“It’s easier than it looks,” Uzadaan said from beside me. I slid my gaze to him, and he merely shrugged, then took off after Izgath, repeating the motions.

“Here goes nothing,” I muttered to myself. Then I dropped to the ground, air whooshing from my lungs as my belly smacked against it. With a curse, I positioned myself so I could dip down, muscles straining as I pushed myself up, then tucked my feet beneath me and jumped.

I attempted the rest of the sequence but ended up on my side, staring at the endless, swaying grass. Pushing off of it, I stood and tried again, determined to get it right and not be a fool among these well-trained males.

Izgath and Uzadaan had already turned around and were in the process of repeating the exercise in my direction. “Two more and then you can quit, Vagach,” Izgath teased as he passed me. How he still had the breath to speak was beyond my comprehension.

Gritting my teeth, I pushed down then jumped up, in a battle of wills with myself on completing what was required of me. Every movement was like wearing a sack of grain on my back or legs, my frame weighted down by Vagach’s form. Who knew the magic could have an effect on my physical performance? I should have learned the intricacies of it a long time ago.

No time like the present.

Completely devoid of breath, I finished the last roll, not even bothering to stand. I collapsed backward, chest heaving as I stared at the fluffy clouds drifting through the bright blue sky. A light breeze ruffled the long grass around me, and I nearly cried for the joy of the wind caressing my sweaty forehead. Suddenly, the light was blotted out, and Izgath’s smug face came into view.

“Bet you wish you’d left your shirt behind now. And had a haircut,” he said, offering me a hand.

“Aye,” I acquiesced, too tired to care that he’d more than proved his point. He hauled me upright with more strength than I thought him capable, and I was grateful that he did most of the work. My energy levels were nearly depleted. I gazed longingly at the tendrils of smoke in the distance, worrying if I’d make it back without my magic slipping.

Uzadaan clapped me on the shoulder and steered me toward it with him on one side and Izgath on the other, almost like they were dogs herding a lost sheep. “We’re going to sprint, but feel free to go at your own pace,” Uzadaan said. Though his words were kind, I would be judged on how quickly I returned.

Needing every drop of air, I nodded. They took off, and I followed like the good sheep I was, legs protesting with every strike of my foot against the ground. My lungs burned, begging me to slow my pace and allow them to expand, but I fought against it as the two males pulled away.

You can do this, Assyria. You have to work twice as hard and they don’t even know it.

Rather than focusing on the pain, I honed in on dreams of what my life would be like when I was finally free of all of this. Images of overflowing gardens flashed through my mind, the scent of the exotic roses I loved so much filling my nostrils instead of Vagach’s stench. The sound of trickling liquid as I turned the tap to fill my watering can shut out the shouts increasing in volume as I closed in on the camp. I found my happy place among the flowers, with a husband by my side who would kneel in the dirt beside me and tend to them like he tended to our relationship. To me. Without the expectation of baring him a powerful child. The deepest, most heartfelt desire I never allowed myself to long for, for the reality of my existence had been too painful, and a fantasy such as that too far out of reach. I dove so deep into the life in my head that the distance flew by until I slowed to join the rest of the warriors.

Blessed by the Giver.

The other warriors were finishing up their laps and other exercises, most with tunics tucked into the waistband of their pants or discarded somewhere in the grass. Bodies glistened under the fading sunlight, and if I weren’t so focused on forcing air in and out of my lungs, I would have admired the sight of all the post-exercise males. Izgath and Uzadaan stood with Dromak off to one side, clearly talking about the recruits by the way they hooked a thumb toward the ones behind or pointed toward the ring of wagons around the camp. The muscles in my legs protested as I took one step forward, then another, fully aware that tomorrow would be even worse for the soreness that already bled into my muscles.

“There he is,” Dromak grinned as I hobbled forward. “Izgath and Uzadaan worked you hard?”

“Too hard,” I wheezed, bracing my hands on my thighs.

“Better shape up or your soldiers won’t respect you.” Dromak slapped my back, causing me to choke on air, then walked past me and joined the males slipping between the wagons and returning to the scent of food. Izgath followed him, shirt thrown casually over his shoulder.

“If you need to wash, we’ll all go to the streams after we eat. That’s why Jaku wanted to follow this path. Everything stinks if we’re too far from a water source to bathe, and he can be a bit particular about that,” Uzadaan commented, waiting for me while the other two walked away.

“Thanks, I’ll need it,” I replied, spine protesting as I forced myself upright again. We walked together in silence, though the laughter and taunts ringing out from the recruits filled the air, pulling a few twitches from Uzadaan’s mouth.

I was too concerned with my waning shadows to pay much attention to the content of the conversations. We drew nearer to the center of the circle, and the sight of my waiting tent nearly brought me to my knees. “Thanks for the encouragement,” I said to Uzadaan, angling myself toward the tied-back flap.

“Anytime,” he replied with a smile that should have been disarming, but his sharpened teeth made it look far more menacing. He glanced past me, and I followed his gaze and found Izgath watching us from where he stood beside the fire, accepting a plate from the cook. Ducking my head, I strode toward my tent and dipped inside, allowing the flap to close behind me with a whoosh.

The moment I had it secured, I released my magic, shrinking back into my Assyria form and collapsing to my hands and knees. Too disgusting to lay on the bedroll, I flopped onto the tarp that covered the ground.

At least the grass iss soft.

Staring at the pitched ceiling, I worked over the buttons of my tunic slowly until I could peel it from my frame. The camp was still alive around me, the scent of burning wood and roasting meat drifting through the canvas, yet I felt as if I could die from overexertion. My stomach rumbled, and I closed my eyes for a moment, wondering if I had enough left in me to pull together Vagach’s form again so I could have dinner. Fingers digging into the tarp, I forced myself to breathe through the pricking in my eyes, not wanting to succumb to my frustration. I was so fucking tired, so drained both magically and mentally from pretending to be someone I was not, and all I wanted to do was have a long bath, good food, and as much sleep as I desired.

But that was not the path the Weaver had offered me.

I’d do whatever I had to do to survive.

Despite the tight grip I had over my emotions, one tear slipped through, then another, until that hold fell away entirely. I surrendered to the complicated web of feelings that surrounded me, hoping that by letting the water leak from my eyes that they’d carve a path through them for me.

Footsteps shuffled in the grass, drawing closer until they seemed to stop abruptly at the edge of my tent. What sunlight had been peeking through was sliced by someone’s shadow. I bit down on my lip to muffle the sounds I had been making, listening intently for any other movement. If someone tried to enter the tent right now, I was fucked.