Mirena stood alone in the courtyard, her staff in her hand, her back to the wall.
The morning light was thin, gray, the kind of light that didn't warm anything. The stones were cold beneath her feet. The fountain was still, the water dark, the peacocks somewhere else. She had asked for privacy. The servants knew not to come here.
She raised her staff.
The crystal at its tip glowed—faintly, hesitantly, the way it had for weeks. Since the beast. Since she had poured everything into that blast of light and felt the darkness reach back. Since she had watched the thing inside the creature pour out and try to take her with it.
She was still here. Her staff was still here. But something had changed.
She lowered the staff. Let the light fade.
Behind her, footsteps. She didn't turn.
"You're up early," Grog said.
"I'm always up early."
He moved to the edge of the courtyard, leaned against the wall. His arm was still bandaged, his side still wrapped, but he was moving better than he had a week ago. He was healing. They all were.
"You've been practicing," he said.
She nodded. "The battle-mages. The ones the Duke keeps. They've been teaching me."
He waited.
She looked at her staff. The crystal was dark now, the light gone. "I used to think knowledge was enough. Books. Texts. Understanding what we were facing." She met his eyes. "It's not."
He didn't argue.
"The beast—" She stopped. Started again. "When it came at me. When the darkness reached for me. I had nothing. One blast, and then I was empty. One spell, and then I was useless."
Grog watched her.
"The mages here—they don't fight like that. They don't pour everything into one strike and hope it's enough. They build. They layer. They keep something in reserve." She raised her staff again. The crystal glowed. "They taught me to do the same."
She moved.
It was faster than he expected. Her staff swung, the crystal trailing light, and a wall of force shimmered into being between her and an imaginary enemy. She held it for a moment, then let it drop. She moved again—a burst of light, a focused strike, a shield that appeared and disappeared in the space between heartbeats.
She was breathing hard when she stopped.
"It's not enough," she said. "Not yet. But it's more than I had."
---
Lira found them an hour later.
She was carrying her bow, her quiver, the practice targets she'd been using for weeks. She stopped at the edge of the courtyard, watching Mirena work.
"She's been at this all morning," Grog said.
Lira watched Mirena raise a shield, hold it, drop it. Raise it again. "She's different."
"She's learning."
Lira was quiet for a moment. "We all are."
Mirena finished her set, lowered her staff, turned. Her face was flushed, her arm trembling, her breath coming fast. But her eyes were clear.
"How was it?" Lira asked.
Mirena shook her head. "Slow. Clumsy. The battle-mages make it look easy."
"They've been doing it for years."
"I know." Mirena looked at her staff. "I don't have years."
---
They walked to the training yard together.
The yard was empty—too early for the soldiers, too early for anyone who didn't need to be here. Grog sat on the bench, his arm aching, his side pulling. Lira set up her targets, began her own practice. Mirena stood apart, her staff in her hand, her eyes on the light.
"You don't have to stay," she said.
Grog shook his head. "I want to."
She looked at him. "You can barely move."
"I can watch."
She almost smiled. Almost. She raised her staff.
---
The morning passed.
The sun climbed higher. The yard filled with light, then with soldiers, then with the noise of practice and training and the ordinary sounds of a palace waking up. Mirena worked through the forms the battle-mages had taught her—shield, strike, ward, hold. Each one was slower than it should be, clumsier than it should be, but each one was better than the last.
Grog watched.
In the old timeline, Mirena had been a scholar. A researcher. Someone who looked for answers in books, in texts, in the things that had been written down by people who were already dead. She had never been a fighter. Never been a soldier. Never been someone who stood in the yard at dawn, learning to make light do what she wanted.
Now she was.
He thought about the beast. About the darkness that had poured out of it when it died. About the way Mirena had stood between it and them, her staff raised, her face set, even when she had nothing left.
She was different now. They all were.
---
Lira finished her set. Walked to the bench, sat beside him.
"She's getting better," she said.
Grog nodded. "She's trying."
"That's more than most."
He looked at her. "You've been practicing too."
She shrugged. "There's always more to learn."
They watched Mirena raise a shield, hold it against an imaginary blow, drop it. Raise it again. The light around her staff was steadier now, brighter, more controlled.
"The battle-mages say she has talent," Lira said. "Natural talent. She just never used it."
Grog thought about the old timeline. About the mage who had died in the cavern, her staff broken, her spells exhausted. About the things she might have become, if she'd had more time.
"She's using it now."
---
Mirena stopped at midday.
Her arm was shaking, her face pale, her breath coming in gasps. The staff felt heavy in her hand, heavier than it had in the morning. The crystal was dim, the light faded.
She sat on the bench beside Grog, said nothing for a long moment.
"It's harder than I thought," she said finally. "The shields. The wards. Holding them while I do other things. I keep dropping one when I try to do the other."
Grog nodded. "That's what practice is for."
She looked at him. "I don't have time for practice. The King's command will come. We'll go back to the hills. We'll find more things like the beast." Her voice was steady, but her hands were shaking. "I need to be ready."
He was quiet for a moment.
"You were ready in the clearing. When it came at us. When you had nothing left." He met her eyes. "You stood anyway."
She looked at her hands. "I almost died."
"So did I. So did Aldric. So did William." He paused. "We're all still here."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she stood, picked up her staff, walked back to the center of the yard.
"Again," she said.
She raised the staff. The crystal glowed.