Powerless

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.

Powerless

Adena POV

It is cold in the dungeons.

I suppose that's to be expected. Not that I had planned on experiencing it firsthand anytime soon.

The damp wall pressed against my back has me wishing I'd been wearing a sweater when the king summoned me. Or perhaps my cardigan with the lace trim. Though I'd hate to wear it for the first time to the dungeons, with no one but the occasional Imperial to admire my handiwork.

I shut my eyes against the lone, flickering light beyond my bars and lean a throbbing temple against the stone wall. My stomach has been far chattier than anyone down here, growling with my growing hunger. I peek open an eye to stare at the stale bread tossed carelessly in the corner of my cell. After wincing at the mere thought of moving, I'm viciously biting my tongue as I shift closer. The shackles clamped around my ankles have my eyes stinging, skin tearing like sheer fabric. Rusty metal has rubbed my skin raw, leaving angry, red blisters beneath.

Taking a shaky breath, I reach for the bread.

I know what I'll see. I even squeeze my eyes shut to prolong the inevitable, to pretend this is all a nightmare that Pae will wake me up from. Because she always did. She always found a way to fight off fear, to be strong enough for the both of us. I would feel the brush of her fingers against the uneven bangs I made her cut for me, and the soothing touch was enough to drag me from my dreams. And then we would sit with my head on her shoulder, staring at the stars until they melted into morning.

But this is not the Fort. And there are no stars in sight or shoulders to rest my pounding head on. I am very much awake and opening my eyes and-

The sight of my fingers has me swallowing a sob. I wish they had bound my hands behind my back, if only so I couldn't look at them.

I'm not sure why they did it. Or, better yet, why I'm down here in the first place.

I screamed when they began breaking my fingers, pleaded despite the pain, begged them to spare the one thing I loved to live for. My fingers are my craft, my comfort, my connection to the past I've managed to survive.

And then I cried.

It was a silent sort of mourning at first, tears slipping from behind squeezed eyelids. But my composure has never been anything to brag about. It wasn't long before I was sobbing at the sound of my cracking bones and broken dreams.

It's only when my outstretched hand grows blurry that I realize I'm crying. Again. It seems that's all I've done since the king ordered me thrown in here. Why is that again? I still haven't puzzled that one out quite yet. Although, I have been rather occupied.

Sniffling, I strain toward the bread, sucking in a breath when the chains around my ankles grow taught. The pain of it all is too much. I'm not like Pae. I'm not used to hurting so heavily. I'm used to pricked fingers and sore hands, not an aching body and broken bones.

I huff and slump against the wall.

It's no big deal, really. I'm used to being hungry. In fact, I don't even want the stale bread.

My stomach protests. Very loudly.

I'm about to remind it that we've suffered longer without food, and to not be so dramatic, when the shadows begin speaking. How very odd.

"Would ya keep it down over there? I'm tryin' to sleep."

I startle at the gruff voice and squint into the cell beside me. "I - I didn't say anything." My own voice is hoarse, scratchy like wool.

"Yeah," the man grumbles, "well, your stomach sure as hell has a lot to say."

"Yes," I sigh, "all of me is quite chatty." My eyes trace the faint outline of a figure tucked into the corner connected to my cell - the corner closest to that dreadful bread. And he might just be able to reach it for me. "I'll tell you what," I begin cheerily. "If you toss me that bread, my stomach will quiet down. So, we'll both get what we want. I'll eat, you'll sleep."

He seems to find this funny. Supposing, of course, that the noise coming from him is a laugh. "Oh, yeah? And how d'you know I won't just take the bread for myself?"

"Well, are you in here for being a thief?"

"No. Worse."

"Then I'll take my chances," I say lightly. "Sounds like you have no experience with thievery."

He makes that noise again, the one I'm assuming is laughter. Then he's shifting, sliding bony fingers between the bars in search of my bread. After managing to grab ahold of it, he tosses the loaf over to me with a gruff grunt. It rolls, coming to a stop when it collides with my leg.

I smile into the shadows. "See, you're no thief. Thank you."

I falter at the sight of my fingers. Twisted and broken and useless. The pain is paralyzing.

I place a palm atop the loaf, wincing at the pressure. After a moment, I muster up the courage to press the bread between both hands and attempt to lift it toward my mouth. Tears slip down my cheeks. But I take a bite. And another. Each one stale and salty with my tears.

"Whatcha do, kid?" the voice asks, cutting through the sobs I'm choking down along with the bread.

"I... " A sniffle. "I'm a seamstress. I - I used to be a seamstress." The ghost of a smile lifts my lips. "Loot needs all the fashion help it can get. I had a whole little business. My best friend - she's actually in the Trials, you know. Well" - I frown - "I guess you wouldn't know if you've been down here. Anyway, she would get me the fabric, and I would sew the clothes. Of course, I always made sure she had first call on anything I made. Oh, but I designed this vest for her with all these pockets, because, well, let's just say she did have experience with thievery-"

"No, kid." He sounds annoyed. "Damn, you sure do talk a lot, don't ya? I meant, whatcha do to end up down here?"

"Oh. Um. Your guess is as good as mine," I say, struggling to swallow the tough bread between my teeth. "Well, I did try to steal something once. It didn't end well. Pae is still shocked at how terrible of a thief I am for being a Phaser." I attempt another bite at the loaf. "She always says that if she could walk through walls, she'd be unstoppable. And very rich."

"What, they just throw you in here for no reason?" He snorts. "It's not like you're an Ordinary or somethin'."

The thought of this being Paedyn's fate has my stomach turning.

"No. No, I'm definitely an Elite. Not that it will help me any in here." I glance at the stones surrounding the cells, feeling the Mute suppressing my powers so I can't simply phase through these bars. Something about him feels suddenly serious. "I wonder what they're gonna do to ya."

"Well" - I lift my hands for him to see-"there's not much worse they could do."

"Yeah," he says gruffly. "I heard that happen."

"Sorry for keeping you up then," I say halfheartedly. He chuckles at that, making me smile. "Soooo," I drag out the word, "what did you do to end up down here, hmm?"

I can feel him watching me. "Somethin' that earned me a spot in this dungeon. Unlike you."

"People can change," I say quietly.

"Not me."

"I don't know about that," I say cheerily. "Helping a stranger out is probably the first step toward self-improvement."

I don't know why, but it feels like he's smiling. "What's your name, kid?"

"I'm Adena. But my friends - well, friend - call me A." He grunts in response. "What's your name?"

His tone is almost accusatory. "Why you wanna know?"

I shrug. "Maybe I'm trying to make another friend."

I'm not sure why he laughs at that. "You don't wanna be friends with me, kid. They all end up dyin'."

"Well, it sounds like you're in need of some more, then."

Another rough chuckle. "You make a good point, kid. Fine. I'm Al."

"Al?" I repeat. "Is that short for something?"

"I wouldn't know if it was." He coughs, nearly choking. "Never spoke to my parents. Just been on my own for as long as I can remember."

"Hmm." I'm quiet for a long moment, thinking briefly of how I never knew my father. My silence seems to unsettle him into speaking.

"Yeah, and I got no friends to give me a nickname."

"Well" - I grin in his direction - "you do now, A."

"A?" he questions. "Isn't that your nickname, kid?"

"From Pae, yes. From you, it sounds like you've settled on 'kid.'"

He laughs, the sound now making me smile. "You're somethin' special, you know that, kid?"

I toss the rest of the loaf in his direction, watching his hand hesitantly pick it up. "Thank you, A. I-"

Heavy footsteps echo off the dungeon walls, drowning out my words.

My cell door is swinging open before I'm suddenly swallowed by a swarm of Imperials. Two of them are yanking me off the ground, careless of my cracked fingers. I cry out, trying to shield my hands from them and-

Now I'm choking on something.

They've gagged me with what feels to be cotton. My protests are muffled as they drag me from the cell and into the hallway. I'm frantic, eyes wide as they meet Al's through the bars beside me. I can just make out his face now, crowded with wrinkles and covered with worry. He shakes his head at me, cowering in his corner.

All his friends end up dead. And I'm starting to think I'm not the exception.

He turns away from another doomed friend, growing blurry as my eyelids begin to flutter.

And then-

And then, nothing.

Blackness and blinding pain are all I know.

It is hot in the Pit.

Again, I suppose that's to be expected.

I wake to the sound of stomping feet. The chanting of thousands has my ears ringing as my senses slowly hum to life. After struggling to blink open my heavy eyelids, I startle at the sight of hedges looming over me.

Staggering to my feet proves to be rather difficult with my wrists now bound behind my back and my ankles bound beneath me. I gawk at the hedges surrounding me, gulp at the sounds coming from beyond the dense foliage. At least I don't have to look at my fingers anymore. Though, they ache so badly that it's impossible to forget what they look like. I do my best to ignore the image of cracked bones and swollen knuckles that persistently flashes in my mind.

I'm dreaming. I must be.

This is all just a nightmare. Pae will wake me soon with her fingers sweeping back my sweaty bangs. And then we will sit and stare at the stars from behind our fort. Because that is where I am. That is where

I want to be.

But that is not this place.

This place is hot sand beneath my bare feet and sun trickling down through the vines above my head. This place is a wall of greenery, a cage of foliage folding in on me. This place is foreign and familiar all at once.

My eyes widen with realization.

This place really is the Pit.

Why am I in the Pit? I can't possibly be in the Pit. Today must be the final Trial and-

Did I wake up in the final Trial? I couldn't have... I mean, why would I be .. . ?

I spin in a slow circle, struggling against the shackles binding my ankles together. My head is pounding from whatever it was that knocked me out, making my vision eerily hazy.

Thundering feet and growing cheers are my only indication that the Trial has begun.

So, I stand there. Stunned and still and silently hoping this is all in my head.

Pae will find me. She'll know what to do. She always knows what to do.

Sweat rolls down my face. My fingers throb. My head aches. My stomach growls.

Time seems to slow. I hear a muffled scream and spin in its direction.

That terror couldn't have belonged to Paedyn. No, because she's strong and safe and probably standing right beyond these hedges, about to find me.

Patience has never been a quality I've possessed.

493.

I've started counting the seconds out of sheer boredom.

My legs are shaking, feeling unsteady beneath me.

494, 495, 496...

I'm not sure what this Trial is supposed to be, but I'm pretty sure I have the worst seat.

It's difficult to ignore my throbbing fingers, or the nagging thought that I was thrown into this Trial for a reason.

What could they want with a useless seamstress?

521, 522, 523...

Pae will win this. Her prize will be finding me.

Shouts echo from every direction, chanting names I can't make out.

Do they know I'm here? Do they see me struggling to stay standing?

The world begins spinning around second 547.

My mouth is so dry I can barely swallow.

552.

Any second now. She'll save me any second now.

The corners of my vision are creeping in on me, making it feel as though I'm looking through a long tunnel.

I just want to wake up so I can see the stars.

I'm so dizzy that I almost don't see the figure running toward me.

"Adena?"

Her voice cuts through the haze of pain. My Pae has found me.

She's bounding toward me, sand flying from her heels. I'm so flooded with relief that I sink to my knees, smiling at her blurry form. "Paedyn!" I shout, attempting to stand. But the look on her face has me faltering.

Why does she look so upset? She's won.

Maybe I've worried her with my disappearance. The thought has me spewing an apology, frantically trying to make her understand where I've been. "Pae, I'm so sorry. I-"

This second feels longer than all the ones prior.

This one feels like fire.

Fatal.

Like the beginning of the end.

Pain blooms in my chest, burns through my body.

I take my time looking down at what is to be the end of me.

I blink at the bloody branch that has found its way through my chest, vaguely wondering how it got there.

Everything feels dull, muted like the scream that tears from a throat that isn't mine.

My eyes slowly find their way to the girl sprinting toward me, watching the scream form on her lips but never hearing it leave them.

She catches me before I hit the sand. I'm being cradled in arms I wish I could feel. Fingers are brushing away my bangs, and I manage a smile at the familiar feeling.

She's always there to wake me from my nightmares, to push uneven bangs from my eyes.

I sense the pain racking my body rather than feel it. Like knowing when your heart has broken without needing to feel it shatter.

I keep my eyes on her. My strong Pae. She's telling me I'm going to be fine, I know I'm not.

I may be dying, but I'm not dumb.

She's promising me sticky buns now. Says she'll feed me so many that I'll grow sick of them. We both know that's a lie. My love for sticky buns will die with me.

Die.

What a silly word, one I typically associate with the color of my fabrics. How odd it is to assign three little letters to the end of my existence.

" ... you have to promise me you'll stay-"

Her muffled words pierce me harder than the branch jutting from my chest. "Pae." I take a shaky breath. "You know I don't make promises I can't keep."

I don't hear much of what she says next. Her tears are splattering my face, though I can't feel them through the blanket of numbness smothering my body. She's just as stubborn as always, denying the death that is so obviously coming to claim me.

That is the one thing I do feel. The brush of Death's fingers down my face, like a calming caress. I thought I would be frightened of him and the end he's dragging me toward. But it's comforting in a way, being fully aware that this is the end.

"Promise you'll wear it for me?"

The words slip from my mouth, blood quickly following. Through blurry vision, I see the question on her face more than hear it from her lips. "The vest," I choke out. "Th-the green one with the pockets." Death is shushing me, but I speak over him. "The stitching took me ages, and I'd hate for all my... h-hard work to go to waste."

It's the last piece of me left.

The last physical piece of my passion in life.

She promises. She pleads. She pulls me closer.

She's so good. I'm not sure she knows how good she is. How her worth is so much more than what power is or isn't running through her veins.

I've never thought of her as anything less than extraordinary.

My eyelids grow heavy, but I force them open.

I'll have plenty of time to rest when I'm dead.

It's peaceful, being pulled into the unknown.

But leaving her is anything but.

I claw against Death, needing to speak one last time.

"This is not a goodbye... , only a good way to say bye until I see you next."

With numb lips, I leave her with that.

I wonder if I'll be able to watch over her when I get to wherever Death is taking me.

He better let me watch over her.

The taste of blood is bitter in my mouth, but the smile I muster for her is sweet.

And then I count.

One, two, three...

Death is gentle in a way life never was.

I look up into the sky, seeing stars swim in my vision.

What a beautiful night in the Fort.

Four, five, six...

I'm counting the seconds until I see her next.

The stars wink at me, welcoming me home.

And on second eight, I know nothing.

Powerful

Kai POV 1

The halls are eerily empty at this hour.

Just as they are every year.

I take my time walking down them, stealing this sliver of peace for myself. Though, stolen bliss is little more than smothered chaos.

I choose to ignore that thought as I turn down a dark hall, my footsteps soft atop the emerald carpet. A sleeping castle is comforting, solidarity a rarity among royals.

Royal.

I almost allow myself to laugh at the title. I frequently forget what I was before what I became. A prince before the Enforcer. A boy before the monster.

But today, I am no one. Today, I simply get to be with who should have been.

A soft light leaks from beneath the doors of the kitchen. I manage a slight smile at the sight.

Every year. She's always here every year.

I gently push open the doors and step into the puddle of light cast by several flickering candles. The sweet smell of dough and cinnamon hangs in the air, swaddling me in warmth and memories.

"You're up earlier every year."

I meet Gail's smile with a small one of my own. Her apron is dusted with cinnamon, her face streaked with flour. I lift myself onto the same counter I've been sitting atop since I was big enough to reach it-my palms flattened behind me, scars sticky from the countertop.

There's comfort in the normalcy of it all.

I smile at the woman who all but raised me, a single shoulder lifted by a lazy shrug. "Every year I sleep less."

When her hands find her hips, I know she's fighting the urge to scold me. "You worry me, Kai."

"When have I not?" I say lightly.

"I'm serious." She wags a finger, gesturing to the whole of me. "You're too young to be dealin' with all this. It seems like only yesterday you were running around my kitchen, you and Kitt... "

She trails off at the mention of him, forcing me to resuscitate the dying conversation. "I actually came from Father's-" I pause long enough to sigh through my nose. "Kitt's study."

Gail nods slowly. "He hasn't left it since his coronation, has he?"

"No, he hasn't. And I wasn't in there long, either." I run a hand through my disheveled hair. "He was just informing me of my first mission."

She's quiet for a long moment. "It's her, isn't it?"

I nod. "It's her."

"And are you -? "

"Going to complete the mission? Do as I'm told?" I finish for her. "Of course. It's my duty."

Another long pause. "And did he remember what today is?"

I look up slowly, smiling sadly as I meet her gaze. "It's not his job to remember."

"Right," she sighs. "Well, I only made one this year anyway. Figured he wouldn't be able to join ya."

She steps aside, revealing a glistening sticky bun beside the oven. I slide off the counter, smiling as I walk over to her. Only after I've kissed her on the cheek does she hand the plate to me.

"Now, go on," she shoos. "Go spend some time with her."

"Thank you, Gail," I say softly. "For every year."

"And the rest to follow." She winks before shoving me toward the door.

I glance back at her, at this woman who was a mother to me when the queen could not be. She was warm hugs and affection, well-deserved scoldings and much desired approval.

I fear where the Azer brothers would be without her.

"Kai?"

I'm halfway through the door when I stop to look back at her.

"We all loved her," she says quietly.

"I know." I nod. "She knew."

And then my feet are carrying me out into the shadowed hallway beyond.

The sticky bun sitting atop the plate in my hand is tempting, smelling of cinnamon and sugar and simpler times. But I instead force myself to focus on walking the familiar path to the gardens, the same one I take every year from the kitchens.

It's not long before I'm heading for the broad doors that separate me from the gardens beyond. I barely glance at the Imperials standing guard or the ones sleeping uselessly beside them. The few who are awake pretend not to notice the sticky bun I'm carrying out into the darkness with me.

I follow the stone path between the rows of colorful flowers I can't make out in the shadows. Statues covered in ivy litter the garden, several missing chunks of stone after taking one too many topples that certainly had nothing to do with me. The fountain ripples at the center of it all, reminding me of stifling days and understandable stupidity that had Kitt and me jumping into it.

But it's what sits beyond the garden that I'm here for.

I step out into the soft stretch of grass that was once layered with colorful rugs for the second Trial's ball. Not allowing myself to reminisce any further on that night, I follow the moonlight that strokes its pale fingers over the outline of her.

The willow tree looks hauntingly alluring, her leaves rustling in the soft breeze. I run my eyes over each drooping branch. Over each root breaking through the dirt. Every inch is beautiful and strong.

I push through the curtain of leaves to step beneath the tree I visit as often as life will allow it-but always on this day with a sticky bun in hand. I run my fingers along the rough bark of the trunk, following the familiar grooves.

It's not long before I take my familiar seat beneath the towering tree, draping an arm over my propped knee. Balancing the plate atop a particularly large root, I pull a small matchbox from my pocket.

"I couldn't find a candle this year, sorry." I strike the match, staring at the small flame now sputtering on the stick. "So, this will have to do."

I push the match into the center of the sticky bun, smiling slightly at the pathetic sight. I take a moment to watch it burn, watch it paint the massive tree in a flickering glow.

Then I look down beside me, running a hand over the soft grass there.

"Happy birthday, A."

I blow the candle out, letting the darkness swallow us whole.

Powerful

Paedyn

My blood is only useful if it can manage to stay inside my body.

My mind is only useful if it can manage to not get lost.

My heart is only useful if it can manage to not get broken.

Well, it seems I've become utterly useless then.

My eyes flick over the floorboards beneath my feet, wandering over the worn wood. The mere sight of the familiar floods me with memories, and I fight to blink away the fleeting images of small feet atop big, booted ones as they stepped in time to a familiar melody. I shake my head, trying to shake the memory from it despite desperately wishing I could dwell in the past, seeing that my present isn't the most pleasant at the moment.

... sixteen, seventeen, eighteen-

I smile, ignoring the pain that pinches my skin.

Found you.

My stride is unsteady and stiff, sore muscles straining with each step toward the seemingly normal floorboard. I drop to my knees, biting my tongue against the pain, and claw at the wood with crimson-stained fingers I struggle to ignore.

The floor seems to be just as stubborn as I am, refusing to budge. I would have admired its resilience if it weren't a damn piece of wood.

I don't have time for this. I need to get out of here.

A frustrated sound tears from my throat before I blink at the board and blurt, "I could have sworn you were the secret compartment. Are you not the nineteenth floorboard from the door?"

I'm staring daggers at the wood before a hysterical laugh slips past my lips, and I tip my head back to shake it at the ceiling. "Plagues, now I'm talking to the floor," I mutter, further proof that I'm losing my mind.

Although, it's not as if I have anyone else to talk to.

It's been four days since I stumbled back to my childhood home, haunted and half-dead. And yet, both my mind and body are far from healed.

I may have dodged death with each swipe of the king's sword, but he still managed to kill a part of me that day after the final Trial. His words cut deeper than his blade ever could, slicing me with slivers of truths as he toyed with me, taunted me, told me of my father's death with a smile tugging at his lips.

"Don't you want to know who it was that killed your father?"

A shiver snakes down my spine while the king's cold voice echoes through my skull.

"Let's just say that your first encounter with a prince wasn't when you saved Kai in the alley."

If betrayal was a weapon, he bestowed it upon me that day, driving the blunt blade through my broken heart. I blow out a shaky breath, pushing away thoughts of the boy with gray eyes as piercing as the sword I watched him drive through my father's chest so many years ago.

Staggering to my feet, I shift my weight over the surrounding floorboards, listening for an indicating creak while mindlessly spinning the silver ring on my thumb. My body aches all over, my very bones feeling far too fragile. The wounds I earned from my fight with the king were hastily tended to, the result of shaky fingers and silent sobs that left my vision blurry and stitches sloppy.

After limping from the Bowl Arena toward Loot Alley, I stumbled into the white shack I called home and the Resistance called head-quarters. But I was greeted with emptiness. There were no familiar faces filling the secrete room beneath my feet, leaving me with nothing but my pain and confusion.

I was alone - have been alone - left to clean up the mess that is my body, my brain, my bleeding heart.

Wood groans. I grin.

Once again I'm on the floor, prying up a beam to reveal a shadowy compartment beneath. I shake my head at myself, mumbling, "It's the nineteenth floorboard from the window, not the door, Pae... "

I reach into the darkness, fingers curling around the unfamiliar hilt of a dagger. My heart aches more than my body, wishing to feel the swirling steel handle of my father's weapon against my palm.

But I chose the shedding of blood over sentiment when I threw my beloved blade into the king's throat. And my only regret is that he found it, promising to return it only when he's stabbed it into my back.

Empty blue eyes blink at me in the reflection of the shiny blade I lift into the light, startling me enough to halt my hateful thoughts.

My skin is splattered with slices, covered in cuts. I swallow at the sight of the gash traveling down the side of my neck, skim fingers over the jagged skin. Shaking my head, I slip the dagger into my boot, stowing away my scared reflection with it.

I spot a bow and its quiver of sharp arrows concealed in the compartment, and the shadow of a sad smile crosses my face at the memory of Father teaching me how to shoot, the gnarled tree behind our house my only target.

Slinging the bow and quiver across my back, I sift through the ther weapons hidden beneath the floor. After tossing a few sharp throwing knives into my pack, joining the rations and water canteens I'd hastily tucked inside, I struggle to my feet.

I've never felt so delicate, so damaged. The thought has me swelling with anger, has me snatching a knife from my waist and itching to punge it into the worn, wooden wall betore me. Searing pain shoots sown my raised arm when the brand above my heart pulls taut with the movement.

A reminder. A representation of what I am. Or rather, what I'm not.

O for Ordinary.

I send the knife flying, plunging it into the wood with gritted teeth. The scar stings, gloating of its endless existence on my body.

" ... I will leave my mark upon your heart, lest you forget who's broken it."

I stalk over to the blade, ready to yank it from the wall, when the board beneath my foot creaks, drawing my attention. Despite knowing that flimsy floorboards are anything but foreign to houses in the slums, my curiosity has me bending to investigate.

If every creaky board were a compartment, our floor would be littered with them-

The wood lifts and my eyebrows do the same, shooting up my forehead in shock. I huff out a humorless laugh as I reach into the shadows of the compartment I didn't know existed.

Silly of me to think that the Resistance was the only secret Father kept from me.

My fingers brush worn leather before I pull out a large book, stuffed with papers that threaten to spill out. I flip through it, recognizing the messy handwriting of a Healer.

Father's journal.

I shove it into my pack, knowing I don't have the time or safety needed to study his work. I've been here too long, spent too many days wounded and weak and worrying that I'll be found.

The Sight who witnessed me murder the king has likely displayed that image all over the kingdom. I need to get out of Ilya, and I've already wasted the head start he so graciously gave me.

I make my way to the door, ready to slip out and onto the streets where I can disappear into the chaos that is Loot. From there, I'll attempt to head across the Scorches to the city of Dor, where Elites don't exist and Ordinary is all they know.

Reaching for the door and the quiet street beyond-

I halt, hand outstretched.

Quiet.

It's nearly midday, meaning Loot and its surrounding streets should be a swarm of swearing merchants and squealing children as the slums buzz with color and commotion.

Something's not right-

The door shudders, something - someone - ramming into it from the outside. I jump back, eyes darting around the room. I contemplate ducking down the secret stairwell to the room beneath that held the Resistance meetings, but the thought of being cornered down there makes me queasy. That's when my gaze snaps to the fireplace, and I sigh in annoyance despite my current situation.

How do I always find myself in a chimney?

The door breaks open with a bang before I've barely shimmied halfway up the grimy wall, my feet planted opposite me while bricks dig into my back.

Brawny.

Only an Elite with extraordinary strength would be able to smash through my barricaded and bolted door so quickly. The sound of heavy boots has me figuring that five Imperials have just filed into my home.

"Don't just stand there. Search the place and convince me that you're useful."

I stiffen, slipping slightly down the sooty wall. A shiver runs down my spine at the sound of that cool voice, the one I've heard sound like both a caress and a command.

He's here.

The voice that follows is gravelly, belonging to an Imperial. "You heard the Enforcer. Get a move on."

The Enforcer.

I bite my tongue, whether to keep myself from letting out a bitter laugh or a scream, I'm not sure. My blood boils at the title, reminding me of everything he's done, every bit of evil he's committed in the shadow of the king. First for his father, and now for his brother - thanks to me ridding him of the former.

Except he's not thanking me. No, he's come to kill me instead.

"Maybe when I rid myself of you, I'll find my courage. So I'm giving you a head start."

A lot of good his head start has done me.

I can't risk being heard scrambling up the chimney, so I wait, listening to heavy footsteps stomping through the house in search of me. My legs are beginning to shake, straining to hold me up while my every wound has me wincing in pain.

"Check the bookcases in the study. There should be a secret passage behind one," the Enforcer commands dryly, sounding bored.

Once again I find myself stiffening. A Resistance member must have confessed that little secret after he tortured it out of them. My pulse quickens at the thought of the fight after the final Trial in the Bowl when Ordinaries, Fatals, and Imperials clashed in a bloody battle.

A bloody battle that I still don't know the outcome of.

The steps of the Imperials grow distant, the sounds of their search softening as they head down the stairs and into the room beneath.

Quiet.

And yet, I know he's still in this room. Only a feeble amount of feet separate us. I can practically feel his presence, just as I've felt the heat of his body against mine, the heat of his gray gaze as it swept over me.

A floorboard creaks. He's close. I'm shaking with anger, revenge coursing through my blood and desperately wishing to spill his. It's a good thing I can't see his face because if I were to catch sight of one of his stupid dimples right now, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from trying to claw it from his face.

But I steady my breathing instead, knowing that if I fight him now, my fury won't be enough to beat him. And I intend to win when I finally face the Enforcer.

"I imagine you pictured my face when you threw that knife." His voice is quiet, considering, sounding far more like the boy I knew. Memories of him flood my mind, managing to make my heart race. "Isn't that right, Paedyn?" And there it is. The edge is back in the Enforcer's voice, erasing Kai and leaving a commander.

My heart hammers against my rib cage.

He can't know I'm here. How could he possibly-

The sound of a blade ripping from splintered wood tells me he yanked my knife out of the wall. I hear a familiar flicking noise and can practically picture him mindlessly flipping the weapon in his hand.

"Tell me, darling, do you think of me often?" His voice is a murmur, as if his lips were pressed against my ear. I shiver, knowing exactly what that feels like.

If he knows I'm here then why hasn't he-

"Do I haunt your dreams, plague your thoughts, like you do mine?"

My breath hitches.

So he doesn't know I'm here, not for certain.

His admission told me as much.

As an Ordinary who was trained and tailored into a Psychic, I was taught by my father to read people, to gather information and observations in a matter of seconds.

And I've had far more than a matter of seconds to read Kai Azer.

I've seen through his many masks and facades, glimpsing the boy beneath and growing to know him, care for him. And with all the betrayal now between us, I know he wouldn't declare dreaming of me if he knew I was drinking in every word.

I hear the humor in his voice as he sighs, "Where are you, Little Psychic?"

His nickname is laughable, seeing that he and the rest of the kingdom now know I'm anything but. Anything but Elite.

Nothing but Ordinary.

Soot stings my nose and I have to clamp my hand over it to hold in a sneeze, reminding me of my many nights thieving from the stores lining Loot before escaping through cramped chimneys.

Cramped. Trapped. Suffocating.

My eyes dart across the bricks surrounding me in the darkness. The space is so small, so stuffy, so very easily making me panic.

Calm down.

Claustrophobia chooses the worst times to claw to the surface and remind me of my helplessness.

Breathe.

I do. Deeply. The hand still clamped over my nose smells faintly of metal - sharp and strong and stinging my nose.

Blood.

I pull the shaky hand away from my face, and though I can't see the crimson staining my fingers, I can practically feel it clinging to me. there's still blood crusted under my cracked nails, and I don't know whether it's mine, the king's, or-

I suck in a breath, trying to pull myself together. The Enforcer tooms far too close to me, pacing the fioot, wood groaning beneath him with each step.

Getting caught because I start sobbing would be equally as embarrassing as getting caught for sneezing.

And I refuse to do either.

At some point, the Imperials stomped back into the room beneath me. "No sign of her, Your Highness."

There's a long pause before his highness sighs. "Just as I thought. You're all useless." His next words are sharper than the blade he flips casually in his hand. "Get out."

The Imperials don't waste a single second before scrambling toward the door and away from him. I don't blame them.

But he's still here, leaving nothing but silence to stretch between us. I have a hand clamped over my nose again, and the smell of blood combined with the cramped chimney has my head spinning.

Memories flood my mind - my body caked in blood, my screams as I tried to scrub it away, only managing to stain my skin a sickening red. The sight and smell of so much blood made me sick, made me think of my father bleeding out in my arms, of Adena doing the same.

Adena.

Tears prick my eyes, forcing me to blink away the image of her lifeless body in the sandy Pit. The metallic stench of blood fills my nose again, and I can't stand to smell it, to look at it, to feel it-

Breathe.

A heavy sigh cuts through my thoughts. He sounds as tired as I feel. "It's a good thing you're not here," he says softly, a tone I never thought I'd hear from him again. "Because I still haven't found my courage."

And then my home bursts into flames.

Powerful

Kai POV 2

Flames lick at my heels as I leisurely make my way to the door.

Waves of heat crash into my back; wisps of smoke cling to my clothing. I step outside into the cloudy afternoon, now further polluted by the billowing clouds of smoke wafting into the sky.

My lips twitch at the look of shock on my Imperials' faces, accompanied by the unhinged jaws they fight to clamp closed as flames consume the house behind me. Their gazes slowly flick to me, managing to reach as high as my collar before they're shifting uncomfortably on their feet.

They still when I stride toward them with ease.

They think I've gone mad.

Glass shatters when a window bursts behind me, sending shards of sharp edges scattering onto the street. The Imperials flinch, covering their faces. The sight makes me smile.

Maybe they're right. Maybe I have gone mad.

Mad with worry, with rage, with betrayal.

The tension continuously coiling through my body seems to be the only constant in my life, resulting in stiffened shoulders and a clamped jaw. My fingers drum against the dagger at my side, tempting me to take out my frustration on one of the many useless Imperials.

I trace the swirling steel on the hilt, the pattern familiar beneath my fingertips. How could I forget the dagger that's been held against my throat so many times?

How could I forget the dagger that I pulled from my father's severed neck?

It's been four days since I saw the hilt of this very weapon protruding from the king's throat. Four days to grieve, and yet, I haven't shed a single tear. Four days to prepare, and yet, no plan will truly free me from her. Four days to simply be Kitt and Kai - brothers - before we became king and Enforcer.

And now her head start is up.

Though it seems that she used it wisely - took advantage of my weakness, my cowardice, my feelings for her - and ran. I spin to face the flames, watching the colorful chaos as fire consumes the home in red, orange, thick black smoke, and-

Silver.

I blink, squinting through suffocating smoke at the collapsing roof. But there's nothing there, no hint of the shimmer I saw a moment ago. I run a hand through my hair before pressing the heels of my palms against tired eyes.

Yes, I've truly gone mad.

"Sir!"

I drop my hands, slowly fixing my gaze on the Imperial brave enough to shout at me. He clears his throat, likely regretting that decision. "I, uh, I think I saw something, Your Highness."

He points to the flaming roof, smoke shifting as a figure stumbles through the flames. A figure with silver hair.

So she is here.

I can't seem to decide whether I'm relieved or not.

"Bring her to me."

My command rings out, and the Imperials don't miss a beat. And apparently, neither does she. I barely catch a glimpse of her before she jumps off the edge of the crumbling roof and onto the neighboring one, legs bounding as soon as she finds her footing.

Imperials run down the street below, Brawnies and Shields rendered utterly useless as she jumps from roof to roof. I comb a hand through my hair again before dragging it down my face, unsurprised by their incompetence.

I flip the knife I'd yanked from the wall in my hand before taking off down the street, quickly catching up with my Imperials. I feel each of their powers buzzing under my skin, begging to be released. But their abilities are useless to me unless I can get her on the ground, making me regret not bringing a Tele who could set her on the street before me with nothing but a thought.

But she can only stay on the rooftops if she's able to jump between them. And that's why, with the flick of my wrist, I send the knife flying toward her.

I watch as it meets its mark, slicing through her thigh as she leaps. Her cry of pain makes me flinch, an action that is as frustrating as it is foreign to me.

She hits the flat roof hard, rolling in a feeble attempt to lessen the fall. I watch as she staggers to her feet, blood streaming down her leg. Her features are fuzzy from this distance, and I can almost pretend that she is simply a forgetful figure limping to the edge of a roof.

She's no fool. She knows she can't make the jump.

My gaze snaps to the Imperials gawking up at her.

"Must I do everything for you?" My voice is cold. "Go get her."

But then my eyes wander back up to the roof. Empty.

Foolish of me to think she'd make this easy.

"Find her," I bark, gritting my teeth against a slew of curses. The Imperials split up, sprinting in opposite directions down the streets I ensured would be empty for this exact reason. A thief's ability to blend in is alarming, allowing them to get swallowed in chaos, lost in a crowd. And she would do just that if I hadn't cleared Loot for the day.

I stride down the street, glancing into the adjacent alleys jutting off it. Muffled shouts ring out, echoing off the run-down homes and shops. I silently continue my search, feet faltering when I spot a figure slumped at the end of a shadowed alley.

I crouch beside the Imperial, eyes wandering over his once-white uniform, now soaked with blood. Scarlet seeps from a throwing knife buried deep in his chest, oozing over the crisp folds of his uniform.

She is a vicious little thing.

My fingers are at his throat, checking for a pulse despite knowing I won't feel the familiar beat of it. I sigh, dropping my head into my hands. My whole body feels heavy with exhaustion, weighed down by my worries.

I buried someone who tried to kill her once.

Simply because I knew it was something she would have wanted. I carried Sadie's dead body through the dark Whispers Forest during that first Trial because I knew she was falling apart when I left her to spin that ring on her thumb. If it were up to me, I would have never buried the body of someone who tried to kill her. But I wasn't thinking of myself when I'd done it.

Death is familiar to me, both friend and foe and far too frequent in my life. But for her, Death is devastation, no matter its victim.

I imagine she's spinning that ring on her thumb at this very moment, biting the inside of her cheek as she forces herself to run from the man she just killed rather than dig him a grave like I know she desperately wishes she could.

"She would have buried you if she weren't so busy running from me, you know," I murmur to the body beside me, confirming that I have, in fact, gone mad. I lift the Imperial's white mask from his face, giving me a better view of his glassy brown eyes before I brush his lids closed. "So the least I can do is bury you for her."

I've never given a second thought to what became of my soldiers' bodies. And yet, here I am, hauling a man over my shoulder because of a girl who despises doling out Death. I grunt under his weight, wondering why the hell I'm even bothering with this.

What has she done to me?

His limp body swings over my shoulder with every step I take.

Will her grave be the next I dig?

Reckless

Lenny

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."

Reckless

Kitt

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.

Fearful

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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