"And where are you going with that travel bag, Amaro?" Lorshiir said, having dragged an unconscious Raktus by his collar.
Amaro looked to Raktus, and back to Lorshiir, "You sure made quick work of him, Lorshiir. I was just getting some fresh air myself."
Lorshiir pointed to his satchel, "Enjoying ‘fresh air’ with the company of basic travel belongings, young master?”
"Oh this?" Amaro didn’t have an answer, so he tried to pry the window open only for it to slam shut again, “Ah, that’s right. You can do that.”
Before Amaro could crash himself through the window, Lorshiir picked him up by his collar, "Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you’ve been taking food from the dinner table Amaro. And your closet is hardly a good hiding place when I am the one who does your laundry." Lorshiir floated his satchel on an air current as he dragged Amaro back to his room, “I will have you write a one thousand word apology to me for your attempted escape. If it is not completed, I am at liberty from your father to punish you in whatever way I deem necessary to teach you discipline.”
Lorshiir tossed Amaro into his room and locked the door, sliding a parchment and pen beneath.
Amaro grit his teeth in frustration, grabbing the parchment and crumpling it up. He didn’t need basic necessities anyway, he could still escape out of his bedroom window.
He smirked, opening the shutters and nearly pissing himself by what he saw.
Staring him straight in the face, and floating in the air outside the window was Lorshiir. "Planning on going somewhere, master Amaro?"
Amaro looked at the locked door, and back at Lorshiir, "Oh, no I mean I was just trying to get some fresh air-"
"Write the letter."
"Yes sir." He closed the window slowly, picking up the crumpled parchment, and straightening it out.
How did he even do that? When the job was done, he slid it underneath his door.
Soon enough, he heard the bolt unlock. Amaro opened the door to see Lorshiir greet him with a gracious bow, "Much better, young master."
The next two weeks were failure after failure. He had tried everything he could think of. He waited all hours of the day for an opportunity. He planned routes, went out when Lorshiir was sleeping, eating, in the bathroom and everything in between. If Lorshiir didn’t stop him it was some of the other help like Aleivia or Coluk. Amaro attempted again and again, sometimes multiple times in the same day.
Every failure Amaro had to endure yet another punishment. He had been forced to hold out buckets of lead for six hours, whipped, spanked, and pushed to exhaustion.
Lorshiir gave him extra homework, and extra drills, and chores to do. Amaro had completed tens of thousands of pushups by this point.
And yet Amaro did it all without really knowing why. He could’ve just denied Lorshiir. He could’ve practiced disobedience to anything and everything.
But Amaro never saw Lorshiir’s punishments as unjustified. If anything, he agreed with those punishments. He shouldn’t have gotten caught, and so Amaro endured them to make it harder to forget his failures.
And by the end of the third week, Amaro was crushed by those failures. He was ready to give up.
But for some reason, it had been Lorshiir who kept that spark of motivation alive.
“Really, Young Master? You’re giving up now? How pitiful.” Lorshiir had said, “I suppose your recent efforts were only half-baked attempts. I hope you didn’t mistake your fickle spite for conviction if this is all it amounts to. Ah well. Thank you for swallowing your pride and admitting defeat. It will certainly save me plenty of trouble even if I must lament you won’t put nearly the same amount of effort into your lessons. There is no shame in giving up and letting your father win. Really, anyone would.”
He’d challenged Amaro, insulted his resolve. He had pointed out how easily Amaro folded when tested.
Lorshiir even thanked him for learning his lesson and not being so troublesome.
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Amaro’s mentor knew exactly what to say to keep the prideful boy studying and training. He might not have condoned Amaro’s actions, but he’d kept his rebellious spirit alive in a moment that Amaro was willing to give up. For that much, Amaro was thankful.
This was the first time Amaro had any sort of goal aside from sleighting his father. Though, to be fair, he still aimed to sleight his father, but at least he could focus it on something tangible like escaping the estate.
And yet Amaro had been stuck for five months. He’d learned as many spells as he could, undergone every punishment Lorshiir had put on him, and yet he still wasn’t good enough to elude Lorshiir.
He felt like he was fighting The Crow all over again. No matter how fast he moved or how clever he tried to be, Lorshiir was always one step ahead of him. His goal was always just barely out of reach.
Today was the day he’d be set free. He’d tried everything he could and it hadn’t been enough. Amaro had never felt so defeated.
There was a knock on his door, but he ignored it. He wanted to be alone. If he was going to be stuck here then he wouldn’t even allow them to take him to the Tibur camp.
Another knock. They were persistent.
Amaro put the covers over his head. He heard the jangling of keys and the bolt of his door unlatch.
“Young master, today is the day.”
Amaro said nothing.
“I must commend you for your diligent efforts these past five months, my pupil. I’ve seen you grow quite considerably, but now I worry that you will fall back into your old habits.”
“I’m not going, Lorshiir.”
“As I thought. You have already regressed to your old self.”
What did it matter? Amaro had actually tried his best and it still hadn’t been enough. He’d failed. All of his effort had been utterly pointless in the end. None of it mattered.
“You know, young master, my job as your mentor was never to teach you how to win.”
Amaro turned his head to look at Lorshiir, “What do you mean by that?”
“A Xirxus knows nothing but victory in life. But that is victory when it matters.”
“You think this didn’t matter to me?”
“Oh, I think it did. But as I said my purpose was never to teach you how to win. It was to teach you to rise from defeat. Not the hollow defeat you care nothing about like when you spar with your siblings. This defeat feels different doesn’t it?”
Amaro said nothing. He couldn’t.
Lorshiir took his spectacles off, polishing them with a silk cloth, “Being unconquerable and being undefeated are two different things, young master. Your father already taught you the sting of true defeat once. And now you feel it again against me. And both times you have adopted this sorry state. Stagnating yourself as if it’s a punishment for your own failure.” He put his glasses back on, pushing them up the bridge of his nose, “Do you think you would have escaped had you not stagnated for so long before that point? Consider that.” He dropped something at the foot of Amaro’s bed, “It is not a gift that compares to your father’s but it is made with the craftsmanship of my homeland. I hope it serves you well when you decide to join us downstairs.”
He left Amaro to sulk before curiosity finally got the best of him.
Wrapped in a neat red bow was an uchigatana. Its sheath embroidered in draconic.
Iustuskära
“Righteous Carve,” Amaro muttered, pulling the sword from its sheath. He had no right to wield this. What had he done to earn it? Was Lorshiir pitying him?
The blade was made from a Galvani silver alloy. Lorshiir was right. It wasn’t anywhere near Quinrai’s quality. It was a practical and effective weapon made strong with as little material as possible.
Do you think you would have escaped had you not stagnated for so long before that point? Consider that.
The words echoed in Amaro’s head. Had it really all been pointless? Even if he never achieved his goal of escaping, was all that progress for nothing?
Amaro had grown in the last five months. He knew he had, but how much better would he have been if he’d learned all of that a year ago?
If he had kept up with his training, he would have had the strength, the wit, and everything in between to escape.
So if he stayed in bed here, how long would it be until he saw something he wanted to achieve, but simply didn’t have enough time or talent?
He stood up and gripped the handle of Iustuskära. Amaro wondered why Lorshiir never used the weapons of his homeland. Always instead opting for a rapier.
Amaro pressed his thumb to the guard and unsheathed, cutting the wind in a high pitched singing of its curved blade.
It didn’t feel as good as Amaro thought it would. It wasn’t everything he imagined of the elegant blade. It was imperfect compared to Quinrai.
Amaro wasn’t born to wield this blade, but that’s exactly what he liked about it so much. Just as Lorshiir used a rapier, Amaro preferred this sword. He sheathed it.
There was nothing magnificent or exotic about Iustuskära. It was a sword. It was humble, yet effective. As practical as any other blade.
It was his.
It was time to get dressed.