding in silence for a beat to raise a gate to his words. "And so am I."