Free Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning by Odette C. Bell

not
this.
    Though I don't want to rest, as the minutes tick past
into hours, I grow tremendously bored, and occasionally let my eyes
flicker closed.
    “Rest,” Castor
encourages me, “you're safe here, for now.”
    I mumble a
“ yes,” and despite the fact I try to stay
awake, I find myself gently drifting off.
    Back into the arms of unconsciousness. But this time
Yang doesn’t press a thumb into the center of my forehead; I fall
asleep willingly.
    It's an uneasy rest, though. Not even sleep can take
away the certainty of what will happen next.
    My life is about to change, and apparently there's
nothing I can do about it.
    Yet.
    For I am the Savior, and I will find a way.
     

Chapter 7
     
    Captain Yang
    The rest of the journey is spent in relative silence.
I now know better than to draw Castor back into conversation.
Whilst there are details of his conscription I must discuss, I
wisely choose not to in Yin's presence. When we reach the Royal
Army barracks, the generals can discuss whatever they wish with
Castor, and I will have discharged my duty by getting him
there.
    I keep telling myself that. All I have to do is to
deliver Castor back to the Royal City.
    . . . .
    Then presumably deal with Yin, and I have absolutely
no idea how to do that. With her abilities, she will be a boon to
the Royal Army, if she is trainable.
    Everything I have seen so far suggests she isn't. She
even seems to lack basic manners, especially those expected of a
woman.
    These thoughts occupy my mind until we make it
through the walls of the Royal City.
    It's always an arresting sight. In fact, if you ask
me, it's the most beautiful view in all the world. I don't even
need to have travelled all the world to conclude that. Every time I
return home, my heart sings with that certainty. It's one of the
few times I can feel it. It's one of the few times I let myself
feel any emotion at all.
    So as our cart continues past the great golden gates,
I shift closer to the window, unable to control my smile. As I
stare out of the thick glass, positioning a hand on one of the bars
to stabilize myself, I catch sight of Yin.
    To my surprise, she's lost that fiery edge in her
gaze, and she too has turned towards the window, her eyes wide with
surprise.
    No doubt she's never seen the Royal City. In fact,
she's probably never left that tiny mountain village.
    For a second I open my mouth intending to point out
the great museum as we pass it, but then I stop.
    I'm no tour guide.
    In fact, I push myself away from the window, return
to my seat, and straighten my back until it is as stiff and tall as
I can make it.
    Realizing I'll soon have to present myself and my new
recruits to the generals back at the barracks, I begin to neaten my
appearance. I methodically dust off my armor, even taking off my
helmet and neatening my short hair.
    Out of the corner of her eyes, Yin watches me.
    You would think she had never seen a man in armor,
considering how closely she examines my routine.
    “It's important to
look respectable when greeting one's commanders,” I say by way of
explanation.
    She turns from me, crosses her arms, and stares out
the window haughtily.
    For some reason that makes me smile.
    Infuriatingly, I don't know why.
    As a Royal Army sorcerer, I understand how to control
my emotions better than most. So it's alarming and more than a
little irritating when I act for reasons even I can't
understand.
    Shining my helmet with my sleeve, I cram it back on
my head, then I lean back against the wall and cross my arms.
    It takes me a full five seconds to realize what I'm
doing. When I do, I immediately loosen my arms, drop them into my
lap, and clear my throat.
    I'm not some unruly brat who challenges authority
with apathy. I don't slouch and cross my arms—like Yin. I'm an
officer in the Royal Army, and it's time I remind myself of
that.
    Finally we reach the barracks. As our cart slows down
and the soldiers atop announce themselves to the guards, a surge