Powerless

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1. Powerless

2. Powerful

3. Reckless

4. Fearless

5. Fearful

Bonus Chapters

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Kai POV

FIVE YEARS AGO

My room is still painted in shadows when he wakes me up.

Well, he didn't wake me up.

The king has never stepped foot in my room. Never seen the bloody clothes that scatter the floor, though he's seen them on me. Never seen the weapons shoved under my bed, though he's wielded enough of them. Never seen the tears shed behind these walls, though he's the cause of enough of them.

No, Father doesn't come in here. And maybe that's why it feels like a sanctuary.

I don't hesitate when the Imperial orders me awake. I don't allow myself to panic. I don't dare do anything but what I know.

I know to wear a chest plate beneath my tunic for a subtle bit of safety. I know to keep an obvious weapon strapped in plain sight to distract from the many concealed knives I'm carrying. I also know to put on two pairs of socks before wearing my boots. It doesn't sound particularly important, but I'd rather not have to endure both blisters and my training sessions.

And lastly, I know that today is the day. I can feel it. Call it a sense of dread or duty - I can't tell the difference anymore. He told me that it would happen soon, so I can't say I wasn't warned.

All my training, every grueling second, has led to this moment - the moment I become useful to him.

I smile politely at the Imperial outside my door despite his rude wake-up call. He barely spares a glance in my direction before leaving me alone and swallowed in shadows. I shake my head at myself, fidget with my untamed hair. Father says I'm too nice. Always smiling at guards, talking with servants.

It's weak, he says. Unnatural for the future Enforcer. Because power is portrayal. And politeness is pathetic. An Enforcer doesn't earn respect - he demands it.

He says he'll break me of the habit. And I think he will. He's broken enough of me already.

I trace the hilt of the sword at my hip, feeling the weight of the weapon with each step, the weight of what I can do with it. What will he have me do with it? My whole life has led up to this first mission. I've been built to do his bidding, and today marks the beginning of the rest of my life.

I take my time walking toward my inevitable future. The guards I pass make no move to escort me or offer any sort of explanation. But it's not as though I didn't expect that. I have to do this alone. I have to do this the rest of my life - alone.

My leg throbs, but I push the limp from my walk. He can't see me limping. He'll know I didn't heal it correctly. In my defense, he nicked an artery and there was a lot of blood. The sword he used was blunt, leaving a jagged tear up the length of my calf. Then he stood and watched as I tried to mend it.

The Healer did the same, standing on the other side of the room, allowing me to wield his power. Though, I didn't do it well. Knitting flesh and bone back together is no simple task. But I wasn't about to let Father know I was still in pain. I also wasn't in the mood to have my leg sliced open over and over again until I got it right.

Perhaps portrayal is the true power. I pretended to be healed, and he believed it was so.

I make it to his office. I'm panicking outside his door. I panic outside this door quite often. My eyes trace the familiar grain of the wood, calming me with its consistency. And then I knock. I make it stern and quick. Because power is portrayal.

He doesn't answer. He never does.

I open the door, stepping inside with what I hope is an air of surety. He's sitting in his armchair, the one that is tattered and worn. The one that has spent more time with him than I have. Not that I'm complaining.

"When do I leave?" My voice sounds small, muffled by the fear filling me.

He doesn't bother answering my question. "White house between Merchant and Elm."

His face is cast in shadow, voice harsh with sleep. I nod slowly in response to his words, though he hasn't bothered to look at me. "Take care of the man inside," he continues, not needing to elaborate. I don't dare ask questions. Or worse, ask why. "Enjoy your first mission."

I stiffen at his words. It's a mockery meant to get in my head. This first mission is a glimpse into the rest of my life. And I doubt I'll be enjoying much of either.

He's not watching me when I nod, and he's definitely not watching when I slip from the room and into the life waiting beyond.

I head to the stables first. Saddling my horse doesn't take long, even with nothing but a lantern to guide me. But riding to Loot means I have plenty of time to think about what I must do once I get there.

Take care of the man inside.

The order rings in my head. I try not to think of this man. Of what he did to earn the king's attention. Of who he is or who he is to someone else. Because he is a mission to me. He is a means to an end. He is what I exist for. And that is what I tell myself.

I guide my horse through the maze that is the slums, feeling safer here than in my own home. There is a certain sense of freedom in crowded spaces, as though I could hide in plain sight within a sea of people. The thought is tempting. But duty will drag me back to the castle. That, and Kitt. He's the piece of home I return to.

House is a generous term for the shack sitting between Merchant and Elm. It's slanted, seemingly shying away from its neighbor. I hop from my horse, sending a shooting pain up my leg that has me biting my tongue. With shaky hands and fumbling fingers, I finally manage to secure the reins to a branch.

I blow out a breath. I run sweaty palms down my tunic. I shake out my sore shoulders. I step toward the house. The house that a man lives in. The house that a man will die in. The house that a piece of myself will die in.

My heart pounds against my chest with each step closer to fate. The only entrance is through the front door, leaving little to the element of surprise. With sweaty hands, I pull two thin blades from my boot and silently slip them into the rusty lock.

Picking locks was a skill that the king ensured I could do with my eyes closed. Stealth is practiced and precise. And if I was anything but, Father had very persuasive methods to ensure I'd improve the next time. Sometimes it was as simple as making me hold the knives by the blades rather than the handles. Maybe it was a skipped meal if I took too long, or a nick to the hand if I was too loud.

When I hear the soft click of the lock opening, I let out a breath before slipping the knives back into my boot. Gently pushing open the door, I wince when it groans against the rusty hinges. I'm drenched in sweat now, paralyzed with one foot inside the door. I strain to hear any sound of movement, only taking another step when I'm sure I haven't been heard.

I'm standing in the shadowy shack now, blinking in blackness as I try to get my bearings. I look to the right, squinting as I scan the room. When I'm satisfied that I've discovered nothing of importance, I turn to the left and-

And that's when I feel it.

I'd been so occupied with getting into the house that I hadn't felt the Elite within it. He's alone. His Healer ability heats my skin, bubbles in my veins.

I feel him before my eyes have even found him.

It's as though my reality and nightmares have blended to create the exact moment I'm memorizing. The moment I see the man I'm going to kill, still very much alive.

He's dozing in an armchair. Cozy. Comfortable. Completely oblivious to the mission he has been made into. He's snoring lightly, sounding older than he looks. He can't have seen more than three decades yet. His hair is sloppy with sleep, his clothes dirty with a day of work.

A Healer.

Healers are hard to come by in the slums, seeing that most of them work in the higher ranks of the city. He chose a life in Loot. A life of service and solitude. So why would the king want a slums Healer dead?

I take a slow step closer while silently sliding my sword from its sheath.

Mistake.

I'm close enough now to see the lines crowding his closed eyes, each one engraved from years of smiles and laughter and love. Freckles splatter his nose and scruff shadows his jaw. He wears a silver wedding band and mismatched socks.

I take a staggering step backward, the sword nearly slipping from my sweaty palm.

It's all too real. All too vivid and close and engrained in my memory. I've seen too much of a man that will never see the next sunrise.

I can't.

My chest feels too tight, my heart too heavy.

I can't do this.

Maybe all the training I've suffered has been for nothing. Maybe I can't stomach being the Enforcer. Maybe I'm just as weak as Father says I am. Maybe I'd be better off disappearing and-

He shifts.

I still, heart skipping a beat.

And then his eyes are fluttering open, flicking up to meet mine. they widen at the sight of me and the weapon in my hand, his gaze blue and big and begging.

Time seems to slow as the rest of my life comes racing toward me.

My blade sinks into his chest with a sickening sound. I don't temember raising my sword, but there it is, guided by the instincts of a killer.

Even through the ringing in my ears, I hear his gargled cry and tearing flesh.

He's staring at me. Not at the weapon in my hand or the fatal wound it's delivered, but at the face of a boy taking his life.

A boy. That's what I was before this moment.

Now I will be a monster every moment after.

A tear slips down my cheek as I yank the blade from his chest.

With a shudder and a gargled gasp, he slides from his chair, thudding against the ground to slip in his blood. Glossy, blue eyes stare up at me, blinking for the last time. Blood soaks his shirt, covering the chest that takes its last breath, the heart that will never beat again.

I leave him to lie in his casket of crimson.

I run from the room, a trail of blood dripping from my blade.

I vomit into the bushes beside the house. And after no more than four steps, I'm doubling over again. Then I'm staggering to my horse, spitting and panting and reaching for the reins. I shove my bloody sword back into its hilt, unable to bear holding it any longer.

My fingers are numb, my palms are sweaty, and my hands are covered in blood I can't see. Tears sting my eyes, blurring my vision as I mount my horse and take off down the street.

The past chases me through the slums, catching up to my present.

All I can see are his eyes. All I can hear is his scream. All I can feel is disgust and guilt and the weight of my future.

This is the Enforcer. This is the beginning.

I don't remember making it back to the castle, but I'm walking through its halls, nonetheless.

I feel empty.

Everything is numb. Everything is masked.

Every emotion muted, every thought calculated.

Maybe this is how it has to be. Maybe this is the only way to survive my life. To survive while killing others.

Maybe I'm doomed to be detached, deliberate.

I don't bother going to his study. Damn the consequences. He made me this. Molded me into the monster I just became. If this is to be my routine, then defying him will be my relief.

I turn the corner to find the Imperial back beside my door.

I don't offer him a smile. In fact, I barely spare him a glance as I pass by.

Because power is portrayal.

This is the Enforcer. This is the beginning. This is the death of weakness.

"Tell him it's done."

And with that, I swing the door behind me and let the silent tears fall, mourning the death of two men tonight.

And then I'm wiping away all emotion and driving the bloody blade of my sword into the bedposts for the first time.

Festive Plagues

A Powerless Story

Set three years before the events of Powerless, the Kingdom of Ilya is preparing to celebrate Deliverance Day! Read on to reunite with Kai and Paedyn in this exclusive short story from Lauren Roberts.

3 YEARS AGO

____________________

Kai

I curl my hands into fists, so as not to display my bloodied palms to the bustling staff.

Weaving between lavish garlands and the bickering servants who hoist them, I cut through their tangible cheer like the knife still dripping at my side. Every shade of green swims past me in a blur of color, all twining greenery or draping satin.

I usually find the eve of Ilya’s grandest holiday far more enjoyable.

But now it’s been tainted with death.

Candles decorate every windowsill, soft light dancing across the shadowed hall. The sun seemed to cower from me the moment I stepped out of that rickety shop off Loot. All the light had fled before the blood even dried on my palms.

I quicken my pace atop the plush carpet, feeling sluggish in the sea of emerald now flooding the halls. Once a year, the kingdom’s color is flagrantly abused in remembrance of the Plague, though it’s hardly become less jarring since I was a boy. But the tradition has been upheld for decades, so Father demands every surface be draped in emerald while his Enforcer’s hands remain stained scarlet.

I thought he would let me have this one night. One night where my hands are clean.

How naïve of me to think that the Day of Deliverance offered me atonement.

My bloody knuckles meet Father’s study door. Its frame is draped with a simple garland, just as every other entryway in all of Ilya. The origin of this custom lies somewhere within a droning lecture I can’t seem to recall.

Father doesn’t greet me as I step into the balmy room. I hadn’t expected him to.

Instead, I turn my attention to the fire crackling in its stone hearth, where the smoldering wood occasionally pops to pepper Kitt’s booted feet with sparks. He looks up from his seat beside Father and grins, despite my somber presence. And, just as I have been my whole life, I’m awed by Kitt’s willingness to spend time with the king.

‘You made it.’ His boyish grin warms some numb part of me. ‘We were just discussing tomorrow’s festivities. And don’t worry, Brother, I’ve already signed us up for the three-legged race.’

A smile threatens to tip my lips. ‘Well, we are the reigning champions. We have a reputation to uphold.’

‘Is it done?’

The indifference in Father’s voice has my gaze sliding to where he lounges in that worn, leather chair. The back of his blond head is all he deems me worth seeing. I fight against the anger threatening to flush my cheeks.

‘Yes,’ I bite out. ‘It’s done.’

I hate how easily the lazy flick of his hand summons me to him. Like the yanking of a leash. And I am the obedient beast tethered to the end of it.

Stepping before the fire, I stare down at the man meant to be my father. Heat licks at my heels and cloaks me in flickering shadows. The king deigns to meet my gaze. ‘You know I like to see proof.’

My stiff fingers drum against the stained knife at my side. I can feel Kitt’s worried gaze wavering between us, and I hate the feel of it. Hate that he has to see me like this—blood on my hands and flames at my back. So, I don’t look at my brother as I present my stained skin to the man who has ordered every one of my sins.

Father inspects the spilled life upon my palms and nods. ‘Good.’

Good.

I don’t even know the meaning of the word.

The Ordinary was someone’s son, father, something. And I am nothing for killing him.

‘I need to borrow Kitt for the evening,’ I blurt. ‘Plague knows he needs some practice before the games tomorrow.’

‘Ouch,’ Kitt muses before standing to his feet, silently aware of the escape I’m grappling for. ‘We will see you in the courtyard for the festivities tomorrow, yes, Father? You’ll be there to watch us win?’

The hope in his voice only emphasizes Father’s dull response. ‘Perhaps.’

With that, I drag Kitt from the study before the king can order another death at my hands. ‘We’re leaving,’ I murmur before setting a swift pace down the hall.

Kitt stumbles behind, likely gawking at my back. ‘Leaving?’

‘Yes, because I would actually like to enjoy this holiday.’ I round a corner. ‘And that certainly isn’t possible inside this castle.’

I need to get out. I need to take a deep breath, one that doesn’t taste of blood. I need to stretch my legs and lift my arms without a sword arcing down with them.

I need to live for something other than death.

‘Kai, you know I’m not allowed outside the castle walls—’

I shove open the dungeon door and happily let its groaning hinges drown out Kitt’s worry. My gaze meets his over a tense shoulder, more earnest and pleading than a future Enforcer should be capable of. ‘Do you want to get out of here or not?’

When he finally nods, I know it’s not for himself.

The damp dungeon blurs past as we stride toward the final cell. Kitt pulls a ring of keys from his pocket as we enter, before sliding a particularly old one into the lock he uncovered. And, when the slab of stone swings open to reveal the swelling blackness beyond, I happily step into it.

I hear the door creak shut. There is nothing at all for a few quiet beats of my heart—only a sea of darkness to rival my own. Then a flame flickers to life inside Kitt’s palm, making my eyes water at the sudden brightness. Blinking, I borrow his power to help illuminate the cramped tunnel further. It’s all crumbling stone, scurrying mice and looming freedom.

‘Need help washing that off?’

Kitt’s staring at the flames licking my bloody palm. ‘Oh, yeah,’ I mutter. ‘There’s no need to wear it anymore.’

Using his free hand, Kitt thoroughly extinguishes my flame with a stream of water. I watch the blood loosen its grip on my skin and swirl in my hands. I’m rubbing my damp palms together when Kitt finally ventures, ‘Does he really make you...?’

‘Wear the blood as proof?’ I glance over at him before continuing stiffly through the tunnel. ‘You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to. Especially when it comes to Father.’

The dancing firelight curls into the creases of worry crowding Kitt’s eyes. But he asks nothing more. He never does.

‘So,’ he manages lightly. ‘Where are we going?’

When the tunnel splits in two, I lead us towards the Bowl.

I flash him a grin. ‘Somewhere with people who actually know how to celebrate the Day of Deliverance.’

By the time we step out into the arena, the black sky is smudged with crisp snow. It falls lazily from above, dusting our hair and clothing. I glance over at my brother, his sweater and pants just as thin as my own. ‘I didn’t expect it to snow.’

‘No, shit,’ Kitt huffs, air billowing from his mouth. He shoves the hand not currently cupping flame into his pocket. ‘It’s freezing out here.’

I hold the warmth in my own palm close. ‘You’re a walking firepit. I think you’ll be fine.’

Snorting at my words, he follows begrudgingly. Wind claws at our clothing, stinging our skin as we hurry from the Bowl. The path to Loot wears a blanket of snow we quickly mar with a trail of footprints. I keep my head down as we shove against the blowing snow, now much heavier than before.

‘W-Why do we need to celebrate on Loot?’ Kitt manages between his chattering teeth.

I glance over at him through the snow sticking to my lashes. Firelight dances over his flushed face. ‘Because you should see what it looks like to actually live.’

This wouldn’t be the first year I’ve slipped out to watch the people of the slums dance beneath a starry sky. It’s the very embodiment of freedom—the way in which they move without rehearsed steps or sing without a common note. I ache to sit on that crumbling roof and watch the bodies swirl beneath, so alive because they fight every day to live. But for one night, they let their worries slip away.

I cannot say the same. So, I watch them live for me.

My body aches with cold. Trees loom beside the path, showering us with snow when the wind shakes it from their bare branches. Kitt shivers as his flame flickers weakly in his palm.

‘Kai, maybe we should...’

His words are stolen by a gust of wind at the same moment something shifts in the swirling snow. Our numb feet stutter to a stop as we squint into the darkness. I lift the flame in my hand, letting it douse the snowy path in flickering light.

Then I exchange a bewildered look with Kitt.

Two figures swirl like the snow above, arm in arm, atop the slippery path.

It seems we have interrupted a dance.

____________________

Paedyn

‘Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four...’

Adena’s mumbling has me looking up from my search in the snow. ‘My hands are numb.’

‘Fifty—.’ Her huff cuts through the consistent counting. The purple scarf wrapped around her head and face leave only a sliver for her hazel eyes that catch the moonlight. ‘No, I know your hands aren’t numb, because I made those gloves. They have plenty of lining.’ She digs her own gloved hands back into the snow. ‘Now keep looking! We might not make it back before the dancing begins at midnight.’

‘How much time do we have?’

Adena burrows into her coat as she thinks. ‘When we asked the man on Loot what time it was, his watch said we had forty minutes. And since then, I have counted nearly twenty—’

‘You know,’ I interrupt with a sigh, ‘if you had let me steal his watch, you wouldn’t need to be counting.’

A coil of her crooked bangs peeks out from beneath her scarf. ‘He smiled at us. No one ever does that.’ As if that was reason enough, she returns to her counting with a mumbled ‘Now, where was I?’

Sighing, I begin my rummage through the snow once again. The red scarf hugging my face keeps the whipping wind from stinging my cheeks as I look up at the spindly, bare arms of the trees above. Clawing at the dark sky, they catch most of the falling snow, though we are still dusted in a layer of it.

‘Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen...’

Adena has started counting a fresh minute while I absentmindedly search beneath the blanket of snow. ‘There might not be any this year, A.’

‘No, they are here,’ she returns defiantly. ‘Mother and I always made Winter Berry crowns every year on the eve of Plague Day. They are under this snow somewhere.’

I ignore the pang in my chest. If my father were here, we would be continuing our own traditions. I would dance on his feet until the sun rose on a holiday we weren’t sure how to celebrate.

My relationship with the Day of Deliverance, as the lofty Elites like to call it, is a difficult one. It represents everything I despise—the Plague that swept through our kingdom this time a century ago, the people it killed and the powers it failed to grant me. But, it’s the feeling this day brings that I celebrate—happiness.

Tonight, everyone in the slums will pour onto Loot and dance until the sun comes up. Those with a roof to cover their heads drape anything they can find over their doorways—a tradition that welcomes change, like that the Plague brought to Ilya. Scraps of fabric and branches dress every crumbling entryway, scattering the streets in color. And Adena has ensured our alley, and the Fort, are swaddled in scraps of every shade.

No, I’m not sure how to feel about a ‘happy’ holiday that I hate the meaning behind.

‘Found some!’

Adena lifts a tangled vine between us. Even clumped with snow, the color of the purple berries is vivid in the pale moonlight.

I force my numb legs to move beneath me. ‘Great! Now, please tell me we can make the flower crowns back at the Fort.’

But Adena doesn’t hear me. She is already running towards the path beside these woods.

‘A!’ I shout after her, boots shifting in the snow. ‘Adena, what are you—?’

‘We aren’t going to make it,’ she whispers when I slide to a stop beside her. ‘There’s only four minutes until midnight. And we didn’t even make the crowns.’

Her shaky voice tells me there are tears welling in those hazel eyes. Blinking through the billowing snow, I gently turn Adena toward me. ‘So, we will dance here,’ I determine simply. Pulling the vine from her gloved hand, I wrap it in a circle before placing the makeshift crown onto her head. It rests precariously atop her scarf, and when it slips slightly to the side, Adena manages a smile.

‘There.’ I stifle my laugh as I squint at her in the streaming moonlight. ‘Now you have your Winter Berry crown.’

Adena sniffles. ‘Thanks, Pae.’ She toes a clump of snow with her boot. ‘You really want to dance with me, all alone?’

I slip my arm through hers. ‘If we can even call it that.’

We spin in a circle, laughing when I slip in the snow. I twirl Adena; she twirls me. With linked elbows, we skip and slip and squeal beneath the moonlight. Snow swirls around us to join our erratic dance.

A flickering light in the distance has me pausing.

It floats closer still as Adena continues her twirling. I squint through the fluttering snow and find the outline of two figures coming into focus. Reaching out a hand, I still Adena before pulling my dagger from beneath my bulky coat.

Blinking, I can’t quite make out the men’s faces as they slow to a stop before us. I’m about to shoo them on their way when Adena blurts ‘Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty! Happy Plague Day!’ Then she adds, a bit hesitantly, ‘I think. Give or take a few seconds.’

One of the men steps forward to display the flame in his palm.

I tighten my grip on my dagger’s swirling hilt.

Offensive Elite.

‘Are you lost too?’ the man shouts over the wind.

I can just make out the shake of his companion’s head. ‘For the hundredth time, we are not lost.’

‘We can’t see a thing through this snow,’ the first man huffs. ‘I would say that qualifies us as lost.’

‘Loot is that way.’ Adena shoves a finger in the direction of our home. ‘I mean, if that is where you’re headed—which I hope it is because the dancing has probably started and, oh, it is the most wonderful—’

‘No, they aren’t heading to Loot, A.’ I step forward so the strangers can see the dagger clutched between my fingers. ‘These Elites have much better things to be doing than dirtying themselves in the slums.’

Their clothing is far too fine and thin; their abilities too potent and refined. These men have no business in Loot. Or with us.

‘I suggest you turn back now,’ I offer sternly. ‘You two are very far from home.’

The man with the dark hair tilts his head at me. ‘And that was very far from dancing.’

‘Well, I’m quite good with a blade if you care to stick around and find out,’ I return evenly.

That has the blond man clearing his throat. ‘Yes, I think we will be on our way now.’

‘Oh, wait!’ Adena scurries over to them before I have the chance to stop her. Slipping the makeshift crown from her head, she snaps off a piece of Winter Berry vine for each of them. ‘I hope you have a happy Plague Day, wherever you are,’ she says sweetly.

Hesitantly, the men accept Adena’s parting gift. When she returns to my side, I step slightly in front of her as I feel the dark-haired man run his gaze over me. ‘It’s a shame I won’t get to find out if you’re better with that dagger than you are your feet.’

Then he turns, his companion following, and begins to stride away.

Unphased, Adena is quick to loop her arm back through mine and spin us until we are dizzy.

But through our laughter, I can just make out the dark-haired man murmur to the one beside him. ‘This was all I wanted to show you anyway. Someone who is alive.’

Barnes & Noble

Kitt POV

SIX YEARS AGO

The list of dead people grows blurrier with each tired blink.

I definitely shouldn't call them that.

No, that thought can never leave the confines of my throbbing head. Father is one of them, after all. A king, just like these names were, their legacies summed up with a single drag of the quill. And I'd hate to remind him that one day his own name will be added to this page of history.

I glance up, hoping to stare at something other than the ink-stained pages piled before me. And so begins the little game I've created for myself.

My eyes dart around the room, head still bowed. I steal as many seconds as I can. Seconds in which I look at anything but the dull pages between my fidgeting fingers. Seconds of stolen color as I takebin the study around me before-

"Have you memorized them yet?"

-he catches me.

My eyes drift back to the page, defeated. "Not quite. Pallias isn't exactly easy to remember."

The king hums his agreement, though he doesn't deign to look up from his own work. "When I was your age, it was Favian that gave me the most trouble."

"Really?" I sit up, hoping to hold Father's attention for as long as possible. Another game I like to play. "His wife, Samora, is much harder for me to remember because-"

"Perhaps if you keep your eyes on the page, you will find it much easier to memorize."

I swallow the rest of my words at the sound of his cool ones. He doesn't seem angry or irritated. But I almost wish he did. Because it's dismissal I hear in his tone, perhaps even disappointment.

Sinking back into my seat, I stare blankly at the list of kings immortalized in the swirling ink.

But I'm once again glancing up when the study door swings open.

His boots are caked in mud, though he generously shares it with the rest of the room, trailing clumps in his wake. The worn rug dulls further beneath his stomps as he shoots me a quick smile, one that can only mean trouble, before turning his attention back to Father.

"Your Majesty."

Kai's voice cracks marvelously, as though puberty has pressed all its weight against his throat. I duck my head, hiding my smile beneath a hand.

To his credit, Kai clears his throat and carries on. "I would like to request Kitt for the rest of the afternoon." He holds the king's unwavering gaze with a determination I admire. "For training in the yard."

Exhaling, Father drops the papers onto his desk with a soft thud. "Kitt has failed to memorize his predecessors. Especially Pallias."

Failed.

Six little letters joining to create my biggest fear. The word echoes around my skull, beating like a drum.

Failed. Failed. Fa-

"I would be happy to quiz him in the ring," Kai offers, trying his best to ignore the betraying squeak in his voice.

Father waves a dismissive hand that has me swallowing. "Fine. He will just have to continue his studies this evening."

We don't allow the king enough time to change his mind. I've practically shoved Kai out the door before Father's deep voice stalls our steps.

"Keep him close to the castle. And do be delicate with my heir, Kai."

By the time we step out into the training yard, its muddy rings dappled with sunlight, Kai has thoroughly reminded me of my delicacy.

"I'm surprised he even let you outside on such a sunny day. Plagues forbid his heir gets a sunburn," Kai muses.

I shove him lightly. "Hey, I'd gladly take sunburns over being locked in the study."

Kai glances over at me through the black strands of hair sticking to his brow. "How were your kingly lessons today?"

We step into a ring, grabbing sparing swords off a rusty rack. I run a hand up the blade. "About as dull as these swords."

He shrugs. "Could be worse."

I take in my brother then, all wiry muscles and too-long legs. His unruly head of hair has barely reached his nose, though he seems to have aged significantly these past few years.

"And your training?" I ask lightly, restraining my urge to pry.

Another guarded shrug, this time paired with a kick of his boot into the dirt. "Oh, you know. Just the usual."

No, I don't know. Because he never tells me. I haven't the slightest idea what he and Father do during their early-morning training sessions. Then again, Kai isn't exactly the type to offer up information.

Following our usual routine, we run through a series of sword drills. I feel sloppy, each swing unfamiliar to me. Father only recently allowed me to begin training with Kai, but even those days are few and far between.

After being bested several times by my much littler brother, I hear him pant, "Hey, when was the last time you visited... " His head swivels, checking the empty rings around us. "The last time you visited Ava? She misses you. Especially that trick you do with water."

This time, it's my voice that cracks. "Well, you can always do that trick for her."

His brows bunch, hurt flashing across his features. "Not really. Not without you."

"Right." I force a small smile. "I'll make my way up to the west tower this week. Spend some time with her."

Cool anger settles over his features at the mention of the west tower. The cold, dreary corner of the castle Ava has been shoved into. But Kai knows better than to pick a fight with me about this. Again.

We've already had plenty of arguments about Father's treatment of Ava. Kai thinks it's disgusting, cruel even, to hide his sister from the world because of a weakness she was born with. But I, like I always do, understand Father. I know him-his decisions, his laws and the reasonings behind each one. Just like I know that Kai will never understand what sacrifices must be made to maintain llya's strength.

And keeping Ava a secret is one of those sacrifices, Kai gives himself a moment to swallow the argument brewing in his throat. Distracting himself, he begins clumsily flipping the sword's hilt in his palm, determined to master the trick. "Good. And you should come with us tonight."

"Come with you?" I ask skeptically. "Ava isn't exactly allowed to go anywhere."

"No, she isn't." His smile is alarmingly mischievous. "But I think it's about time she steps outside." He swallows, smirk vanishing. "Before it's too late."

"Kai," I say gently, "I don't know if that's-"

"I'm just going to show her the gardens," he cuts in, persistent. "It will be dark, and I think we owe it to her, don't you?"

I blink slowly. Nod even slower. "Okay."

He smiles in relief. "So, you'll come with us?"

I swallow the guilt beginning to clog my throat. "Yes. I'll come with you."

I'm not a liar. Not usually.

But I'm also not one to crush the spirits of a boy now freshly thirteen years of age. A brother. No, I couldn't look him in the eyes and tell him how I feel. Tell him that Ava is more his sister than she is mine. That I don't fit in with the pair of them.

Swallowed in shadows and staring out the window, I feel like an impostor. They are huddled beside a particularly large shrub at the edge of the garden, Ava's small hand fitted firmly inside Kai's. He looks around then, scanning the dark path for any sign of movement.

Any sign of me.

The sight sends a pang of guilt slamming into my chest. He stands there, expectant. The seconds stretch by painfully, allowing me plenty of time to regret my decision. I watch as each swivel of his head grows slower. Each spark of excitement in his eyes dulls. Each shake of his head before he leads Ava down the path without me.

I swallow, feeling shame stain my cheeks with scarlet. He's given up on me. And it's better that way. Better that he spends time with his sister alone. Kai and I are tethered together for life, but Ava...

Ava doesn't have much longer.

Pushing the blunt thought away, I watch them walk hand in hand. I can practically hear Ava's contagious giggle from behind these stone walls, see the scrunch of her little nose that accompanies it. Her inky hair swishes with each skipping step as she scans the shadowed gardens.

I lean against the window, breath clouding the glass. They sneak down the winding paths, shoulders shaking with shared laughter. Like an enthusiastic shadow, Ava scurries behind her other half, copying his every move. Kai scoops her into his arms, setting her on the edge of the fountain, where she sits innocently before splashing him thoroughly.

They laugh. They enjoy the night. They do it all without me.

The pair of them are separable only by Death. And he looms.

I lean forward, watching the familiar fit of coughs rack Ava's little body. Kai wraps a comforting arm around her, as if to protect her from the sickness coursing through her veins.

But she's hardly deterred by the impending doom everyone sees when they look at her. Instead, she stubbornly collects herself before hopping from the fountain to pick every flower in sight.

I'm not sure how long I stand there. How long 1 envy the bond they have. How much I would give to be loved so deeply by someone. Because I would do anything for Father to look at me the way Kai looks at his Ava.

I tip my forehead against the cool glass, annoyed by my need to be needed. My life would be so much simpler if I didn't spend it trying to do the impossible-please my father.

When I finally find the courage to drag my gaze over the garden once again, I'm greeted only by shadows. I press a hand against the glass, clouding it with each breath as I peer into the darkness.

They're gone.

A slow, small smile begins to tilt my lips.

And I know where they've gone.

Turning away from the window at long last, I set a steady pace down the eerily empty halls. Yes, I am envious of their relationship. but I have plenty to learn from it.

Because I have been trying to learn how to be loved my entire life.

It's not long before I'm met with an autumn breeze and the crunch of leaves beneath my boots. I weave through the garden quickly, familiar with each turn and flower planted beside it. But it's the grassy field beyond that I'm headed for, home to the towering willow.

Its branches scrape the ground, dragging greedy fingers across the blanket of soft grass. Ducking beneath its dome of leaves, I'm welcomed by a giggly squeal.

Little arms wrap around my legs, accompanied by an even littler voice. "Kitty!"

I smile at the nickname she's given me before wrapping my arms around her. "Sorry I'm late, A. I got held up."

I glance up in time to catch Kai watching me closely. His smile is relieved, his slight nod a quiet thank-you. One that I don't deserve.

"We have to be quiet." Ava giggles, pressing a finger to her lips. "This is secret."

I play along, lowering my voice. "Yes, we must be very sneaky."

She's suddenly whipping around and scurrying for Kai. After snatching something from behind his back, she returns, winded from the movement. "Look," she pants. "I picked so many flowers!"

She shoves the colorful bouquet beneath my nose, forcing me to bite back a sneeze. "I can see that. You are quite the florist."

Her nose scrunches. "What's that?"

I cut off Kai's soft chuckle. "It's a fancy word for someone who picks flowers. Most Blooms do it for a living."

At that, she offers me a beaming smile. "Can I be a flow-ist?"

I swallow, forcing the lump in my throat to sink toward my stomach. Because she won't get to pick flowers for long. The ones clenched in her fist may not even wilt before Death makes his way up the creaky steps to the west tower. She won't even grow old enough to pronounce "florist" correctly.

And when I meet Kai's eyes, I see the same sorrow reflected in them.

I force a smile onto my lips. "You can be anything you like."

She ponders this for a moment. "I think I'd like to be in this tree."

I laugh, and Kai echoes the sound. Ava hardly seems to notice as she turns to face the massive trunk, sizing it up. When her little hands shoot out toward Kai, he doesn't hesitate before grabbing hold of them and crouching to her height.

I shift on my feet, glancing away when Kai's lips meet each of Ava's fingertips. It feels as though I'm intruding on their sweet moment, witnessing a ritual I'm not meant to be a part of.

Ava's sickness has made being a Crawler all the more difficult. She's weak and easily fatigued. But she's always her strongest when Kai kisses those tiny fingers of hers. Because she believes in him. Believes that the action lends her some of his power.

It's him she looks to for strength. And I wonder what it must feel like to be someone's rock. Someone's constant. Someone's beloved.

I look up in time to catch Kai planting a final kiss to Ava's pinkie. "You're all set, A." Hand in hand, they weave through the maze of roots, stopping before the gnarled trunk. Kai places her hand on the rough bark, smiling down at her. "You've got plenty of strength in these fingers to make it up there."

She nods, determined as ever. A sudden coughing fit has her faltering, but nothing could keep her from conquering the willow tree. By the time she's caught her breath, several feet already separate her from the ground.

She climbs, giggling with each movement.

It's not long before those giggles turn to heavy breathing. And heavy breathing into coughs.

But she clings to the tree despite it all, climbing toward the heaven she will one day wake up in. A place with plenty of flowers for her to pick.

I listen to Kai's shouted encouragements, watch the way he smiles up at her shadowy figure. In fact, I've watched them for years.

Perhaps being loved begins with the little things. The kisses on fingers. The spooning of warm broth into another's mouth. The learning of one's very soul.

Or the memorization of one's lineage.

Maybe it's the simple things that grow into something more. Willingness. Obedience. Memorization. Perfection in the eyes of Father.

If that is the price for adoration, then I'll gladly pay it.

And perhaps it all begins with that name he didn't believe I'd remember.

I turn away from the tree, lips twitching, and repeat a single word in my mind. Over and over.

Pallias.

Waterstones

Lenny POV

A booted foot nudges me in the ribs.

I roll over with a groan, burying my face into the thin blanket. At the unpleasant feel of a jutting rock beneath my bedroll, I wiggle to the right, attempting to escape the discomfort. And when I have, my body grows heavy with fatigue, dragging me back into my dream.

Where was I. Ah, yes. I was slipping into my Imperial uniform, the seams stiff and starched. My fingers fiddle with the buckle at the top of my suddenly too-short pants. But they refuse to stay on my hips. The fabric keeps falling down my legs, exposing my bits - though I certainly have nothing to be ashamed of - to the entirety of the Imperial guard.

I'm suddenly surrounded, underwear on display as Imperials snicker, beginning to circle me. I'm trying to pull up my pants, trying to salvage my dignity, but they keep slipping between my fingers-

"Get the hell up, Lenny!"

The dream dissolves behind my shut eyelids. My hand flies to the waistband of my pants, and I let out a sigh of relief at the feel of them securely on my hips.

'How much you wanna bet he had that pants dream again?'

A familiar, irritated sigh slips from Leena's lips. 'I don't make bets with you anymore, Finn. You cheat.'

I rub at my tired eyes, Finn's laugh echoing in my ears. 'So, winning is considered cheating now?'

'You, don't start with me. And you... 'I hear the crunch of rubble beneath her boots as she strides over to loom above me. 'Did you not hear me with those bat ears of yours? Get your ass up.'

When she tugs at my ear, I decide that I've endured enough abuse from her. My eyes fly open to a curtain of dark hair, blocking the abandoned building we've been dwelling in from view. I reach up, returning the favor by tugging at her warm ear. 'You're just jealous. I can hear your heart pounding."

She huffs, stands, and tucks a long sheet of hair behind the ear I'd assaulted. 'That's because the two of you make my blood boil.'

'Ooh.' Finn meets my gaze with a mischievous one of his own. We make her blood boil.'

I tilt my head. 'Yep. Pulse is picking up.'

'Will you both just shut the hell up?' Leena groans, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.

Ignoring her, Finn asks, 'You were having the pants dream again, weren't you, Len?'

I shake my head solemnly. 'Second time this week.' A booming laugh at my expense. 'It's horrifying, really. I'd bet you would piss your pants if-'

'Len Len, where did your friend go?'

Turning my attention towards the small voice, I find an even smaller body charging at me. Luna skids to a stop beside my bedroll before plopping into my lap.

'Well, good morning to you too, little dragon,' I say sarcastically.

My nickname always manages to bring a smile to her freckled face. I'm glad for it. Glad that some good came from the little bit of Burner ability she possesses.

When her question finally registers, I ask, "What friend?"

"The girl with the shiny hair," Luna says, rushing to add, "and the scary boy that was with her."

I blink. Then I whip around.

My eyes run over the empty bedrolls. The crumpled blankets. The lack of Paedyn.

I stumble to my feet, Luna all but falling out of my lap.

"What," I say slowly, "the hell?"

Leena doesn't bother trying to smother the smugness in her voice. "If only someone had tried to wake you up and inform you of our missing friend!"

My wild gaze lands on Finn. "You knew about this?"

He scratches at his curly, brown hair. "I mean, yeah, I was gonna mention it after we finished our conversation-"

"I would hardly call it that," Leena cuts in with a grumble.

"So, where is she?" I ask, eyes flicking between the two of them. "Where are they?"

Leena shakes her head. "We... We don't know."

I gesture to the room full of Mixes milling about. "You're telling me no one heard or saw anything? They just vanished?"

Finn raises a defensive pair of palms. "Hey, you're the only full Elite here with a Hyper ability. If anyone should've heard or seen something, it would have been you."

"I can't see when my eyes are closed," I say through gritted teeth.

"And you know how soundly I sleep. I was having my bloody pants dream!"

Leena huffs, stepping between us. "Enough! Paedyn is out there somewhere. And she's likely not alone."

My mind races, heart pounding loudly in my ears. If the Enforcer has her again...

I swallow. "How did he escape? Who was on guard?"

A heartbeat trips over itself, picking up speed. I turn towards the thumping sound.

Leena won't meet my gaze. "I'm sorry." She shakes her head. "I wasn't even tired. I don't remember falling asleep, but... I must have."

I blow out a shaky breath before beginning to pace the length of my bedroll. "We need to find her. Who knows what he will do to..." I trail off, the words tasting foul on my tongue. I'm not sure when the smart-ass suddenly became so important to me. Or maybe I simply have a healthy fear of Paedyn Gray with her pointy dagger and sharp words. Either way, I'd rather not have to learn what life is like without her in it.

'They could be halfway across the city by now," Leena says quietly. "And it's all my fault."

"No way," Finn snorts. "Do you even know Paedyn? She would never let them get that far."

His words have me stalling my fervent pacing long enough to examine the abandoned bedrolls. Shaking my head, I point at the undisturbed cloth. 'There is no sign of a struggle. And with Pae, there is always a struggle."

Leena's brows scrunch against her olive skin. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," I sigh out the words, "that I'm not so sure Kai escaped and managed to drag Pae along without so much as a sound."

"You think it was someone else?" Finn asks slowly.

'They were drugged."

I turn to find my mother striding towards us, her face grim. "How do you know?" I ask, skeptical.

"I found this by one of the exits." She lifts a dirty scrap of cloth into the air, holding it away from her body. My heightened senses have me choking on the chemicals wafting from the drenched rag.

I cover my stinging nose with the collar of my shirt. "Okay, I believe you. Can we put the putrid cloth away now?"

She offers me that sympathetic mom smile before tossing the rag into the far corner. "Leena," she says in that softly stern voice, "you must have been drugged as well. That is why you don't remember falling asleep."

Relief washes over Leena, returning the warmth to her skin. "But who would have done this? Found them?"

Mother shakes her head. 'It could have been anyone. Word of their presence in Dor has spread. Everyone will be looking for the Silver Savior and her prince, hoping for that hefty reward."

"Or revenge," Finn mutters.

I take what I hoped would be a calming breath. It proved to be useless against the wave of worry attempting to drown me. Because too many people want her dead. And the few who don't, happen to have no clue where she might be.

My voice is low. "We need to find her."

"Lenny," Leena starts reasonably, "how are we going to-"

"We'll search the whole damn city if we have to." I throw a hand up. 'The Scorches too."

"Look," Finn says slowly, "we all care about her. But I'm not sure that's the best way to go about this."

I'm about to object when my mother thoroughly shuts me up. "He's right, Len."

Finn has the decency not to look smug. "All I'm saying," a pause, "is that you might be more help to her if you weren't, well... here."

Leena nods in agreement. "Shockingly, he's right."

This time, Finn allows himself a sly smile. "Okay, can everyone stop saying that?" I grumble. "His head is going to explode."

Leena takes a step towards me, placing a gentle palm on my shoulder. "Lenny, you should go back to Ilya." Even as I shake my head dismissively, she continues sternly. "You will help Paedyn so much more if you are there when she inevitably gets dragged back."

"What could I possibly do?" I say roughly. "I'm not exactly an Imperial anymore."

"Says who?" Finn smirks.

I blink at them, realizing for the first time that it's likely no one in the castle knows I was a member of the Resistance. I wasn't in the Bowl when all hell broke loose. No, I was in the passages beneath the dungeons, guiding members of the Resistance through the twists and turns. And by the time I was ready to join the action, I was met with a sea of people trying to escape the arena.

"You never made it inside the Bowl that day," Leena says, her voice hushed. "You couldn't get through the throng of people. No one on the king's side saw you, and if they did, they definitely don't remember."

My mother's soft voice steals my attention. "Go back to the castle. Be with her when she gets there. Help her if you can." She sighs, looking weary. "And if you can't, then help whatever Ordinaries or Mixes are still trapped within the kingdom. Bring them here, just like you always do."

Scratching the back of his head, Finn adds, "You might be the only one who can help her in that hell hole."

"You're our only hope," Leena adds solemnly.

I nod about as slowly as I'm coming to terms with this all. Looking down at Luna still huddled next to my leg, I smile. "Looks like I'm off to save the princess."

Barnes & Noble

Lenny POV

Three inches of the Scorches pours from my boot.

I rest my head against the rickety door of my childhood home, likely adhering what is left of the peeling paint to my sticky skin. The desert's parting gift is piled at my feet, though, the rest of me still wears a gritty coat of sand. I fumble for the worn ribbon knotted at my neck and wince when my blistered hand closes around a swirling key. It hangs limply beneath my sweaty tunic, as if to unlock my jaded heart - which is what I would think were I some sappy romantic.

But what I am is starving. Exhausted. Late for work.

I tug the makeshift necklace over my head - showering myself with sand which takes refuge in my luscious locks - and shove the iron key into a lock above the drooping doorhandle. The splitting slab of wood swings open to reveal the life I fled. My cot lies on the un-swept floor, blanketed only by the crumpled Imperial uniform I tore from my body before fleeing Ilya.

And now I've willingly returned.

I rub a hand over my furrowed brow to discover that there was, in fact, chips of dried paint stuck to my forehead. The floorboards creak as I pad across the cramped house, boots in hand. The few belongings Ma left behind now scatter the floor - a torn rug; broken chairs; chipped dishes. Dor is her home now, with Luna and the outcasted Mixes, which has left this place little more than a hollow refuge without them to fill it.

Peeling off my desert-drenched clothes, the promise of a warm bath in the Imperial quarters has me forcing sandy limbs into my uniform. I ruffle my hair next, flinging more fine grains around the room as I reluctantly slip on my boots. My whole body aches after several days spent trekking across the Scorches in search of a cockroach. Figuratively speaking, of course.

The sun stings my eyes as I swing open the door and step over my abandoned pile of sand. I glare at the reminders of my less than glamorous journey before starting down the cramped street. Bodies shuffle aside at the sight of me, and for a moment I allow myself to be offended, before remembering I've slipped into my role as an Imperial. It's like donning a second, slippery skin that chafes against my very character. The same neighbors that offered me bread as a child now cower in my presence.

Sighing, I fix the white mask over my eyes and nose, smothering any sense of myself.

I chose this life to fight for change. Now I return to it, choosing her.

My begrudging companion across the Scorches whinnies when I stride towards her. The horse wrestles against her knotted lead, angered by my audacity to confine her to a post. I brush a hand down her chestnut coat. 'Easy, girl. You're almost home, don't worry.'

She snorts in response, and the sound is comically skeptical. Despite being bred to journey across the desert, this mare was eager to escape the hellish sand pit. On that, mercifully, we agreed.

Lead in hand, I tug my loaned horse down the street. The current of bodies parts to make room for an Imperial and his trusty steed, offering me a clear path towards the Bowl Arena. But we have hardly ventured four steps before said steed is fighting against me.

'You know,' I murmur to the stubborn beast, 'if I were in your hooves, I would be a bit more grateful. I could have left you in that desert to keep those dead Imperials company.' A little girl whips around to gape at me in terror before her mother steers them out of my presence. 'But instead,' I sigh out, 'I brought you home. So don't yank my arm out of socket before I return you to the stables."

There is a long moment where the horse seems to debate this. And then I swear she nods her head at me.

'Well, shit.' I now guide us swiftly through the street. 'Where have you been hiding this delightful cooperation?"

She huffs at me, seemingly pleased when I finally fall silent. The sound of clopping hooves atop crumbled cobblestone fills the space between us. The trek to the stables is quiet, ensuring every one of my worries spirals into a crescendo of panic.

What if this doesn't work? What if I'm too late? What if I'm recognized as a Resistance member?

I wallow in the frantic thoughts until I'm stepping into the stable's looming shadow. Playing the part of a disgruntled Imperial with an order to follow, I tuck the mare into an empty stall. She nuzzles me gently before directing her attention to something far more enticing. I watch her nibbled on the pile of hay before whispering, 'Thanks again for the ride.'

Slipping from the stables, I follow the tree-tunneled path towards the palace. Brittle blossoms fall steadily from the branches above, like dull, pink raindrops fleeing the sky. Imperials pass by with little more than a glance in my direction, and yet, the tension coiled around my body never loosens its choking grip.

Walking briskly - well, I really shouldn't be, seeing that it's foreign for Imperials to do anything with fervor - I break out from beneath the canopy of branches and head for the least conspicuous castle entrance.

I'll slip inside,' I mutter to myseif. It's a habit I'm going to assume others find endearing. 'Go back to my post.' I set a swift pace across the sprawling grounds beside the castle. 'Pretend like I never left.'

'Lenny?'

It doesn't feel right, responding to that name while playing the role of an Imperial. Still, I turn toward that familiar voice.

'Calum?' I sputter in surprise, likely spitting sand from between my teeth. The stoic leader of our former Resistance stands within a teeming patch of roses several yards away. Shovel in hand, he blinks at me with more shock than I've ever seen him display. 'You're...' I laugh hysterically. 'You're alive ?!'

I've stolen the space between us and am pulling him into a crushing hug before he even has the chance to respond. 'I am,' he says tightly against my hold. 'I'm just as surprised as you are.'

'What happened?' I break away from his embrace to gape at the Mind Reader. 'Shouldn't you be, um, imprisoned at the very least?'

'I should,' Calum says simply. 'But the king is far from mad - he valued my council more than revenge. After informing him of his own people, of the Resistance's true goal, he freed me from the dungeons.' He shakes his head in disbelief. 'He wanted me as one of his advisors.'

'That sounds completely mad to me,' I scoff. 'After your involvement in the Resistance, he just...' - I throw up a hand in disbelief- 'lets you frolic through the flowers?'

Calum chuckles. He often found me humorous, which is odd, because I'm not sure what could be more intimidating than my lean frame and the auburn locks that Ma swore were the envy of Ilya. 'He has his reasons,' the Mind Reader reassures. 'I'm simply grateful for his willingness to listen and learn.'

Calum doesn't allow me much time to ponder this before he's voicing his own skepticism. 'Why are you back in Ilya? I figured you wouldn't return to your post.'

'I didn't think I would either,' I mutter truthfully. 'But after finding Paedyn and her captor in the Scorches, we settled down at my Ma's camp in Dor only for them to be captured.' I rub a hand behind my neck. 'I was ready to tear apart that city looking for her. But Leena and Finn -let's be honest, mostly Lenna - convinced me I was more use to Pae here than I was mindlessly wandering Dor.'

'You want to save her from whatever fate awaits her return,' Calum finishes on my behalf.

I nod. 'I'll do whatever I have to.'

Calum's blue eyes flick between mine, likely reading the thoughts that lie beyond my gaze. 'That is very admirable, Lenny. But she may not want to be saved.'

I tense. 'Do you know what the king has planned for her?'

Calum is content to let the question hang in the air between us. 'When the Enforcer inevitably drags her home, the king will want to speak with you.'

Stupidly, I can think of nothing else to say but a strained, What?

'Let us hope that does not happen before you've had a chance to bathe,' Calum says wryly.

'I know, I know.' Taking a self-conscious step back, I finish with a defeated, 'I reek.'

I lose sight of Calum's small smile when he turns his attention back to the bed of pink roses, all tucked neatly beneath a blanket of soil. 'I will ensure your return goes unnoticed. You're not yet associated with the Resistance, seeing that you were never seen in the Bowl, and I plan to keep it that way.'

Nodding my thanks, I step aside as Calum crouches to tend to his flowers. 'So, there are perks to being in the king's good graces. Gardening privileges included.'

Calum hums his agreement. 'The king has been good to me. There is still hope for a changed Ilya.'

He says nothing else on the matter, predictably cryptic as always. But I know better than to futilely fight for details. Instead, my heart stalls at the mere prospect of finishing what the Resistance so valiantly fought for. 'If that is what Paedyn's return will bring, then you're right.' I grin around the gritty feel of sand in my mouth. 'I'd better bathe.'

____________________

Paedyn Gray returns to Ilya two days after I successfully scrubbed the sand from my skin.

I'm on my way to greet her in the throne room, humming with anticipation, when the king requests my presence.

He doesn't seem mad from where I stand behind his desk, though the wood is thoroughly smothered by sheets of inky paper.

'Your Majesty?' I venture, with a clearing of my throat.

The king runs a hand through his golden hair. 'I need you to do something for me.'

'Well, I am one of your Imperials. Command away.'

What am I saying?

'Good.' Kitt, as Paedyn so endearingly referred to him before he renamed her a traitor, looks up at me. A subtle sort of sympathy lurks behind that green gaze, stopping my heart with a swift realization. The king knows of my involvement with the Resistance.

I am going to die as another forgotten, starchy-smelling Imperial.

The king's heart thumbs faster in his chest, beating in tandem with my own.

And when the command finally falls from the king's lips, I have never been more certain of anything.

'You are to guard Blair Archer from Paedyn Gray.'

The king is absolutely mad.

Chapter 43

(Barnes & Noble)

Kai POV

The muffled swell of a savage crowd jolts me awake.

I fight against my leaden eyelids, prying my vision free with an alarming amount of effort. My hazy gaze sweeps over the untouched bedroom I fell asleep in the night before. Sun streams through dusty windows, making my unfocused eyes water.

It's nearly midday. And I can't remember the last time my body allowed me to sleep so late.

I sink into the bed beneath my back, heavy and limp. My mind is muddled, as though my thoughts have been dunked beneath murky water. Fingers I can't feel slip numbly from the cot's edge. Using my bedpost as a crutch, I fight to sit up against the phantom weight atop my chest.

The room spins around me, too bright for my sensitive eyes. I lift a limp hand to my temple and notice for the first time how terribly my head is pounding.

Drugged.

And quite a bit by the shitty feel of it.

Another distant cry from the Bowl has my drooping eyelids fluttering open.

Final Trial. Pae. I'm dregged.

My sluggish mind spits muffled words at me. At the reminder of Kitr's odd behavior last night, a startling realization begins its slow creep into the corner of my strained thoughts. Paedyn is competing in her third Trial-and I wasn't meant to be there.

Something is wrong.

My legs tremble as I force them to straighten beneath me. The room swims, rippling with each sway of my body. I stagger several steps before colliding with my cluttered desk, panting.

In all the torture I have endured since boyhood, losing control over my own body is by far the worst. My vision blurs of its own accond, limbs sluggishly disobeying every command. This is a sort of weakness I am rarely forced to face. Even Father's training held some semblance of control. Accomplishment. Promise of strength.

But this-this dizzying drug and fevered skin-stands in the way of her.

I try my best to straighten as I stretch a strand of drowsy power toward the hallway behind what I assume is a locked door. The muffled feel of several Imperial abilities greets me weakly.

I'm being guarded.

The packed Bowl roars beyond my window.

Window.

My eyes trace the scuffed stone surrounding it. Then the tattered cloak hanging from my wardrobe.

This wouldn't be my first time escaping a gilded cage.

My stiff fingers fumble with the cloak, pulling its worn fabric around my shoulders. A bead of sweat tickles my brow as I shove open the dusty window-and throw a leg over the ledge.

I've done this drunk enough times to not fall in my drugged state.

Thick stones jut from the wall to create a famniliar path of footholds. But I slip with sluggish limbs, tearing my palms on jagged rock before catching myself. I leave bloody handprints in the wake of my tedious journey to solid ground.

My knees buckle atop the soft grass. I don't remember tugging the hood over my head, but suddenly the stinging sun is blotted from my blurry eyes. Each step toward that abandoned path to the Bowl feels distant, as though I'm watching myself struggle from afar. Thoughts are thick and muffled behind a syrupy wall of haze. But this doesn't bother me. It's almost calming, being separated from my screaming consciousness.

My trek to the arena is a blur of color and light. Only one thought surs my every step.

I need to get to her.

By the time I stumble into one of the Bowl's many tunnels, I'm fading fast. My head pounds in time with the rumble of stomping feet and shouted chants. Chaos echoes off the stone wall I lean against; my leaden feet drag beneath.

I shove myself forward. Sweat drips from my shaking body.

Weak.

I grit my teeth.

If Father could see me now, he would laugh.

A pair of Imperials stand lazily at the tunnel's end, blocking my entrance into the Bowl. The hood I wear hangs low over my face, but I'm not sure I could pull it back if I wanted to. Swaying on my feet, I attempt to slide past them but am thwarted by the Cloner's hand to my chest.

"You missed your chance, Slummer," he taunts."Bowl's full."

The Imperial beside him chimes in, his voice oddly muffled in my ear, "Besides, the Enforcer is about to finish her."

I blink.

For a moment, I fear my eyes may not open again.

I couldn't have heard him right.

"I need to get in there," I all but slur, still trying to push past. "She's in there."

I'm shoved behind them, ignored when the crowd erupts once more. Over the starched shoulders of their uniforms, I fix my blurry gaze on the looming screen above the Pit.

And I find myself staring back.

Kai Azer towers over a bloody Paedyn Gray, doing precisely what Ipromised to never do again-fight her.

My heart stutters in my chest. Falls silent entirely. Fails to find a reason to beat if not for her.

My voice is choked."No."

I stagger back into the tunnel wall, my ears ringing. Whoever is in that Pit with her is wearing an illusion, forcing me to watch what it looks like to not care for Paedyn Gray. My eyes are steely, indifferent as I loom over the girl I love. She shuffles back in the sand, her palms slipping and skin bloody. I spilled that blood. Rather, she thinks I did, and that is just as sickening.

Why is this happening? Where is Kitt?

A darkness begins to creep toward the corner of my vision. The Imperials are saying something, but I hear nothing. Do nothing. See nothing but the terror filling Paedyn's eyes. She has never looked at me that way-like I am a monster.

I try again to stumble toward her before the Imperials throw me aside.

He - I - am going to kill her.

My shout is lost in the crowd's hungry roar.

In her final moments, Pae will think it was me who wished to kill her.

A wave of pain shoots through me. I look down to find that my knees have hit the concrete. Shouts grow muffled, thoughts distant. I only hope to die in this place beside her.

Perhaps in the next life I can tell her I'm sorry. Tell her it wasn't me.

The arena rumbles, and I look up to find a blur of motion on the screen. Paedyn is running for her life-running from me. An Ignite's power is erupting the sand around her. Then she is falling into it, clawing at the hot grains slipping around her.

Slipping.

I'm slipping into something dark and murky. Something that takes me away from her. I'm terrified I will wake up from the smothering sleep. I don't want to if she isn't there to greet me.

Fight back, Pae. I need you to fight back.

The crowd is a distant collection of gasps as I fade away.

The last thing I see is her-face bloody and body suspended in the air before a blade. She is beautiful, like a deity plucked from the stars as proof of a paradise.

My hood falls back. My body hits the ground.

I am grief. I am sorrow. I am anguish alike.

Books A Million

Zailah POV

A light breeze ripples the silk robe draped across my skin.

The horizon is a puddle of murky water, rippling with stars. I never much liked the sky, with its glowering moon that stung my eyes. Such a vastness should be controlled, not hanging precariously above us until the day it decides otherwise.

I click my nails against the silver pendant hanging from my neck.

The sky peers down at me expectantly. I stare back. And if I weren't entirely too busy, I would rule the heavens as well.

A task for another lifetime, I suppose.

"Your Majesty, if I may-"

"You may not, but you likely will anyway," I say blandly.

Though I don't bother to turn toward the lanky figure beside me, this hardly deters him from disrupting my quiet night."Your Majesty, is there a reason you're hiding behind the castle?"

My voice holds little inflection. It scarcely ever does. "Quite the accusatory tone for a guard who is lurking behind me."

"You pay me to do so, Your Majesty."

"Not enough to care what I'm doing at high tide." Turning slowly. I take in a moon-drenched boy. My gaze cuts through the darkness, allowing me to scrutinize him until he squirms. I quite like the sight.

"He sent you after me," I finally sigh. It's not a question.

His head of blond hair ripples with a vigorous nod."Captain wanted to ensure you were safe out here-"

My laugh is low and breathy. The guard's skin pebbles. This makes me smile, the feeling unfamiliar around sharp teeth.

"Adyn cares not for my safety," I muse. "Now, shoo, child." My pointed nails waggle dismissively in his general direction. "I find your doe eyes unsettling."

I look away before the boy's gaze can widen further. My own is set firmly on what trees brush the castle's stone wall, their leafy fingers clawing at several windows. Even beneath a teetering, black sky, nothing is hidden from me.

The guard clears his throat."What brought you out here at this hour, Your Majesty?"

A branch rustles in the distance. My lips twitch. "A hunch."

I watch the Enforcer of Ilya scale a towering tree. He looks hesitant, like a fear long repressed was awakened from its slumber the moment he left the ground. Yet still, he climbs toward her window. It's a skilled practice, limbs working in tandem despite his mind's obvious protest.

It seems she is worth the facing of his fears.

The boy's incessant breathing draws an agitated sigh from my lungs. "What is your name, child?"

He hesitates for a heartbeat."Miles, Your Majesty."

I hum softly. "Now, is there a reason you have a death wish, Miles? It's comical, really, watching the blood drain from his face. "You're still standing here, looking at me with those doe eyes, after all."

His voice squeaks with a cruel mixture of panic and puberty."Captain ordered me to stay at your side, Your Majesty."

I roll my eyes before resting them back on the distant prince now knocking on a window. My murmur is laced with venom. "He does love to torture me with unwanted company."

The window opens, and the Enforcer smiles.

What a sickening sight. And yet, I can't seem to look away.

Paedyn Gray toys with him beyond the windowsill, seemingly forcing the prince to work for his entrance. There is something about her, something so contradictorily sharp and soft that reminds me of another version of myself.

When I look at the future queen of Ilya, I see what I might have been once.

The prince climbs into his future queen's room, painting a scandalous picture in the moonlight. I can't help but scoff at the sight. All of this for a single night in each other's arms. It's a reckless, futile endeavor that sparks a kernel of jealousy in my chest.

Once, I thought I knew what love was-and it ruined me. Perhaps I would give anything to feel foolish again.

Or perhaps I wish for it to ruin them as well.

I watch their shadowy figures through a pane of glass. Always on the outside of admiration, looking in with feigned disgust. I'll try to convince myself that it is their youth I envy.

"Tell me," I croon in that enticing way of mine, "have you ever been in love, Miles?"

The boy is startled by my sudden acknowledgment of him. "No, Your Majesty."

I inspect my nails in the pressing darkness, examining their pointed tips. Then it's no wonder you are content with the miserable life you live."

"But I'd like to be in love, Your Majesty," he hurries to add. "One day."

I quirk a brow."And why is that?"

"Well..." He shifts in shoes too large. "I don't want to be alone."

My gaze hardens on the boy.

I watch the fear spread across his features. A slow panic creeps into those wide eyes as Miles silently regrets his impulsivity. He would beg for forgiveness, drop to his knees despite not knowing what he'd done, if only I commanded it.

And that is power. That is the loneliness he spoke of.

A humorous huff parts my lips. A laugh. Then something more cynical that makes the boy chuckle uncomfortably. "You remind me of someone I once knew, Miles." I flick a strand of dark hair over my shoulder."His nose was far more crooked, but you both share a similar sense of naivety."

The young guard seems to take this as a compliment. "What happened to him?" His slight pause is followed by a rushed "Your Majesty."

I lift my gaze to that window, tracing the dancing shadows within.

My voice is flat as I turn on my heel. "I killed him."

Waterstones

Kitt POV

Dull petals drift down like ashes on the wind.

Like an onten I should heed.

Instead, I let the drizzle of decay nestle into my hair and caress my face. A few stubhorn blassoms still cling to the twining branches above, despite the wind's incessant rugging. Once, the flowers were vibrant, thrumming with life, before the hieter chill set in. Before the death of everything I knew.

Perhaps there is an odd parallel there, one I don't care to explore at the moment.

I quicken my pace along the path when the familiar panic begins to swell in my chest. This, mercifully, has the throng of smothering Imperials falling behind. I don't need them to witness their king's weakness.

My ears ring as I stagger into the Bowl's menacing shadow, muffling the excitement that echoes within. A shuddering cough rattles my chest and aching body. That unnatural thing writhes within me, coiling around the core of my Dual ability until the very essence of me is choking, I'm suddenly gasping for air, bracing a hand against one of the arena's tunneled entrances. It feels as though my soul is being cleaved in half.

I look up to find Death staring back. Sympathetic, she reaches for me-

'Your Majesty!'

The Imperial's shout severs my connection to the Plague settling in my veins. I shake my head, trying to free myself from the pained trance. 'I'm fine.' My weak reassurance is ground out between gritted teeth. I cough again, and this time it tastes of blood.

Straightening, I stride into the stone tunnel with the little composure I've mustered. Imperials nip at my heels, prickling my back with a dozen leery gazes.

They think I'm weak. Just as I have been my entire life.

The sinister thought slithers across my mind without warning. My very power feels as though it's on edge, every emotion heightened and violently tipping towards agitation.

'... should recover before addressing the people, Your Majesty?'

My gaze snaps to the masked figure.

An Imperial is questioning my wellbeing like a pestering Healer. As if I were the gentle prince from before, and not the great king of now. He has no idea of the power that runs through my veins.

My head pounds.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

Something snaps within me. 'Insinuate I am anything but a god again, and you will pray fervently for my forgiveness.'

The Imperial's jaw slackens, his mouth working until a mumbled, 'Of course, Your Majesty,' tumbles out.

I blink back the blinding rage, feeling unsteady on my feet.

What the hell just happened?

The fleeting hysteria is a hazy memory I fight to grasp hold of. My mind reels until it's suddenly pondering what I'm meant to be panicking over. I sway there for a moment, head clear as I mentally shrug aside whatever it was that had my heart racing.

'Why are we standing here?' The Imperials blink at my exasperation. 'I have a final Trial to commence.'

And with that, I head into the belly of the Bowl.

My body hums with power as all of Ilya welcomes their king. I sweep my gaze over the roaring crowd, feeling stronger than I ever have before. I raise a hand in greeting as I stride over to my glass box, each step amplified a thousand-fold by the stomping of feet around me.

Calum greets me inside the box before I ease into my cushioned chair. Concentrating on guarding my thoughts from the Mind Reader, I hardly hear him when he asks, 'How are you feeling, Kitt?'

I keep my gaze fixed on the arena beyond, 'Strong.'

'Of course you are.'

'Oh, don't pretend you're not surprised,' I murmur back. 'The Healers expect me to drop dead any moment. And the Scholars can't wait to gloat when I do.' I glance over my shoulder at him. 'But I'm better than ever. So don't hold your breath waiting for me to take my last.'

'Of course, Your Majesty.' Calum tips his head toward an Imperial beyond the glass. 'I only ask because he seems to think you may be losing your mind.'

'What?' I nearly choke on my incredulous laugh.

Calum pulls his arms behind him. 'Yes, apparently there was an incident outside of the Bowl?'

I shake my head at the blatant lie this Imperial has spun to entertain himself. Our walk to the arena was uneventful at best. After immerging from the tunnel of trees we...

Mentally, I frown, like my mind is frustrated by the mere suspicion of a misplaced memory.

I clear my throat. 'We made it into the Bowl just fine.'

My gaze flicks back to the rowdy arena, fingers drumming against the plush arm of my chair. The Pit stretches below me, a sea of sand speckled by four bodies. Their white robes are stark against the stone wall, though only three bear the ability that earns them a Sight's garb.

This is the beginning of the end.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

No turning back now.

The pounding in my head returns when Paedyn steps into the arena. Incidentally, my heart ceases its necessary pounding when she turns to look at me. I stand abruptly, instinctually, at her presence. Perhaps because I know this may be the last time I'm in it. Her eyes plead to find something in mine - faith, forgiveness, friendship, something. I open my mouth, futilely fumbling for a suitable farewell. Perhaps a 'thank you' for her ignorant part in my legacy. Instead, guilt skewers me in the gut, hard enough to have me bracing a hand against the glass.

I don't feel for her, not in the way I used to. Not in the way Kai still does. No, Paedyn Gray is now nothing more than a pawn in a game she doesn't know exists.

But I'm not sure it's possible to loathe something so resiliently alive.

I straighten before lowering slowly into my seat.

Still, I have to try.

I watch a swarm of Imperials shove Paedyn down toward the Pit before I step out onto the pathway encircling it. Numbly, I stand behind the railing with an Amplifier at my side, her hand pressed gently to my shoulder.

'Welcome, Ilyans, to Paedyn Gray's final Trial.' My words hollow as they echo across the arena. 'Here, we will test her brutality.'

I don't remember much else of what I declared, only the draining of colour from Paedyn's face. Even that is a blur behind the mask of stoicism I've secured over my features. Kai isn't the only Azer forced to play a part.

Kai.

He is in the Pit now, striding slowly toward Paedyn. She can't bring herself to turn around and meet the fate I have predestined.

But this is not my brother. No, I am doing this for my brother.

Makoto Khitan has the chance to rid us of her, despite that admirable resilience. That is what I want - what I need to keep Kai at my side. And yet, my gaze drops when the first scream rips from Paedyn's throat. My shrouded Wielder holds none of that coveted power back, just as he promised in the shadowed alley where we became unlikely allies.

The Ordinary is forced to face the ultimate Elite.

I'm doing this for Kai. For us.

Sand flies up around them, blurring every movement. I squint through the cloud of haze to see Paedyn's bloody form hovering at the end of a blade. My breath catches, and I stand, nearly pressing my face against the glass. Shifting my gaze to the looming screen above, I trace the sad acceptance settling on Paedyn's face. Her whispered words are meant for the man she loves - but that is not who hears them.

I am not a monster. I am not a monster. I am not a monster.

I hold my breath, waiting for that sword to plunge through my betrothed's chest. Instead, I watch something happen; something shift. I witness the exact moment Kai - Mak - damns himself by caring for Paedyn Gray.

He isn't the first man to make such a damning mistake.

The Wielder severs his connection to the Tele's ability. And when Paedyn drops to her knees, he bows back.

I shake my head, swallowing a hysterical laugh.

It seems in every instance, in every body, Kai Azer chooses Paedyn Gray.

So when that dagger slides into his chest, the same one that pierced my father's throat, I force myself to watch.

This is what loving Paedyn Gray will earn you - ruin.

And I vow to save my brother from the fate of her.

Kai letters

My Kit,

It seems writing letters run in our family. My father did as much, though, I didn't care to hear what he had to say. I hope that won't be the case for you, Mischief. But my brother, the great man you were named after, left me a piece of himself within his letters and I want to do the same. Leave my love behind for you once I'm gone.

Now, I know you're rolling your eyes at the parchment, as you very much inherited the Azer dramatics, but I am not invincible, Kit. You might have thought so as my little girl when you watched me command an army and mend broken bones with the touch. They called me the Deliverer of Death. It's funny, really, seeing that Death will one day be delivered to me.

But today is your seventeenth birthday, and I don't know how many dances in the gardens we have left with your boots on mine and the clumsy footwork you inherited from your mother. Maybe is premature to start anticipating my demise, but someone -something - tells me I should be prepared because I won't let Death drag me away from you or your mother without a fight.

____________________

My Kit,

I'm not one for words. Don't tell your mother because, somehow, I've managed to convince her otherwise.

You are the most magnificent thing I've managed in this life. Your power, Kit, is unlike anything I've ever seen. I can't keep up with you. You are destined for greatness.

I only hope to witness it.

____________________

My Kit,

When you were five, you refused to take off your first ballgown. Not even after our attempted bribes. It had awful frills around the collar, but you didn't care and I loved that. I loved that you were still just a girl. My little girl. Who didn't give a damn what she looked like. It was how you felt in it that mattered. So it wasn't until the frills threatened to choke you that you finally granted me permission to rescue you from the fabric, and only after I promised to replace the torn dress with a new one. I accepted your deal, of course, because I've never been able to say no to you.

But I wouldn't change a thing. Not even the awful frills. It was all worth it for the smile you gave me.

Never lose that, Kit. That unabashed pursuit of happiness. You have never cared what people thought. Even now, you meticulously craft each gown. Not for those who watch you light up the dance floor, but because you love it. And you know how much it means to your mother, that familiar passion of yours. As for me, I admire the sharp edge you add to everything. I never know if I'm going to be skewered by hidden blade when hugging you, and something about that is comforting. Because no matter how much it pains me, I know you don't need my protection anymore. Or did you ever? And you no longer need saving from frilly dresses.

____________________

My Kit,

You are so much like your mother, and that is all I could have asked for.

She is the best part of me. Sometimes I just sit and watch you two. The way you both throw your heads back and laugh in unison, or how you fidget with your necklace the way she spins that ring on her thumb. How the color of both your eyes are my favorite colors. You have twelve fewer freckles than her. You should know that. Just in case I don't get the chance to tell you myself.

Because something about this information feels oddly vital.

Sacred.

____________________

My Kit,

Your power is a gift. A beautiful, terrifying gift.

Sometimes when you're agitated or overwhelmed or climbing through a window at dawn only to realize you've been caught, I see a glimpse of that extraordinary strength within you. I know you struggle to control it, and that is not your fault. You are blessed - and cursed - and chosen to carry this responsibility.

So we train. We fight to keep that something under control.

You have to fight, Kit, even if I'm not around to fight with you. Because you are good, just like the man you are named after.

Fight. Always.

____________________

My Kit,

You are special, Mischief. There is a reason you earned that title. From the moment you were born, I knew there was something different about you. I could feel it.

But don't let it consume you. The greatness. Don't lose yourself to it.

Whatever you do, wherever you are, I will be there. I'm ready to face the life beyond, whenever that may be. But know, Kit, I will tame Death just to see you, even if you are powerless to see me.

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