Heartless

by Chaotic_Stranger_Kit

Summary:

If someone told you that instead of doing a Biology test, you'd be fighting for your life in the Purging Trials, you'd think they're on something. If said someone also mentioned you'd be in the body of a character you despise more than death itself, you'd laugh in their face.

Except that is the exact situation you find yourself stuck in. Trapped in the body of Blair Archer, you need to somehow navigate your way through the Trials trying to kill you, and characters who hate you. All while ensuring the timeline stays the same, lest there be an outcome you haven't prepared for.

Sounds easy, right?

Nope. Not at all.

Notes:

If I had a nickel for every maladaptive daydreaming story in my head that turned into fanfiction, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it's happened twice.

After lurking on Ao3 for too long and slurping up fanfic content like it's my last meal, I've finally decided to write one. This fanfic is entirely full of spoilers for Powerless, so if you haven't read it yet, I'd recommend you do!

Chapter 1: The best kind of friends are fictional ones

Sometimes I like to tell people that the best way to die is while reading a good book. That way, you’d pass on with your eyes flitting over the poetic words of a character confessing their undying love for their lover, partially wishing that someone would return those words to you and partially wishing to drown in these fictional worlds of creativity. That way, you’d die never knowing that the protagonist passes, or that the world they were trying to save gets destroyed, so you remain with the memory of their happiness forever.

People always give me funny looks after I explain myself, along with an unfamiliar comment about how I should spend more time outside instead of losing myself in fantastical books. I think those people haven’t picked up a good book since they learned the alphabet.

Books had always made me feel things, no matter what it was. Perhaps it was a passionate love confession, or maybe a painful passing of a beloved character. Whatever sort of drug these authors had sprinkled between these pages, I was high on it.

My eyes are droopy as I flick the next page, trying to stop my eyes from wandering down to the page number. Admittedly, it was stupid to make a bet that I’d be able to reread the entirety of Powerless in one night, but my pride led me to think otherwise.

My head tips backwards, resting against the headboard of my bed so I cover my book lamp as a meagre attempt to shield my eyes from its blinding light.

The digital clock on my desk stares back at me, mockingly. Two in the morning. A deep exhale leaves my lungs as if the air was forcefully dragged of me. Perhaps I’ll read one more chapter.

If you asked my family what I thought about Powerless, you’d be subjected to a loud groan followed by someone complaining how much I talk about the book. Personally, I think that’s an exaggeration.

It’s not my fault that I just had to tell my mum about Jax almost dying, or about all of Kai and Paedyn’s bantering. Or about the famous ‘my favourite colour is blue’ dialogue that I memorised specifically to recite at needless times of the day.

Actually, my family should be grateful that I even talk to them at all while I’m reading, or I’d just shut myself in my room for three consecutive days running on a diet of monster energy drinks and the words on the page.

Honestly, if publishing companies sell whatever they’re putting in these books that makes them so addictive, they’d be insanely rich.

Perhaps I just have a reading problem.

I eye my bookshelf of overflowing books.

A reading problem? Nah.

The logical side of my brain tells me to go to sleep. It is a school night after all, and I have an exam to take in the morning. Yes, I should definitely go to sleep.

Except the bookish side is urging me to read one more chapter, to at least get to the part where Kai and Paedyn meet for the first time.

I turn the page, rolling my eyes at the first mention of Blair. It wasn’t difficult for Blair to become my least favourite character in the book.

From the very first moment she was introduced, I knew I’d hate her. She reminds me of the girls at my college. It wasn’t just the incessant yearning for a man she doesn’t even like, it was her general toxicity throughout the story.

Poison. That’s an adequate word to describe Blair.

I yawn widely, covering my mouth even though there is no one in this room but myself and my thoughts. Turning the page, I feel the lulls of sleep pulling me away from the story. I rest my head against the pillow, reasoning that I can close my eyes for a few minutes before I resume reading.

*

I wake up in a palace of cushions and silk quilts. My eyes don’t want to open, and I’d rather bury myself underneath the covers and stay there forever than wake up and face the school day about to come.

Shifting in the bed, I sneak my hand under the pillow to try and feel for my phone that I keep there at all times.

I’ll check my notifications to see if my favourite author updated their fanfic. When my hand meets nothing, I turn over on the bed to see if I accidentally placed my phone on the other side of the bed.

Nothing again.

Confused, I begrudgingly sit up, already imagining that I’ll have to tear up my room searching for my phone. I’ve probably left it charging under my desk for all I know. My hands brush against the purple silk covers as I push myself out of my bed. Wait, silk?

I look back at my bed. No, this isn’t my bed. My bed isn’t made of silk. For the first time, I take a glance around my room.

This isn’t my room.

Light filters in through a massive window with thin but clearly expensive curtains drawn to the side, drawing attention to the various vases and trinkets around the room. The carpet is soft to my feet, a deep vermillion colour that reminds me of the special edition cover of a book I bought recently.

A vibrant kaleidoscope of colours are arranged in the form of books on shelves that stretch from one side of the room to the other. The books, left untouched, as if no one had bothered to dust them in years.

A half melted candle sits on the bedside table, next to an array of hastily organised papers. Newspaper clippings, book pages, extracts from a diary.

I don’t recognise the handwriting, my scrawny handwriting doesn’t match the looping lettering I see on the pages. I turn back to the bed, my fingers pressing gently against the indigo fabric, taking a fistful of it into my hands.

I feel like I’ve been dropped into a fantasy world.

What the hell is going on?

Mirrors. I remember reading somewhere that staring into a mirror could help determine whether you’re in a dream or not. Has to do with science and the brain or whatnot.

I didn’t pay attention to the science bit of the explanation, of course, but regret seeps into me as I move over to a vanity. Lilac hair tumbles over my shoulders.

This is not me.

My hair, once previously a natural shade, is now a pleasant lilac that reaches past my shoulders. I run my hair through it, feeling no knots. Whoever this hair belongs to, she must brush it very often. Her lips are soft and plump. I bring my fingers to them, just to confirm.

Striking brown eyes stare back at me with little flecks of gold in them. Her complexion is pale and flawlessly perfect as if she had never been cursed with a blemish in her life. Not even a scar to be seen.

Whoever this woman is, she is beautiful.

And I’m in her body.

I suddenly feel a little sick.

A knock on the door shakes me out of my stupor, quickly making my way across the room. My hand curls around the doorknob which appears to be made out of some sort of crystal.

A maid stands on the other side, bowing respectfully. Her eyes were kind, but hollow, as if she were used to this routine.

“Miss Archer, I am to dress you for the day.” she spoke warmly, like the sun itself offered a piece of its warmth to her. The maid's hands were interlaced as she kept herself rigid. My lips move to speak but my heart is seized in my throat.

Anxiety has me in a chokehold, the food that I ate last night threatening to resurface again. I almost topple over, grabbing the edge of the doorframe to keep me upright.

Miss Archer. Archer. That’s not my name. That’s not my name. My name is-

“Miss?” The maids words break through my panic though my heart is still beating wildly. I give a smile that seems too-sweet and clearly fake.

“That is unnecessary. I believe I know how to dress myself. Thank you.” I tell her.

“But Miss Archer-“

I close the door on her before she can continue. My body gives out, slumping against the mahogany wood until I hit the floor. Maybe I’ll just stay here forever. Lay down and decompose.

Let the Earth and vines slowly take over me before mother nature claims me as a part of the ground.

I force myself to stand.

Turning around, I move over to the side of the room where various objects are scattered onto a desk. Perhaps I’ll find some sort of idea of whose body I’m in this way. I pull out a chair and sit, ignoring the way my heart is threatening to burst out of my chest with how rapidly it’s beating.

I breathe until the palpitations calm down. I grab the letters on the desk first, squinting to read the fancy handwriting of the author. God, why does everyone love to write in cursive?

I skim the first letter, getting no semblance of a name. It’s a political letter, voicing concerns about the state of the kingdom given recent events. Something about this year being different. I look to the top of the page. It’s addressed to no one.

Odd. I pick up the second letter, hoping to find anything containing more substance. This one spoke of family, wishing things would go back to the way things were.

It sounds like a mother, calling out to a child who had grown distant to their family. My eyes flit to the top of the page. ‘Archer’ is the name it was addressed to.

So the woman’s last name is Archer. That was clear enough from the maid. Familiarity claws at my mind, urging me to remember, but I come up short. I take the next letter, skipping over most of the formal language to see the top of the letter.

‘Dear Blair…’ The rest of the letter blurs out into an inky mess in my mind as I focus on the salutation.

Blair. As in Blair Archer.

This cannot be real.

No, it simply cannot.

How the hell can I be in Powerless? How is it possible that I’m Blair? That I’m in the Kingdom of Ilya? It shouldn’t be. This is ridiculous. Stupid. Silly. A fantasy.

I slide off the chair, falling to the floor. Bringing my knees to my chest, I hug my legs and rest my head on top. Except it isn’t my head. This isn’t my head. It’s Blair’s.

“Fuck,” I mutter, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck”

I don’t know how long I stay like this, maybe a few minutes, before I pull myself up to a stand.

Act normal. What would Blair Archer do right now?

I look to the floor, my lilac hair tumbling into my field of vision as I trudge to the wardrobe. As soon as I open it, my eyes are attacked by an array of hideous to slightly less hideous shades of green gowns.

Of course. Emerald is Ilya’s colour. It is tradition for all of the women to wear green dresses to balls.

If only Blair had a better taste in shades of green. Perhaps an olive green would suit her better than – I touch one of the dresses, crinkling my nose – neon green. I dig around in the closet, unsure of how I should dress myself.

I finally settle for a pair of leggings and a pale yellow blouse that seems to suit Blair’s hair well. It was kind of flowy. I found myself lifting my arms just to see how low the sleeves would droop.

My eyes caught on the mirror again. Blair was tall, but not too tall. She seemed to be above average height, with a slim body that most teenagers in the real world would destroy themselves over.

“How can such a beautiful person be so awful?” I say to my reflection, frowning. Sometimes it was the ones with the prettiest complexions whose heart lay rotting within their chest.

Like they wore their beauty with a mask, a pathetic attempt at concealing the blemishes and cracks that form just below the surface. Things that are indicative of the person they really are underneath.

I scoff at the reflection staring back at me. What a horrible human.

“Okay.” I plant my hands firmly against the wooden vanity. “It shouldn’t be that hard, right? I’m supposed to be the daughter of a general. It shouldn’t be so difficult to act like one.”

How does one act like a general’s daughter?

I sigh. “Ugh, why don’t I have Google when I need it?”

Granted, I doubt ‘Help I’m stuck in a fictional world’ or ‘How to act like a general’s daughter when I’m not a general’s daughter’ would give me any helpful advice. I’d probably get put on a watchlist for identity fraud.

Except this is somewhat similar to identity fraud.

With nothing else to do, I leave the room with my head held high and my posture straight. I immediately turn left walking until it dawned on me that every corridor looked like someone copied and pasted the same curtains and floral arrangements over and over again.

How enjoyable.

The elaborate carpets and stained glass windows are too fanciful for my tastes, but I remind myself that this is a fantasy world. A world in which Elites have power, and safety in that power, while the Ordinaries are left to rot.

A horrid reality.

My hands are wound into fists as I walk with purpose, though I have no idea where I am going. This palace is like a labyrinth disguised as a haven. People have probably lived and died here, and the only ones who have any real safety are the royal family.

In my head, I’ve come up with a plan to talk to someone, anyone about what the current happenings are in the palace. For all I know, the king might already be dead. I need to establish some sort of timeline for where I am plot wise if I have any chances of surviving, and who is better to talk to than the servants of the palace?

The first servant I talk to is dismissive of me, yet I still bring up a conversation.

“Hey! Do you know where I can find-“

“Sorry, I’m busy.” he cuts me off, before hastily walking away with a handful of laundry supplies.

I try to not let my bruised ego discourage me from the next servant, “Hello, is there any chance-“

“No, thank you.” she says.

Rude.

My smile is warm as I walk over to a maid dusting the curtains “Hello-“

She walks off without a glance my way.

My pride doesn’t allow me to talk to another servant, so I’m left standing in the middle of the corridor with a tight lipped smile on my face and my nails digging into my palms. I force myself to relax them, but the stinging pain still persists.

I was being perfectly friendly, I was. I read an online article on how to socialise with strangers and the advice was easy enough to follow.

So what the hell was the problem?

I brush some of my hair behind my ears. Right. I’m not ‘me’ anymore. To the entire Kingdom of Ilya, I am Blair Archer. A self-centred bitch. I wouldn’t be surprised if Blair was ill tempered to most of the employees here. I groan. Just how am I to survive in this place if everyone has a set idea of the person I am? And a negative one, at that.

Embarrassment burns into my body as I walk back to my room, throwing myself onto the bed. My insides feel deflated. This isn’t going to work.

Okay. What do I know about Blair? My knowledge is limited to the things we’re told in the books. She’s the daughter of a general, has a limited taste in green hues, and a personality that makes a rabid dog safer to befriend.

And she’s a Tele. How could I forget?

I glance towards a vase sitting in the corner of the room. It couldn’t hurt to try.

Raising my hand, I position my arm directly in the line of sight of the vase. It felt silly to do, like I was a small child imagining they had super powers.

Telekinesis is a mental ability. All to do with the mind, physical strength doesn’t have anything to do with it. Closing my eyes, I picture what the vase would look like in my head if It were floating. My vivid reading experiences made that easy to imagine.

Then, a small tug pulls itself from my chest and up to my fingers, but not in a way that hurts. I feel my fingers twitch as I tense my muscles. I hold my breath like it would strengthen the connection, my lungs freezing in on themselves.

Please work. Please.

I open my eyes. The vase hung suspended in the air.

“Oh my god. I did it.” I breathe, dropping my arm to my side, and instantly my mind breaks the connection. The vase drops to the floor, shattering.

Shit. I scramble to a stand.

I really hope that wasn’t an expensive vase.

I crouch down beside the vase, running my finger over the carefully painted forget-me-nots. I feel bad for the artist who was commissioned to paint this vase, but it’s not like they’ll ever know. Besides, I’m the daughter of a general now. I can get away with murder.

The implication of that statement makes me chuckle hollowly.

Another knock sounds suddenly, making me jump. I sigh, moving to open the door again. I have to look up to see the man before me. He had delicate yet strong features.

My eyes trace his golden hair and green eyes. His smirk is playful yet dims a little when he see me. A little rude considering he is the one who knocked on my door in the first place. I feel like I’m supposed to know who this is, yet my brain is failing me.

Golden haired boy turns his eyes downward a fraction to acknowledge me. “Blair, I heard a crash. Is everything okay?”

“Sorry, who are you?” I blurt out before I can really stop myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I suppose I must be a rather unremarkable Prince if you can’t even recognise me, Blair.” he says. My eyes widen a fraction at the realisation that this is Kitt Azer. Crown Prince of Ilya.

And I have just insulted him to his face.

“Kitt. Yes. Quite unremarkable.” I say in response, my words not-so-accidental as I swing the door to a close. Kitt catches it before I can shut it, and strides into the room as if he owns it. Well, I suppose he does. This is practically his palace after all, one that he will inherit given the King’s untimely death happening soon. “What are you doing?”

Kitt ignores me, picking up one of the vase shards. He runs his finger over the edge, turning to me, “Is this supposed to be a vase?”

“The remnants of it, yes. I believe it was the wind that knocked it over.” I reply cooly, or what I perceived as ‘cool’. I toss my hair over my shoulder, folding my arms. “You may go now. I assure you that the vase is not nearly as interesting as you think. Perhaps that is why the wind knocked it over.”

“Eager to chase me out, Blair?” Kitt asks.

I school my expression to be neutral. “Always, Your Highness.”

Kitt lets out a half-hearted chuckle that I can’t tell the legitimacy of. Though, how could it be real, if him and his brother have been calling Blair a bitch behind her back. Supposedly behind her back. For all I know, Blair could have known about the things the princes have been saying about her.

I drop down to my knees too, gathering the shards of what remains of the vase, picking them up one by one with one hand and dropping them into the other. Kitt helps me until all of the shards are collected.

I take Kitt’s pile of shards and set them down on a similarly mahogany coloured table. Kitt looks at me, “So I’m assuming you haven’t heard the news yet?”

“What news?” I ask.

“The Purging Trials this year.” Kitt explains, and my heart drops. Taking out a small, folded piece of paper, he hands it to me. “You’re in it.”

I accept the paper, unfolding it to see words I’m all too familiar with. The list for Ilya’s Sixth ever Purging Trials. I scan the list until I see Blair’s name. I can’t believe I’ve forgotten about the main factor driving the plot of the book: the trials that get half of the participants killed. The trials that I am going to participate in. I don’t even attempt to shield my expression.

Kitt seemed to study my face, making me suddenly self-conscious, “I expected to see elation on your face. You should have seen Jax’s face this morning.”

He didn’t look pleased about it. I remember that scene too, Jax jumping around when he found out from Blair that he was in the Trials, with Kai, Kitt and Sadie present. It wasn’t just a scene for Kitt, it was a recent memory. It was supposed to be my recent memory too, but I’ve been here all morning.

“Elation. Yes, of course.” I smile, “Pride to my country and whatnot.”

“It’s actually, honour to my country, my family and myself” Kitt corrected. I hand the paper back to him. I already know all of their names from the amount of times I’ve read this book.

“Same thing.” I murmur. When Kitt raises a brow, I correct myself, “Is that all, Your highness?”

“I can get a maid to take care of the broken vase, if you want.” he gestures to the pitiful display of shards.

“That is perfectly alright. I will do it myself.” I interject.

“Alright then. I will see myself out” And with that, Kitt disappears from the room. An exhale forcefully leaves my body, deflating my lungs along with my self-esteem.

That was mortifying.

The shards of what was once the vase sat upon the table. I stare at them for minutes. I can’t just leave them there.

“Shit.” I whisper, grabbing the shards, cradling them softly as I walk out of my room, kicking the door closed with my shoe. Not very professional for the daughter of a general, but no one is watching.

I take long strides down the corridors, hopelessly searching for a servant to help me with this. I feel one of the shards digging into my skin already.

Kitt is gone already, to my luck, and the previous maid who answered my door is nowhere to be seen. Good.

After today, I have no wish to interact with anyone for the next two to three business days, thank you very much. It doesn’t help that my heart is still thrashing around in my chest.

My sleeves are bunched up to where my forearms ended, and as beautiful as this blouse is, the fabric scrape against my skin discomfortingly. I resist the urge to dig my nails into the skin and scratch at it.

I turn in the corridor, running into someone. A sharp streak of pain snakes up my arm, and I don’t have to look down to know that one of the shards has cut me.

“I’m so sorry, I really wasn’t looking where I was going-“ I ramble, but the man raises a hand to silence me. He adjusts the crooked crown on his head, aligning it perfectly on his head.

“Your Majesty.” I instantaneously bow, or at least, attempt to bow with my hands full. My hair tumbles into my eyes as I lower my head, looking down to the floor.

“It is not necessary to bow, Blair.” The king’s voice is smooth, lacking any cracks in his demeanour. The light shone upon half of his face, drawing attention to his green eyes that reminded me of Kitt.

His expression, painted over with a smile that I can’t picture as anything other than kindly and broad shoulders, expected from a Brawny.

The King almost looks like a good man. If I hadn’t read the book time and time again, perhaps I would’ve fallen into this trap he has set.

“Right.” I say. Thick liquid drips down my arm, staining the carpeted floor. I open my mouth to apologise but the King interrupts me.

“How about I get a maid to take care of that for you?” He asks. It wasn’t a question. I knew that. Before I could interject and insist that I can do it myself, a maid appears at the King’s side, no, literally appears at his side. I almost missed it had I blinked.

A Blink, I realise funnily. Once the shards are out of my hands and into the maid’s, she teleports away without so much as a goodbye. I’m really going to have to get used to the whole ‘powers’ thing.

The King turns to me with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I imagine he has had to spend a long time perfecting it. “Would you walk with me, Blair?”

I nod, ignoring the way anxiety is screaming at me to say no. Going anywhere with this man seems like a surefire way to die. Or get thrown into the dungeons. I can’t tell which one is worse. “Of course, Your Majesty. It would be my pleasure.”

My mind races with thoughts, but I silence them as the King turns and heads down the corridor. I take a step forward, pausing as I look down at the blood on the carpet.

“I will have someone clean that.” he affirms. Then, he walks away.

I follow.

I’m clearly not used to walking. A dull ache throbs in my ankles, persisting for a good five minutes yet I’ll be damned before I complain about it. Something tells me that it isn’t too ladylike to interrupt this walk just to sit down.

The sun smiles down upon a garden as we step outside, sending its warmth down in a way that borders on uncomfortably hot. Shrubbery and foliage line the edges of the garden, with maids tending to the display of coloured plants.

A green glow emanated from their hands; plants that were previously damaged grew their leaves back, flowers that were decaying sprung back to life again. Blooms. The main attraction of the garden is a display of roses, peonies, chrysanthemums and a few plants I can’t recognise right in the middle.

A stone path lines around it. My eyes then snag on a hint of grey. A lone rose stands out from all the colour, its colour drained. The flower was hunched over, its petals wrinkled and blackened.

None of the Blooms are tending to that particular flower. The King guides me to that flower, cupping it in his hand. For a Brawny, the King was being gentle.

“What do you think of this flower, Blair?” he questions, breaking the silence that has persisted for too long for it to be comfortable. I study the plant, trying to come up with a satisfactory response that seems befitting for a young lady of status such as myself.

“I think the flower wasn’t taken care of properly.” I respond, approaching the plant cautiously. “It was neglected, and now it is dying.”

The King spares a glance my way before sharply tugging the rose free from the bush, leaving behind an empty space that a Bloom promptly fills. In its place, another flower blooms, this time bursting with colour.

“People are very similar to plants. If you cultivate them, take care of them, then they will blossom into something beautiful. Colourful. When they are put under stress, or are ignored, however, and-“ he crushes the flower in his palm, opening it to show me the remnants. “-they will wither away. No one will pick a withered plant. No Bloom would grow a flower back when it has already blackened and the same can be said with people.”

I find myself staring at his palm, at where the rose once sat. Now, there is nothing left but little flecks of blackened petals. I fold my arms, my thumb brushing over the dried blood from the cut. I wince from the shot of pain it gives me. “I don’t see your point here.”

His eyes don’t betray any negative emotion, his words soft but not too soft. Praise-worthy but not enough to feed one’s ego. “You are a powerful Elite, Blair. I’ve watched you strengthen your Tele ability over the years.” His footsteps begin departing, so I rush to catch up to the king who has already begun leaving. “The Trials will be an excellent opportunity to showcase your power. Do not become a plant that withers away because of stress.”

“I will not.” I speak firmly.

The King nods. He held himself well, with an air of superiority that alerted everyone nearby that he was the King. A trait I don’t see in Kitt, despite him being the Prince. “I expected nothing less from you.”

My hand wraps around my wrist, looking away. If the King sensed my discomfort, he didn’t make it known. “You should go to the infirmary. Have the Healers take care of you.”

“Yes, Your highness.” I respond automatically. I’ll probably have to get used to saying that a lot. I turn to walk away.

“Oh, and Blair?”

I pause, fear creeping its way down my spine.

“Congratulations on getting into the Trials. I hope you will bring honour to your country, your family, and yourself.” It isn’t until his footsteps cannot be heard that I finally relax, the tension slowly leaving my body.

What the hell was that.

Flower metaphors? Really?

There must be a double meaning to his words, but I can’t figure out what. So instead, I look at the winding corridor ahead of me.

Find the infirmary. I’ve done harder quests in video games.

*

As it turns out, finding the infirmary is not as simple as a video game quest. By the time I had finally found a Healer, the blood had mostly stopped flowing down my arm. Despite this, a Healer still sat me down, instructing me to wait.

Great. More waiting. Just what I need.

The infirmary was incredibly clean, with cabinets that probably held bandages or the like for more serious injuries. I wonder if Healers can heal more than external injuries like cuts or bruises. It would certainly make them that much more effective.

It doesn’t take that much more waiting for a Healer to walk in with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She smiled at me, flexing her fingers as she asks me a few questions about what happened. Her presence is calm, reassuring.

I detail what happened, leaving out tiny insignificant technicalities like the part where I was testing out Blair’s Tele powers which led to the vase breaking.

The story I settled on was simple: I found a broken vase and decided to clean it up myself, accidentally getting hurt in the process.

Instead of calling out on my hastily stitched-together story, the Healer sets her hand upon my injured arm. Her skin has a velvety smooth texture, but I know better than to tell her as much.

The sensation of being healed was akin to laying on the beach on a hot sunny day, so much so that I hardly even noticed the way the wound stitched itself together. Maybe it was used as a soothing agent throughout the healing process to make it easier for the patient. Whatever it was, it was clever.

Now all that remained of the cut was a narrow, pink line surrounded by little flakes of dried blood. With a damp cloth in hand, the Healer scrubbed at my skin until it was red and free of blood. It was immensely fascinating to watch, and I’m certain any Med student would chop off their hand to see something like this.

My awe was short lived, as the Healer hurried me out of there before I could express my gratitude.

*

By the time I managed to find where my room was, I was already exhausted of walking. It hadn’t been too long since I woke up in this world and yet I want to throw myself into bed and bury myself in the expensive sheets.

Except when I get to the door, a guard stops me from entering. An Imperial.

“Miss Archer, is it?” she asks with a sharp voice, clearly indicating to me that she was a no nonsense sort of woman.

“That’s me.” I pull my hand away from the doorknob, turning to her. The Imperial was incredibly beautiful: tall with sweeping dirty blond hair and cold gunmetal blue eyes that look more like grey. Whatever intimidation tactics she is using on me, it’s working.

“I’m your Imperial for the duration of the Trials. Every participant gets one. I’m afraid you must move to a different room in the palace now that the Purging Trials are set to begin.” She informs me, so I allow myself to be escorted there. Thank god – should I start saying thank the Plague now? – because I have absolutely no idea where these rooms are.

So she’s my guard.

“What’s your name?” I find myself asking, craving some sort of conversation from this stoic woman.

“Adrienne.” And back to silence we go.

If there’s anything I hate more than long queues, the Prime Minister, and that one girl who used to be in my chemistry class five years ago, it’s awkward silences. Nothing screams ‘you don’t know how to make conversation’ more than awkward silences, and I pride myself on being a rather sociable person.

I make a second attempt, “So, Adrienne, do you talk much?”

“Do you ask many questions, Miss Archer?” Adrienne retorts, casting me a side glance.

“Please, just call me Blair.” I request, “Calling me ‘Miss’ makes me sound a lot more important than I actually am.”

And I’m actually quite tired of it.

“Very well, Blair.” she says in the same automated response. Is she a robot? Wait, no, machines don’t exist yet. I faintly think back to the beginning of the book where Paedyn talks about the lampposts in Loot, placing Ilya in a time period where electricity exists, but its no sci-fi world.

Still, I poke her cheek just to make sure.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re real.” I shrug. We continue in silence until Adrienne pauses in front of a door, pushing it open slightly.

“You have been instructed to not leave your room until we tell you to, in preparation for the Trials. Meals will be delivered periodically to you.” She instructs, and I nod as if this is new information to me. As if I don’t know that we’ll be stuck in our rooms for the next two days without any human contact.

Mind games.

The door clicks behind me as I turn to my room. It’s slightly less decorated than Blair’s actual room, lacking the personal touch of the various letters and trinkets that hers had. Yet it seems like the palace didn’t hold back on the décor. Perhaps it was done to make the participants who are already used to the Palace feel at home, and make the participants from the slums feel smaller. Insignificant.

I greet my room with a misplaced confident smile. I survived the 2020 lockdown, surely I can survive two days in my room.

It seems as though the games have already begun.

Chapter 2: Meeting loveable side characters.. who also hate you

Notes:

I didn't think I'd update so soon, but here I am! I have a general idea of where I want the story to go (and what characters I potentially want to kill off or save), so I'll definitely be updating soon!

I underestimated what the power of isolation can do to a person. The echo of silence where there should be the sound of someone’s chatter. The crawling sensation that creeps up your arms when you think there’s someone in a room, but the moment you turn around to check, no one is there. That used to freak me out, but now I’d do anything if it meant I’d converse with someone. Anyone. This is what the King wants from us, to yearn for human attention, to deprive us of basic needs until we are craving an interaction with anyone. It has only been two days. Two everlasting days that have drained the life out of me, though the bedding has given me the best sleep I’ve had in weeks.

“You know,” I exhale, my eyes glued to the ceiling, “maybe this is a good thing. I actually have time to do things now. Like, yesterday, I actually got to sleep in. Was it yesterday? I’m not sure. What do you think?”

The bird at my windowsill chirps, swiftly taking flight. Lucky shit. My only listener is gone, and the bird has probably flown back to its nest with hot gossip about the girl who talks to animals.

“Wow, thanks a lot Stephen.” I mutter, spreading my body wide against the rug, knowing it hasn’t been cleaned for at least the last two days. It’s hard to tell how long I’ve laid here, sprawled against this fuzzy rug. Maybe hours, maybe days.

“I’m talking to birds now,” I laugh humourlessly. “Maybe I am going crazy.”

I lay my palms flat against the floor, making back and forth movements with the pads of my fingers as if that could cure my boredom. Two days didn’t seem like much of a challenge. Yet with a lack of Wi-Fi, Tumblr memes and my books to sustain me, those two days were well spent sleeping and absent mindedly flicking through what appeared to be books on the history of Ilya. Books which I’m sure must have been an interesting read, except they are now buried in the mess that is my room. I think they’re somewhere between the pillows I threw around and the blankets.

The fibres of the rug tickle my cheek. I’m sure this is a sorry sight.

I groan as I stand up, rubbing my eyes with limbs that hardly work anymore. How is it that I feel more burnt out than I did two days ago?

Mind games. That’s all this is.

I move before I can start conversing with an inanimate object this time, lazily grabbing the various objects scattered on the floor. Sunlight peeks in through the windows, wriggling into the room to provide some much needed warmth. The sun rays tease my feet, tempting me to bask in the light of the noon sun. Once I cleaned up the room just enough for it to seem presentable, I swing the windows open and lean over the ledge, allowing my hair to plunge past my shoulders and hang suspended.

Tucking my chin in to rest in the comforts of my forearms, I gradually allow my eyes to close, shunning the light, so that I can pretend. Pretend that I’m sleeping in a dull class on a hot summers day. Pretend that my friend needs to poke me awake so I won’t get scolded by the teacher. Pretend that I’m still back home. The warmth of the sun is enough to convince me to stay here forever in the realm of my imagination, but a hard knock against wood has me bolting to the door, practically throwing it open.

“Adrienne!” I exclaim, throwing my arms around the stoic Imperial. She doesn’t return the hug, almost leaning away until I break away from her. I poke her cheek. “Good, you’re real. I was almost convinced I made you up.”

“Very amusing, Miss Archer.” Adrienne says. I arch an eyebrow. “Blair.”

“Thank you.” I grin, hardly containing my joy at seeing another person. “And you’re here because?”

“You are to have dinner with the other contestants, as well as the prince and the king and queen.” With that response, she reminds me of the very thing I've been afraid of. Though I miss the consolation of others, the idea that I'll be surrounded by my competition in a relaxed environment such as dinner shoves me into a state of ambivalence.

I open my mouth, but Adrienne interrupts me, “I’m sure a servant will come along to.. sort you out.”

She gives a pointed look to my outfit, bringing attention to the outfit that I have spent the last three days in, and hair that looks like a birds nest. With my face not concealing any shame, I assure her that I will clean myself up in time for dinner. I slam the door shut before Adrienne can retort a snarky reply back. I quite like that girl.

“Right. Dinner. I can do this, right?” I call out to my room. It doesn’t respond. Obviously. Why did I expect it to respond?

I’ve grown accustomed to waking up in Ilya instead of my bedroom, if your definition of ‘accustomed’ is not shooting up in the middle of the night with my heart out of control, wondering why I’m in someone else’s bed anymore. My parents would always chastise me for staying on my phone, but I want to do nothing more than to curl up against the desk and call them. Someone. Anyone back home. A sheen of sweat coats my neck, with a voice that sounds eerily like my own telling me that this isn’t me, but I shake it off.

What does my own voice sound like again?

It's only been two days, it’s not like my internal monologue has switched to Blair’s voice.

Right?

Shit.

I breathe in. And out. Hold for four seconds. Out for four seconds.

As soon as I have steadied myself, I take a long soak in the bathroom. If there’s nothing I can do about the current situation, then I might as well make the most of it, including spending more time than necessary in the hot water. Except everything from the bathtub to the ornate chandelier felt too fragile to touch, like it would shatter instantly the moment anything came into contact with them, which made it impossible to relax.

A maid comes along shortly after I dried myself off with a dull smile that rings of forced politeness. Anyone who wasn’t paying attention to the girl would think her expression was genuine, but I know better than to think that. The moment we settle on an outfit adequate enough for the palace’s standards, she sits me down in front of a mirror to do my hair. Though the maid hasn’t uttered a word to me, the contempt radiating from her is enough to make me uncomfortable in my seat. Taking various locks of my hair into her hands, it takes too much patience and knowledge of good social etiquette to not wince when she tugs at it, seemingly braiding it.

“So,” I cough, already hating how unnatural Blair’s voice sounds to my ears, “What’s your name?”

“Eloise” A curt reply. Sharp. Straight to the point.

“Eloise.” I repeat, testing the way the name rolls of my tongue, “And are you excited for the upcoming trials?”

From what I’ve seen in the book, the Purging Trials were a source of entertainment for all those across Ilya, for what reason I’ll never understand. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to comprehend those who actively enjoy watching people attempt to kill each other in order to win some game.

“Should I be?” Eloise says. Her fingers make quick work of braiding my hair in a half up-half down sort of situation. I frown at her vague response, staring at her through the reflection. Her gaze is turned downwards, focused on my hair.

“It seems like the entire kingdom is abuzz with excitement.” I speak carefully, knowing the potential consequences of speaking ill of the Purging trials and by extension, speaking ill of the king and his decisions, “Are you not?”

“My opinion doesn’t matter, Miss.” Another piercing yank at my hair, the pain stinging to the point where I’m convinced this is some kind of torture. A way for servants to let out their frustrations without getting in trouble for it.

“Call me Blair, please.” I correct, certain that I’ll have to do this with just about every servant and Imperial I’ll come across over the next six weeks, “I’d like to hear your thoughts, if you’re willing to share.”

Eloise’s lips press into a frown, her brows crinkled together in either concentration or bitterness. As a minute passes, I’m unconvinced she will reply when her soft voice responds, “I don’t see the enjoyment in watching innocent blood spilled for entertainment. One of the contestants is a child, did you know that?”

“Yes, I’m aware.” I murmur. Jax. I can almost picture him in my head, energetically bouncing around with the news that he’ll be participating in the Trials. To him, it could be a way to prove himself as an Elite. To those with a sensible mind like Eloise, it’s a dangerous and reckless effort.

“The king would surely have my head if he knew I said this,” She shakes her head, “But children have no place in the Purging Trials.”

“I agree.” I hum, “They’re going to be different this year, aren’t they?”

All the contestants, including me, are just meaningless potential casualties in the Trials. No, the Trials are but a mere test for the Future Enforcer, for Kai Azer. Like he needs some test to show off his capabilities. It’s almost laughable how the favours are clearly placed in one direction, yet the rest of us are still given hope that we can win the Trials. The king must have thought of this, must have thought how clever he was to give out falsified hope like free candy from trick or treating.

“No one knows how. Not even those closest to the king.” Eloise shrugs, finishing the last of her braiding on my hair. Like clockwork, she moves on from one thing to the next, dabbing a bit of powder onto my cheeks and a smudge of red which is smoothened out into a natural blush. I’ve previously never had my makeup applied for me, as it has usually been my own hand guiding the makeup brush.

Not anymore.

“There” Eloise says, pleased with her work. She gathers my hair, laying it in front of my shoulders.

“Thank you” I grin, watching as the mirrored reflection of Eloise made an expression of what I think resembles a smile.

Slowly, piece by piece, I’m stitching back together the torn relationship that Blair has with most of the palace’s staff.

“The servants talk, you know. About you.” Eloise reveals, “But you’re not as bad as they say they are”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I stand up, turning to meet the maid’s face. Suddenly the apathy that was etched into the lines of her face were dulled down by the tiniest smidgen of warmth. Not enough to exchange friendship bracelets and gossip over tea, but I’ll take it for now.

Eloise bows before leaving, the air now lighter without the unknown animosity she previously had. Adrienne appears at the door once more with orders to escort me to the throne room. Her eyes scan my features, the only indication that she’s pleased at my outfit being the small hum that reverberated at the back of her throat.

“You look decent” Adrienne comments, barely sparing me a look as she strides through the corridors, leaving me with having to catch up.

“Oh what sweet words come from your mouth,” I praise, passing by the repetitive structure of the palace that I still haven’t gotten used to yet. I’m sure there are more interesting ways to accessorise the place without its same monotony. It’s like cruelty to my eyes to see the same patterned flooring again, with the only reprieve from the dullness being a Bloom’s flower here and there.

A sliver of emotion splits the carefully constructed mask on her face. A small twitch of her lips into a fraction of a smile as she replies, “It’s the most you’ll get from me.”

“I see,” I laugh. We come to a stop in front of a set of two grand doors with swirling patterns. The doors loom over the two of us; intrusive thoughts creep into my mind about what might happen if they collapsed upon us.

I lock those thoughts into a box, shoving them into the deepest chambers of my brain the moment guards begin to push them open, revealing the intricacy of the throne room. The marble flooring is a testament to the fragility of the carefully thought out structure of the room. A long table is positioned at the centre of the room, with a few of the seats already filled out. Behind me, footsteps begin departing, and I whip my head around to see Adrienne walking away.

“Hey, don’t leave me!” I hiss, trailing behind her. Grabbing at her wrist, my strength fails at trying to get Adrienne to stop as I’m dragged away with her. Finally she stops, gravity almost toppling me over as I steady myself.

I glare up at her, “Are you really going to leave me alone, all by myself?”

“I have other matters to attend to, and you are a grown adult.” She doesn’t look my way. “I’m sure you can handle a dinner by yourself.”

I know she’s right, but the idea of spending dinner with people who see me as nothing more than a bitch makes my skin crawl. Her narrowed eyes, hardened by what I assume is years of training, soften at my uncertainty.

“Look,” She sighs, “I’ll be patrolling the east wing of the castle if you need me, okay?”

I nod wordlessly, thankful for her offer. Adrienne escorts me back to the throne room, this time leaving me without having me chase after her like a lost puppy. Thankfully, the few contestants seated at the table didn’t notice me until I elect a seat and sit down. A woman with wine red hair – Andy, I assume – is animatedly conversing with two others, whom I quickly deduce are Kai and Braxton. The latter is the first to glace my direction, tilting his head in the barest minimum of acknowledgements.

“Blair.” Braxton greets.

“Braxton. Good to see you,” I respond, hoping that my voice doesn’t shine a light on the blatant anxiety that’s gripping my vocal chords, digging its claws into them.

“Likewise” he says. It frustrates me that I can’t tell if he means it or not. My family used to tease how I was able to tell the true feelings of an individual based on their expressions, yet the indifference on Braxton’s face draws a blank.

I make a feeble attempt at smiling at Andy, who only crinkles her nose in half confusion and half disgust before happily returning to what she was doing previously. My leg bounces underneath the table, a nervous habit I can’t help. Drumming my fingers on the rim of the table, I focus my gaze elsewhere as the doors groan open again to reveal two more people.

The first Blinks over to his seat – Jax – while the other calmly makes her way to a chair.

“Sadie,” Kai welcomes.

Sadie. The contestant who dies first, with a fatal wound to the chest. Blood pouring from her mouth, dripping from her wound, everywhere. I can’t help but imagine it. Her body, buried amidst a field of wildflowers and flora in the Whispers, forever the first unfortunate victim of the Purging Trials. Her memory quickly vanishing as the entire kingdom moves on to the next important thing. My brain combs through each relevant plot point with Sadie, each making me more unwell than the last.

I’m next to two people who will die soon.

More people enter the throne room, introducing themselves by name; every sound blurs from my brain as I lose myself in my thoughts. These people will die soon. I suppose that’s the twisted nature of the Purging Trials. We’re expected to laugh and talk amongst the very people whom we will be trying to kill the next day. To exchange small smiles and humourful jokes with the same people who won’t live to see another sunrise.

Right now, we’re friendly. After the interviews, we’ll be competitors, enemies with separate benefits and reasons to winning the trials. The Mundanes, with their chase for the prize money as an attempt to escape their lives in the slums. The Elites, for a taste of glory, an opportunity to display their abilities to every citizen in Ilya. The prize money is probably just spare change to them, when it could change anyone’s life in Loot Alley.

I let out a tiny laugh, which draws the attention of just about everyone. Almost everyone has arrived, aside from the Silver Saviour herself, Paedyn Gray. With my cheeks stained an embarrassing shade of red that isn’t from the blush Eloise applied earlier, I mumble a half-hearted apology with my gaze averted elsewhere to spare myself from having to see the weird looks casted my way.

“So, what’s for dinner?” A voice calls out. My attention, as well as the others, drifts to where a silver haired woman stands, confidence oozing from her voice. Paedyn Gray.

She’s stunningly beautiful, as expected. Her pale face is framed by the hair that earned her the nickname of ‘Silver Saviour’, whose actions landed her a place in these Trials. She swiftly moves from the doors to a seat next to who I can only assume is Ace based on how holier-than-thou he looks.

“I keep asking myself the same question!” chirps Andy, “I’m Andy”

“Paedyn.” She replies smoothly.

Introductions are thrown across the table, allowing me to make a mental note of who is who, until eyes are expectantly upon me.

“For those who don’t know me, my name is Blair.” I begin slowly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Paedyn.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Paedyn responds, thankfully lacking any venom towards me.

When Kai introduces himself to Paedyn, it’s obvious from the way they stare at each other that they know each other. After all, the only reason why Paedyn is here is because she unwittingly saved the prince from the Silencers. From the Resistance.

Soon after, the King, Queen, and Kitt arrive, signalling the beginning of dinner. They look like something torn out of the fantasy books I read, perfectly filling out the role of royalty with their lavish clothing. Exactly how I pictured them in my head while reading. The Queen is serene, gently carrying herself as if she were walking on air, a diamond sparkling in the light of the late afternoon sun. Kitt, while appearing casual, plays the part of the future King he is supposed to be. A fate that arrives for him far too soon.

Taking their respective seats, with the King chivalrously pulling out a chair for the Queen to sit in, the chatter amongst us has died out. No one dares to make a sound as the King begins.

“Welcome to the sixth ever Purging Trials.” He announces grandly.

“And congratulations to all of you for making it here.” The Queen adds.

I drown out the rest, having already seen this in the book. Food is speedily brought out by servants, looking equally delicious and expensive. I make sure to thank a servant in particular who sets a bowl of seasoned potatoes in front of me. I’m offered an odd stare at my gratitude, but the servant seems to appreciate my words. Plates of food are passed between us as we each help ourselves, and my own plate is becoming stacked by the minute. I sacrifice placing the sticky buns on my plate so as to not appear too eager to eat. All the while, I’m acutely aware that anyone could be watching me at any minute, and the realisation has paranoia forcing my back to be erect. I usually never think about my posture whenever I’m having dinner with my family, but seeing the efforts of everyone else, I don’t allow myself to relax my back.

Family.

My family.

Are they having dinner too? Laughing and sharing stories of their day? I can almost picture it: them exchanging inside jokes over a bowl of soup and toast. Without me. My grip on the fork tightens as I stare at the food, tears dotting the corners of my eyes that I furiously blink away. No. I refuse to cry. Not here. A tightness in my chest threatens to engulf me whole, leaving me strangled in a pit I know I won’t be able to escape. A slight tremble overtakes my hands the longer I grip the utensils. Someone says my name – no, Blair’s name – but I’m unresponsive.

Is that how it’ll be from now on?

Responding to Blair’s name and not my own?

My head snaps up to Kitt, responding with a smiled carved into my expression, “Yes?”

Even speaking has proved to be difficult with my throat being squeezed by an invisible force.

“Has the wind knocked over anything else?” Kitt asks, tilting his head to the side in a probably disingenuous sense of curiosity. Right, the vase. Some of the others, including Kai fixed their gaze towards us.

“No, actually. The wind chose to be merciful for the past two days.” I scoff, remembering the idiotic way I was acting two days ago in front of the future King. Under my breath, I add, “Because there’s not much for the wind to do when you’re trapped in your room for days without human contact.”

It was unimportant to the conversation; bitterness clearly makes for loose lips.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Your Highness.” I mutter, roughly digging my knife into a stubborn piece of chicken and shoving it into my mouth, allowing the spices to distract my thoughts.

The King and Paedyn are speaking now. I watch as the rigid tension fills the latter’s fists and then relaxing. With my head turning to the rest of the table, I take a note of the strangely pleasant atmosphere. Everyone but Ace is chattering away, as if we aren’t going to try to kill each other in two weeks. Understandably, none of them know that following the attack from the Resistance, we’ll be dropped in the middle of the Whispers, expected to survive for the next six days.

Lovely.

For the rest of the short lived dinner, I work on finishing my plate so as to not seem impolite to the kitchen staff who probably spent all day making all this food. Internally, I’m pleased that no one besides Kitt tried to initiate another conversation with me, which was quickly shot down. Kitt was the more polite one out of the two Azer brothers, always acting cordial to Blair. Though, it’s almost refreshing to be free to eat on my lonesome without interruption. Perhaps being hated has its benefits.

I’m midway through my brain trying to map out what happens in this book when the King and Queen come to a stand simultaneously, with the King declaring that we get some rest as our training begins tomorrow.

Ah. Training. I hadn’t thought of that.

As the King and Queen disappear from the room, the rest of us follow suit. Uncomfortably loud chairs scrape against the marble flooring, which only makes me wince at how carelessly the floors are being treated. I fight back the urge to apologise to the floor as I leave the throne room, soon finding Adrienne waiting for me outside. Her hair, now tied up into a loose, low ponytail, whips around her shoulders as she turns to face me.

“So you’ve survived.” She says, “I almost thought you wouldn’t make it.”

“I’ll try to not be too offended.” I chuckle, walking side by side with the Imperial back to my room for one final night of rest until my training begins. A factor which I hadn’t put too much thought into in the few days I’ve been in Ilya. Aside from a few self defence classes I took when I was younger, admittedly against my will, the rest of my knowledge about fighting comes from TV shows and books, which isn’t the best source.

That’s a problem for tomorrow.

“I haven’t seen many female Imperials around the palace,” I say, “I’m guessing it’s a male dominated field?”

A flicker of something passes Adrienne’s face. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“That’s one way of putting it, yes.” She replies coldly, her lips turned downwards.

I’ve got a nagging feeling that I shouldn’t be pursuing this, that this subject is sensitive for Adrienne, yet I plough on anyways, “Do you just love the idea of patrolling the palace and having to guard a contestant of the Purging Trials, then?”

The Imperial is unresponsive until we reach my room, and I’m hit with the sinking feeling that I’ve said the wrong thing. She turns to me, “Goodnight, Miss Archer.”

“Oh come on! I thought we were making progress.” I complain, but she’s already leaving. “And it’s Blair! I have a first name, at least use it!”

My shout does nothing to hinder her movements, and she vanishes down a corridor before I can make the impulsive choice to find her. The words I spoke feel foreign on my tongue.

‘It's Blair.’

I groan, entering my bedroom and slamming it shut.

*

Sweltering hot sweat sticks to my back, making every movement I make extremely uncomfortable. I’m sure that the others who are training have it much worse. With the sun beating down their backs, most of them have discarded enough clothing for it to be semi-comfortable to train in but not too much clothing to be considered scandalous. Crimson colours their cheeks, their chests heaving at the vigorous training they’ve dedicated themselves to all morning. How exhausting. For them, I mean. I don’t have the grounds to be complaining; the tree makes for useful shade as I carefully observe each of my competitors.

After a few rounds of using my newly found telekinetic powers to send daggers flying into a target, I had found a simple place to relax that wouldn’t get in anyone’s way. Besides, too much consideration revealed that training in front of these people when I can’t even throw a punch would cause too much embarrassment for me, and I’d rather fly under the radar.

So instead, I do the next best thing: observe. Reading about these characters train is one thing, watching them actually doing it is another. And I’m sure that I’ll be able to learn something from watching the way Paedyn throws punch after mechanical punch at the padded tree, or Kai who was not so subtly watching her train as he sparred with Kitt, who was here for some reason. My lips twist into a frown at the thought. If Kitt wants to be a contestant of the Purging Trials that badly, I would gladly trade places with him. It’s almost insulting to see him here, acting like he’s one of us, when he’s the future King of Ilya.

We’re just pawns. Chess pieces in a game designed to prove Kai’s strength and capabilities as the future Enforcer.

The training yard spans for miles with its countless rings, where I can spot each contestant doing some form of exercise. Weapons are supplied on racks, blindingly shiny. Squinting my eyes, I see Ace running his fingers along a spear, taking it in his hands to give it a spin. A self-righteous grin pasters across his face when I realise he’s staring directly at me. I stare back, my lips pursed. Tossing it up and down, Ace sends the spear flying towards a target like one would throw a javelin. It barely reaches the bullseye, but that’s enough for the triumphant look to spread on his face like the newest case of Covid. I jerk my head to study the dandelions so that I won’t have to catch his attention again.

I jot down bullet points, the strengths and weaknesses of each person. I act as if I’m oblivious to Adrienne hovering a few feet away from me, though I know that any confrontation would lead to a snappy reply or her walking off. I’ve yet to figure her out. Following Adrienne’s abrupt departure on the night of the dinner, we hadn’t talked much about what was said. Usually, I’d be appreciative of this, as the mere idea of confrontations are enough to make me throw up this morning’s breakfast, but it had been three days since then, and I hadn’t gotten as much as a peep from her. That alone was enough to set me on edge around her, with every venture to strike up a conversation led to me teetering around the boundaries of an apology, with me abandoning my words as soon as they leave my mouth.

For now, silence is all that I get from Adrienne, and I’ll have to accept that for now.

“What exactly are you doing, Blair? Why aren’t you training?” Adrienne asks.

“I’m observing.” I mutter, furiously scribbling away so that I don’t lose my train of thought, so deep in my head that I hardly even remember replying.

“Right.” She scoffs as if she doesn’t believe me.

I set down the notebook on the grass, looking over my shoulder, “You don’t believe me?”

When she doesn’t reply, I heave myself to a stand, tucking my notebook between my torso and arm. Focusing on the training grounds, I drift from Kai and Paedyn talking, to Braxton running laps, to Jax and Andy sparring each other, almost comically. They double over in laughter, then returning to the fight.

“Fine. Let’s take Hera for an example.” I say, finally landing on the meek Hera. It probably took too much effort for anyone to draw out more than a few words from her at a time. She was so silent during dinner that I forgot she was even there. Clever, as a Veil.

“Hera? Who was that again?” Adrienne questions, leaning against the tree.

“The Veil.”

“Ah.”

“Anyways,” I begin, “Hera’s quiet. In fact most people don’t remember she’s there. I’m willing to bet that most of the Kingdom will underestimate her, which she can use to her advantage. If we all think that Hera isn’t a threat, we’ll let our guard down around her, which can easily swing things in her favour.”

If only fortune favoured Hera. Perhaps then, she wouldn’t have died in the first Trial. Who was it that killed her again?

Braxton.

I huff out an exhale. Don’t think about it.

“That’s stupid.” Adrienne retorts, yet I can detect the slightest hint of adoration in her voice.

I shrug, “Maybe it is.”

Crescent-shaped dents form in my arms as I dig my nails into them. Everyone here is in their element, completely focused on their goals. And what’s motivating me? The inescapable possibility of my death?

No. I refuse to die here.

Shoving my notebook into Adrienne’s hands, I stride over to the padded trees, strategically opting for one that’s somewhat distant from Kai and Paedyn. Like a ghost, Adrienne trails behind me. If I hadn’t caught sight of her silent pursuit, I wouldn’t have heard her coming with her too-quiet footsteps. With my hands curled into balls, I begin pounding at the tree. A dull ache persists in my knuckles despite the pads on the tree while I settle into a strangely familiar rhythm. My unwillingness to die is the only thing keeping me going; shame has long since left me.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Adrienne’s words has my motions skittering to a pause.

“What?” I groan, breathless. Am I really that out of shape?

“Your thumb goes outside your first when you punch someone, not inside. You can break your thumb like that.” She closes her hand, thumb tucked under her fist as she firmly hits the padded tree. “See?”

Mimicking Adrienne’s movements, I return to attacking the tree with about the strength of a twelve year old. Something keeps me going, though my muscles scream at me to stop and my hands beg me to rest. This time tomorrow, me as well as the rest of my competition will be paraded in front of Ilya like a herd of prized cattle that’s about to be sent off to be slaughtered, an event the King oh so generously refers to as the ‘interviews’. Interviews, where we’ll be forced under a microscope for the Kingdom to pick apart and judge so that they can choose who to root for.

Because we aren’t people to them.

I hit the tree harder, harder, harder. Anger serves as my source as I unleash all my energy onto the poor tree. Channelling all my strength into one last hit, Adrienne catches my wrist before it can make contact with the tree.

“This is a pathetic sight.” Her hand encircles my wrist, giving me no room to break free until I relax my fist.

“Aren’t you the one who told me I had to train?” I ask, pulling my wrist away. My thumb massages the part of my wrist that has begun to redden at Adrienne’s intervention.

“Yes, I did.” Adrienne acknowledges. “Do ten laps around the training field. Right now.”

Complaints and colourful curses sound very tempting to say; my lips are sealed as I stare at the mental path I trace for myself.

I can be done with ten laps by dinner.

*

I was, in fact, not done by dinner by the time I finished all the laps. Turns out that one lap wasn’t just around one ring of the training yard, but the entirety of the yard. My lungs had burned with a frantic desire for oxygen as I wiped the sweat from my brow. Innocently, Adrienne asked what was wrong as she slowed to a stop next to my dying body. Just to prove that someone could actually run ten laps without passing away, Adrienne had decided to run the ten laps with me. I couldn’t see any signs of struggle on her face, which had only aggravated me further. Nonetheless, I had somehow managed to complete the laps without collapsing into a sticky, sweaty mess of limbs.

“I hate you.” I wheeze, my throat burning. Adrienne passes me a canteen which I greedily snatch out of her hands to drain all the water. The sun teased the edges of the horizon, casting the rest of the sky in a glaze of honey. If I could stand properly, I’d be able to appreciate it more, but my body is refusing to cooperate.

“I’m sure you do.” She replies dryly.

It takes a few more desperate gulps of air until my body seems to calm itself from whatever temper tantrum it was throwing, my aching body marginally reaching a wall that I can slump against. My head hits the wall easily as my eyes flutter shut, content to rest here forever.

“Sorry.” I croak hoarsely, “For saying what I said after dinner.”

Adrienne’s eyes flicker over at me, surprise etched in her expression. Then her face hardens into iron. “It’s fine.”

I open my mouth to argue, but she leaves. Again.

“God, is she a Veil or something?” I mutter to myself. That would explain far too much, though I’ve never asked her what power she possessed.

A matter for tomorrow, I decide.

It's difficult to stand up, feeling my bones creak like the foundations of an old home, but I manage to find my way back inside the palace. Dinner is the last thing in my mind as I stumble through the palace, aimlessly navigating this labyrinth of a palace. I hold the back of my hand to my face, supressing a yawn.

“Blair?” Kai’s voice cuts through whatever internal monologue was running through my mind. I turn to greet the prince, dipping my head into a bow. His buttons appeared sluggishly done up, with his ebony hair a little ruffled. For a prince, Kai Azer didn’t seem like much, but I knew better than to think that. From first hand reading experience I could confidently say that the prince could best a lion as effortlessly as someone could step on an ant.

A prince. And soon, my competition.

“Kai.” I hum, folding my arms as if to protect myself from something. Anything.

“You didn’t show up for dinner.” Kai states, almost as if it were some kind of accusation.

Shit. Right. I forgot about dinner. The endless training session with Adrienne had easily distracted my stomach from food. My stomach clawed at my skin, enticing me to go to the kitchens and sweet-talk a servant into getting me a late night snack. I push the thoughts away.

“My Imperial thought it was fun to torture me, so I couldn’t make it.” I chuckle dryly. Upon hearing how callous it makes Adrienne sound, I add, “I wanted to do some extra training. I don’t think I realised how much time passed.”

“The ball.” Kai interrupts, with no regards to what I previously said, “Would you like to go with me?”

Chapter 3: Caesar Flickerman wannabe

Notes:

(This definitely isn't being posted at like 12 at night with incredibly terrible WiFi)

Only one more chapter to go before the first trial begins, and trust me I've got plans. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing is up to you.

How far removed from society does one have to be, to enjoy an event as atrocious as a killing game? How detached from humanity should one be, to cheer on the complete destruction of people not much older than them? How blackened must one’s charcoal heart be, to find pleasure in games that have their own people murdered? To place bets upon people whom they will never meet, to pit people against each other like they’re nothing more than dogs battling against each other in a ring, all for a prize as materialistic as money.

How cruel would one need to be?

Strangely, the answer is simple. To relish in a killing game, one would have to first rip out the empathy from one’s heart, and hide it in a little chest that would be tossed away as easily as someone would toss a piece of litter, leaving an ugly scar on their marred organ that blended in with the rest of the healed cuts. And when it is all said and done, they would sleep soundly without a single guilty thought plaguing their dreams.

Those kinds of people make me sick.

The giant shadow of the Bowl Arena looms over us the closer we walk to where our interviews will be taking place, packed with what I’m sure are hundreds of thousands of Ilyans eager to see us.

These people make me sick. Every last one of them.

Most of us have already split off into pairs as we walk, indicating who trusts who amongst the nine of us. Understandable, considering that some of us have only just met each other. Trust is a fickle thing, especially in the Purging Trials.

Petals rain down from the drooping trees that line the path, a few getting caught in my hair. Though neither of us are speaking, I’m glad for Adrienne’s company, even if it’s technically a part of her job description to be escorting me as well as the other Elites whose Imperials surround them. I manage to catch a glimpse at the redheaded Imperial who sticks closely by Paedyn, close enough to protect but not enough to take notice. Lenny, I’m guessing. A Resistance member miraculously paired with Paedyn Gray, who just so happens to be the daughter of the man who started the whole movement.

Fate has a funny way of delivering coincidences, doesn’t it?

Every step I take is accompanied by a nagging discomfort in my muscles from not stretching before training, reminding me just how out of shape I am. I pluck a petal from Adrienne’s hair that was stuck in her ponytail, brushing it out of my hands without too much thought. However, another petal that lands on the top of her head brings me to a pause.

As I reach for the petal sitting comfortably atop the crown of her head, a hand jerks mine to a stop. Adrienne’s hand.

“Don’t.” She warns, using her other hand to brush the petal away. I frown as I yank my hand free.

“I was only trying to help,” I grumble.

As usual, I get no reply. Is this what it’s like to be ghosted in person? I can almost picture Adrienne as the driest texter if she ever got a phone – thank the Plague that Ilya is in a pre-modern world.

Little slivers of sunlight wriggle through the cracks between the branches, proudly shining their warmth onto the ground. The path makes for a picturesque scene, reminiscent of the type of photograph you’d get given during your English lesson where you’d be subsequently instructed by your teacher to write a thousand-word description based on it. Petals fly in motion with the breeze, grazing past my arm and sending a ripple of cold throughout my body. I hug my arms, my palms running across my forearms to heat myself up.

The navy blue dress Eloise picked out for me shimmers in the glow of the afternoon air, nicely hugging my body. It is smooth to the touch, the dress, and while my outfit perfectly blends in with what the rest of the girls are wearing, I’m not going to fool myself into thinking that I belong. No. I feel like a fraud walking amongst these people who some have known for years. And the others whom they just met? They laugh with each other, like the friends they are pretending to be before the Trials begin. A cordial bond between us all until we witness the horrors of the Trials.

I hold my head high and breathe deeply.

I refuse to panic in front of these people, least of all the entire Kingdom of Ilya.

I let my mind wander as the scenery changes from the trees to the Bowl. Ahead of me, Jax stumbles to the ground after being tripped up by Andy. I see her snickering at the sight. Hera and Ace distance themselves from the group, keeping to themselves, aware that they have everything to lose by not winning these Trials, where, differently, the Elites who stay at the palace full time can walk away from the trials going back to their cozy room. I spot Paedyn gazing in sheer awe at our surroundings, her eyes tracing over every intricate detail. Kai and Kitt exchange brotherly banter, while Braxton and Sadie converse politely with each other.

Kai.

Though it has only been a day since the prince asked me to go to the ball with him, I can’t wrap my head around why. The moment he asked, I came up with a pathetic excuse to leave and bolted back to my room, not looking back. I didn’t bother giving him an answer, not when I was completely surprised with that question. It’s wildly out of character for Kai to ask Blair, of all people, to the ball when the whole premise of the book is that he’s chasing after Paedyn. It’d be a more reasonable conclusion for him to ask anyone else, and definitely not the woman he’s been throwing insults at behind her back. Does he think it’s funny? A way to mock me?

There’s some sort of reason, I’m sure, but I have bigger priorities to deal with right now.

*

I’m being watched.

No. We’re all being watched. Inspected under a microscope, like we’re lab rats in some twisted science experiment. It certainly feels like it when we’re dressed up like dolls for the audience to toy with, to select their favourite candidate to support during the trials. All of us sit stiffly in the plush chairs, none of us allowing ourselves to relax for even a second. After dropping down (literally) into the waiting room stocked with an assortment of snacks, we were finally escorted up to the stage overlooking what appears like the entire Kingdom of Ilya. Kitt has retreated to the king’s box, where he, the king, and the queen are overlooking us. Safe. Out of reach. Kitt gets to act like he’s a contestant, but when things start to get real, he retreats to his Mute-covered box of safety. Coward.

My fingers are laced together as a precaution against picking at the skin of my nails. The urge to do so is overwhelming. Beside me sits an empty chair, its owner being Sadie who Tealah is currently interviewing. Ironically enough, it’s child’s play to recognise Tealah with her teal-coloured hair. Did her parents plan for that, or did they decide on that name regardless of her hair colour?

Well, whoever this Caesar Flickerman wannabe is, she’s good at her job. Her charismatic personality easily charms the audience, leaving them on the edges of their seat as she engages with them as well as the interviewee. I begin to listen in to the interview between the teal-haired woman and Sadie. Like Caesar Flickerman, she sets up each Elite in a positive light to make them more appealing to vote for after these interviews conclude.

“So, Sadie,” Tealah beams, “You’re a Cloner, aren’t you?”

Sadie offers a hesitant smile, replying almost immediately, “Yes, I am.”

“Now, can you explain what that is, for those in the audience who don’t know?” With Tealah’s open body language, half facing Sadie, and half facing the audience, she seamlessly creates an open conversation. It feels less like an interview and more like a conversation between friends. A place where the interviewee feels relaxed, like they can talk honestly.

The audience bursts into acclamation, fervently awaiting Sadie’s answer.

“Well, I can produce multiple clones of myself as the name suggests. It’s pretty self-explanatory.” Sadie explains, subtly using her hands to express herself better.

“And you’re good at using this ability?” Tealah asks.

Sadie wavers, like she is considering her words carefully. Finally, she says, “If I wasn’t good at using it, then I wouldn’t be in these Trials.”

I hold back a smirk. The audience clearly can’t contain themselves, as they let out roars of laughter.

“She’s confident, I can say that!” Tealah announces, implying just how little she really knows about Sadie. I haven’t spoken a word to her, but ‘confident’ isn’t exactly a word I’d use to describe Sadie, from the past few days spent observing her as well as the rest of the Elites.

Tealah continues, “Do you spend a lot of time around the palace?”

“I live there. My fathers an advisor to the king, you see, so I’ve spent most of my time growing up here.”

“Fascinating!” She claps her hands together, “Alright, just one more question, what sort of outcome are you looking to find from these Trials?”

“I’m not a psychic, so I have no idea what will happen in the Trials, but I hope to bring honour to my kingdom, my family, and myself.” Sadie wastes no time replying. Like reading from a script, the way she conversed with Tealah was rehearsed, just like the rest of the contestant's responses. It was expected, after all, to regurgitate the motto of the Purging Trials during these interviews.

“Okay then! Show us what you’ve got!” Tealah says, gesturing for Sadie to display her powers.

I lean forward in my seat ever so slightly, my eyes trained on Sadie as she stands up, back straight, appearing at ease. With one hand raised, unexpectedly there are about a dozen Sadies scattered around the Pit, each eerily wearing the same expression and positioned the same. Turning my head around, I do a quick mental count of ten.

She’s powerful.

The clones disappear, then reappear at the stands, flashing small smiles and waves at the audience members, who were all too startled to see a copy of Sadie suddenly appear in front of them. Squinting my eyes, I notice a little girl falling out of her seat at the sudden appearance of one of the clones, before admiration quickly fills her face. She reaches out to try and touch the clone, but they all disappear once more.

“And that’s Sadie Knox, everyone!” Tealah vocalises, throwing her arms out wide to Sadie, who bows respectfully before sitting comfortably back in her seat. Thunderous applause explodes from the crowd of Ilyans, assaulting my ears, but blocking out the noise feels unbecoming of a lady of status like Blair, so I sit through it. How are their vocal cords still intact after all their screaming? I give Sadie a tiny smile, a silent way of saying ‘well done’. Scepticism flits across her features, but she returns the smile nonetheless.

“Up next is Blair Archer!”

Okay. I can do this.

Leaving the safety that my chair provided, I’m all too aware of the thousands of eyes pinned to my figure, tracking my every move The walk from one side of the stage to the other feels too long, and I have to remind myself how to walk just so that I won’t trip in front of so many people. One foot in front of another, I tell myself. Thankfully, heels are not a part of my wardrobe tonight, or I would spend too much time trying not to stumble over my own feet. I’ve never been more thankful for the creation of fancy velvet slippers in my entire life. I’m sitting next to Tealah before I know it. Her grin is practiced, I’m certain, but reassuring nonetheless.

Internally, I’m praying to whatever deity exists in Ilya that Tealah won’t ask any questions about Blair’s family or life. Like the phony I am, I take a deep breath in, letting out a silent exhale.

As Paedyn would say, play the part.

Tealah’s teal hair whips around her face as she turns her body from the crowd to me, “Can I just say, that you look stunning tonight?”

Caught off guard, I stare at her with bewilderment before I compose myself and stutter, “My maid Eloise is responsible for this. She clearly knows her way around the closet better than I am.”

Tealah chuckles, turning to the audience, “Well I hope she’s in the crowd somewhere.”

The hordes of people let out cheers in response, though I know that Eloise isn’t there. Even if you eliminate her strong opinions of the Purging Trials and how the king conducts them, I doubt the maids and servants of the palace are permitted to attend the interviews. My eyes do a rapid sweep of the crowd, fruitlessly hoping to see a familiar face, yet I come up short, given that the only recognisable faces I know have duties to attend to.

The immediate question about Blair’s appearance strikes me as odd. Is that really the only personality trait people think Blair possesses? While my knowledge of Blair is about as miniscule as a rat’s brain, I’m sure there’s something to her personality that the readers just aren’t privy to yet.

Hopefully.

“Though, Tealah,” My voice somehow remains steady as I say, “I can say that being pretty is not my only redeeming factor, despite what some people like to believe.”

There’s a bite to my tone that I can’t quite place the source of, nor am I sure who it’s directed to. My eyes shift over to the Elites, my competition, sitting in their respective seats. With my lips twitching up into a fraudulent smile, I look back just in time for Tealah to comment again.

“Ooh, pretty and intelligent I see.” Tealah laughs, drawing an ‘ooh’ from the audience, “Now, all your competitors have pretty impressive abilities. What makes you think that you’ll be able to beat them?”

I’ve got to hand it to Tealah, she knows how to ask questions, because it really makes me wonder, how can I beat them? These people beside me are willing to kill to win these trials; Sadie when she interrupted Kai and Paedyn’s dance to steal their leather in the first trial; Braxton stabbing Hera in what I can only hope was self-defence; Kai eventually killing Sadie to protect Paedyn who the former was about to kill. I’m no killer. I haven’t trained my whole life in combat, I’m just a college student. In the end, I’m no more ordinary than Paedyn Gray herself.

I’ve dug myself into a grave I don’t think I can talk myself out of. Without any proper thought, I blurt out, “Have you ever heard of the story of Icarus?”

Tealah blinks, and for a moment I think that I’ve befuddled her, before whatever confusion behind her eyes quickly vanishes, “No, I haven’t. Has anyone else in the audience heard of it?”

The audience’s response was a mixture of ‘no’ and ‘tell us!’

This reaction didn’t surprise me. Of course, they haven’t heard of the myth. It shouldn’t exist in Ilya.

“Okay,” I take a deep breath, “The story is about a boy called Icarus and his father called Daedalus who are trapped in captivity on an island. In order to escape, the father comes up with the genius plan of using the feathers from passing birds and beeswax in order to craft two great sets of wings for himself and his son. The design works perfectly, however, the father warned Icarus to not fly too close to the sea, as the water would get the feathers wet, and to not fly too close to the sun, as sweltering warmth would cause the wax to melt.

Except Icarus didn’t listen to his father. He became overconfident, thinking that because he was given these God-like powers, he could defy his mortal restraints. When he did end up flying too close to the sun, the wax melted just as his father had predicted, and Icarus fell to his death.”

There are many different morals to the story, like the dangers of being prideful and arrogant when given power, like Icarus did with his flight. I know I won’t fly too close to the sun to win the Trials, and neither should my competitors.“

I give a pointed look at Ace, though he wasn’t looking my way and instead facing the audience.

“What an interesting story!” Tealah smiles, “Where did you hear it from?”

I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant, “I read about it a long time ago.”

“I see” Tealah hums, “You’re the daughter of a general, aren’t you? Do you not think that your father’s title as a general gives you a head start in front of the rest of the contestants?”

I freeze for a second at the mention of Blair’s father, whom I know nothing about. My thoughts reprimand themselves: all I am doing is playing a character.

My lips move before I can stop myself, “Maybe it did, once, but now I refuse to let myself be defined by my father’s title. And I’ll ensure that despite my father’s position, it will not make me entitled to winning the Trials. Unlike some of my competitors who believe they have already won because of their position, or because of their self-inflated ego. The person who wins will be not the one with the most power, but with the smartest mind.“

I bite back the urge to name Kai or Ace, though I know it would be a grave mistake to do so. For the former, because speaking ill of the monarchy is bound to get me in serious trouble. For the latter, it would be strange to the audience for me to publicly assume Ace’s character, despite me knowing every egregious act he commits until his death. 

The only tiny, unimportant detain is that he does all of those things in the future.

Though I’m pretty sure that vaguely badmouthing my competitors doesn’t earn me any favour with them, nor the audience.

Tealah doesn’t respond, so I continue on, hoping that this will save me some face from the indirect insults I hurled at the people beside me, “Like Paedyn Gray, whose ability may not be as useful in combat as a Brawny’s might be, but she did defeat a Silencer. A feat that not even Kai Azer has achieved.”

So much for not naming names.

“How bold! You’re not afraid to speak your mind!” Tealah remarks, though I’m not sure how much of a good thing it is. Laughter rings in the audience. “You’re a Tele, as you said before. Why don’t you tell us a little bit about your ability?”

Finally, something I can answer after all the times I’ve read fantasy books with unique magic systems, “I have the power of Telekinesis, which is a mental ability rather than a physical skill. I can move any object with my mind, basically.”

“Telekinesis!” She exclaims like she didn’t already know that, “How about you demonstrate this ability of yours?”

I nod soundlessly, ready to display the power I’ve practically stolen to the entire kingdom. Energy tingles at the pads of my fingers, begging me to use the power that was suddenly thrust onto my shoulders since my arrival in Ilya. Though this ability, this telekinesis, doesn’t belong to me, something in me is urging me to use it. Focusing my thoughts on Tealah, I bring my hand upwards with my palm facing the sky. Gingerly, Tealah is lifted off of her chair. Her teal hair is spread around her like a mass of silk around her face. Cheering erupts from around me, but it sounds distant as I concentrate on the floating interviewer in front of me. After a well-placed measurement of time, I lower Tealah back down to her seat.

Tealah looks exhilarated, “What a wonderful display! One final question: what are you expecting from the Purging Trials?”

Unlike the rest of the questions, this one has a right and wrong answer. Answer correctly, and I’ll gain the favour of the kingdom for rehashing the motto of the Trials. Answer incorrectly, and I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.

“I don’t know what challenges I will face,” Lies spill from my lips like ink running down a page, “But I expect to honour my kingdom, my family, and myself. But more importantly than that, I want to prove myself, to prove I am capable.”

Close enough.

Once the applause has died down, I’m finally free to stand and situate myself back into my own cushioned chair. Paedyn is called up for her interview, but I barely hear Tealah’s questions. My eyes are fixated elsewhere: the king’s box. The king stares down at me, scrutinising me, so I quickly look towards Paedyn where I was supposed to be looking in the first place. I hope that I haven’t made an enemy of the king tonight.

My interview may be over, but I’m far from done. This is only just the beginning.

*

With the conclusion of the interviews, I’m left grasping at the straws of my memory to figure out where I’m meant to go. You’d think that after almost a week at the palace, I’d know how to navigate these halls, but I’m still like a baby deer walking for the first time as I venture about the corridors. Initially, my plan was to follow the others to figure out where they’d go, but that was fruitless as everyone had gone anywhere but where our rooms are supposed to be. This left me walking about the palace, speedily manoeuvring past servants so that I wouldn’t have to endure the awkwardness of a conversation. There was no way I was going to ask for help. Not at all.

When I had convinced myself that I had successfully guided myself free from other people, I end up coming face to face with Kai. His attire in the interviews had been switched out for a more casual outfit, indicating to me that he wasn’t planning on going to sleep soon if he was still awake and going about the palace.

I can’t deal with this right now.

Except as soon as I begin to put some distance between us, firmly striding away like I’m on a mission, Kai tails behind me like a stray cat.

I don’t know what gave him the impression that I wanted to dive head first into a conversation, but he must not be good at reading my expression as he comments, “You did well in the interviews. Very bold of you. Even Tealah looked surprised at some of your answers.”

My pace slows down. Somehow I feel compelled to respond, like I would be breaking some millennia-old rule of thumb among the aristocratic and noble society, so I reply with my voice sickly sweet, “Oh really? And here I thought I was being too harsh. You weren’t so bad yourself.”

God I sound so unbearably insufferable right now. While Blair’s voice is melodic, the way I’m speaking makes me sound less like myself and more like the pick-me girls the internet likes to poke fun at.

“Really? Do go on.” If I didn’t know of the things Kai said about Blair where there was no eager listeners, then I’d think Kai was being genuine. Maybe it’s paranoia, but there’s no way his words are genuine.

“I’m not pampering your ego.” The faintest venom coats my tongue with a tone I’m not fond of, though my voice is still somewhat polite. “Andy’s interview was by far the most entertaining, but your interview was better than Ace’s at the least.”

There. That was being generous enough, considering how painful Ace’s interview was to sit through. You could really tell that Tealah was trying to sell Ace as a suitable candidate for the Ilyans to waste their votes on.

“I’ll take that.” Kai concludes, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks alongside me, “I haven’t spoken to him yet but Ace seems..”

“Like an ass? Cocky? Egotistical? Overconfident?” I produce adjective after unflattering adjective with a wave of my hand until my brain cannot conjure up anymore synonyms of Ace.

“Actually, no.” Kai says to my surprise, “He did seem pretentious during his interview but his illusions are impressive. I haven’t crossed many illusionists before, and definitely not ones who make fire smell like smoke.”

“Don’t equate power to being a good person.” I reply bitterly. I doubt Ace will be in Kai’s good books if he goes through with casting an illusion on himself to get Jax stabbed by his own brother. Though, anyone who ends up in Kai’s bad books are six foot under right now

“That’s fair.” He says. Continuing on, I’ve lost any hope of squirming out of the conversation as he asks, “Why the harsh words? I haven’t seen you speak to Ace once.”

“Let’s just say I’ve got a good judge of character.”

That shuts him up, though not for long I assume. The scenery shifts from the palace to the gardens where my demeanour switches up faster than flipping a light switch now that there are no prying eyes to witness it.

“Why are you here?” I demand. The nightly chill of the air caresses my arms. Okay I slightly regret leading us outside now.

“Can I not talk to you?” Kai questions innocently.

“Well we aren’t friends. I’d hardly say we are acquaintances.” I scoff. All pretences fall from my expression: my smiley face drops into a rest, my eyes not betraying a bit of kindness.

“I see.” He carefully examines me. “You didn’t give me an answer. From last night.”

And there it is: what I’ve been dreading to hear all night. My brows scrunch together in a glare.

“Last night? Are you here to mock me again?” I laugh hollowly, not allowing my voice to mask my annoyance this time.

“Mock you? Why would I ever want to-“

“I can think of plenty of reasons, I’m sure.” I interrupt, “Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing or if you think it’s somehow funny, but I’m not amused. Just because you’re the prince, it doesn’t give you the right to make fun of someone.

My back turns to him if only to help my contempt cease for a moment. I don’t know why I’m so bothered by what Kai did to Blair and not me. 

I’m not her.

Even if I do look like her.

With my eyes tracing the pottery set out in various different positions, the darkness gave no help in my attempts to see. The garden is different from the one I entered with the king: its decorative flowers have a more muted hue compared to the rainbow burst of colour that the previous one held.

Here, the flowers feelalmost perfect, but there was an obvious lack of personal touch within each of the petals. The work of a weak Bloom, I’d surmise. What a curse it must be, instead of a power, to have the ability to create intricate flora that doesn’t feel like a real flower. I’m surprised this garden hasn’t been ‘fixed’ yet. The king doesn’t seem like the type of man to like imperfections.

He sounds like the type of man who would level entire nations in order to make the terrain flawlessly level and smooth.

Will Kitt be a benevolent king, or brutal like his father?

Kai lets out a breath, moving to stand beside me, “I’m not making fun of you.”

“You want to ask Paedyn to the ball.” When Kai stares at me with a look somewhat akin to shock, I huff, “You aren’t subtle about it. So why me? What, did your father make you?”

No response. 

It's almost laughable, really. How much longer is Kai going to play the role of the mindless puppet on the king’s strings?

A beat passes. Then I utter, “What a coward.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” I grumble, my gaze elsewhere.

By the headless statue of a woman, in the corridor, I spot two shadowy figures engaging in what feels like a heated conversation. They’re too far away to make out their features. 

“I’ll go with you, but don’t expect me to dance with you.” I mutter to Kai, far too preoccupied to give a formulated response as I wander towards the two people. As I cautiously close the distance, the features of these nighttime stalkers become more apparent.

A red-headed Imperial - Lenny, I realise - and a dark haired boy exchange harsh whispers, both looking frustrated with each other. The boy is clad in a servant’s attire. How bold they must be, to meet up like this when Imperials are patrolling every inch of the castle. I know Kai didn’t follow me when I look over my shoulder to see an absence of his figure. No worries, I’d rather do this on my own.

A Veil’s ability would be immensely useful right now, but with a lack of invisibility, I make myself scarce by pressing my back flat against the wall where the corridor dips to the left, hoping to catch a whisp of their conversation. If they began walking forward and turned, they’d instantly see me.

Except the moment I settle into a comfortable position against the wall, all conversation ceases.

“Miss Archer.”

I startle, pressing a hand to my chest. Shit. Lenny has enhanced senses. Of course he’d hear me as soon as I got close.

Counting to three in my head, I time myself before glancing to the side where Lenny stood, his arms crossed. With a smile worn on my face as easily as one would paint white over a canvas, I put on the voice I’d imagine Blair would use.

“Oh my, I seem to have gotten myself lost!” I say, “It really is difficult to find my way around this place in the dark, right? I really should get going.”

Every word earns me a step backwards to get me a ticket out of the situation. Behind Lenny, the dark haired individual has vanished, probably blending back in with the rest of the servants.

“The contestant’s rooms are that way,” Lenny points in the opposite direction of where I was going.

“Right, I knew that.” My palms are clammy with sweat as I switch my direction, walking past Lenny. Suspicion slithered down my spine as I had my back turned to the Imperial, like I were afraid that a blade would be buried into my back and a Resistance member would be its owner. Yet when I reach the end of the corridor and turn around, I see no one there.

Maybe those two days spent in isolation made me crazy.

*

“Punch me.”

“What?” I blink. Did I hear that correctly?

“You heard me.” Adrienne says as if she read my mind. She looks bored, yet she insisted on this. She stands across from me a metre away in the middle of the training ring, with her uniform switched out for lightweight clothing more suitable for training. “I want to test your strength, and as my instructor once said, ‘there is no better practice than on another person’. So punch me.”

“Won’t that hurt?” I ask, raising a brow. In what world would Adrienne want, no, demand that I punch her?

I yawn, sleepiness clouding my thoughts. The sun hasn’t even risen, yet Adrienne saw it fit to drag me out of my room to the training yard. Aside from the occasional Imperial milling about on their daily rounds, the training yard is deserted.

“That’s the point.”

I flexed my hands nervously, shifting from a closed fist – thumb outside this time – to a relaxed state. She cocks her head to the side, looking me up and down expectantly.

“If you want I can teach you how to–“

I step forward, bringing my fist across her face as hard as I can before Adrienne can finish her sentence.

Blinding pain explodes through my hand, and I clench my injured fist with my free hand.

“Ah, shit! That really hurts!” I hiss, glancing up to meet Adrienne’s unbothered expression. My hand doesn’t appear bruised, but I’m convinced that I broke some kind of bone doing that. It was like punching a wall of iron, and I couldn’t tell If that was a trait exclusive to Adrienne, or I’m just that awful at combat.

Perhaps it’s a combination of both.

“Congratulations.” Her hands come together in a slow clap, “With a punch that strong I think you could take down a mosquito.”

Okay now I really want to punch her.

“This is pointless!” I complain, “I’m doing these stupid exercises but I’m not getting any better.”

With the first ball and sequentially the first trial right around the corner, I’ve been a massive twine ball of nerves that’s impossible to untangle. I need to get through a banquet where eyes will be on me because of my date, and then somehow survive six nights in a forest I know nothing about where eight other people are ready to hurt me because of these stupid fucking trials–

“Do you think that combat skills emerge just like that?” Adrienne unknowingly interrupts my descent into madness. Her blunt, unapologetic words strike me. Harder than any blow she could deliver. “This isn’t a problem that money can fix. It takes hard work and dedication. Now punch me again. This time use your whole body instead of just your arm”

My lungs heave in an unhealthy dose of oxygen to drag me from the edge of the cliff I was standing at before. I will not go there again. Not right now at least.

Taking in Adrienne’s advice, the next punch hurts a hell of a lot less now that I’m using my whole body to direct my hits. Annoyingly, she was still majorly unreceptive to my hits but on the third strike, I could have sworn I saw an smidgen of pain across her face. Confidence boosts my next hit, which only met air as Adrienne tilts her head to the right.

“Hey, that’s not fair! You dodged.”

“Your opponent isn’t going to stay still waiting to be punched. You need to be quicker than their reaction time if you want any hope of landing a hit on them.” She explains, and I hated the logic in her words.

And now my unmoving target has become a moving opponent.

“Again.” She says.

A word I begin to dread quickly with every punch and dodge and dance we swiftly coordinate together. Target practice on Adrienne transitions into full on sparring. She moves like a ballerina, her movements are both graceful and deadly if I’m not paying attention. Every move was calculated on her end, but there was never a time where she didn’t stop to explain what I was doing wrong and how I could do better.

Adrienne was a good teacher, and it was a breath of fresh air from my previous professors who dumped a library’s worth of information, expecting us to figure it out. It was obvious that she was holding back on me, but I was willing to be treated with fluffy kid gloves the more progress I made.

“Again.”

The sun slowly crawled up the sky, gradually rousing more people from their slumber and drawing out the servants who rushed about to get their duties done. I hadn’t the faintest clue how long me and Adrienne were sparring, but I was enjoying it.

“Again.”

This time, when my fist connects with Adrienne’s jaw with strength that wasn’t god-like but not a twelve year old’s, I’m so giddy that I stop moving and just stand there like an idiot with a smile on my face. Adrienne uses my pause that I used to give myself a figurative pat on the back to grab my wrist, yanking me forward. She turns around, bending sharply forward to throw me over her shoulder and onto the ground. It was an out of body experience, one that left me breathless on the floor.

“That was.. adequate.” Adrienne concludes. Even from the ground I can’t help but let out a tiny celebratory ‘yes!’ under my breath.

“Don’t let your guard down next time. That was far too easy to do.” She warns, pulling me up from the ground.

“That. Was. Amazing. Teach me how to do that.” I insist, too optimistic about training now. Hey, if I were told that I was allowed to throw people over my shoulder, I would’ve signed up for self-defence classes a lot sooner.

“Maybe after the first trial.” She sighs.

If I survive.

“Thanks.” I reply. Getting to know Adrienne was like getting to know a cat. They’re all cuddly and sweet, almost convincing you to get a cat, then a heartbeat later they’re hissing at you and jumping out of your arms.

“Don’t thank me.” Adrienne says, “Go do five laps.”

Of course.

This time, I ran alongside Adrienne feeling lighter than ever before. I find running much more fun with company.

*

There are a great many things I can do, like skimming a text during an English exam and somehow retain the gist of the story. I can talk to someone on the phone for more than a few seconds. I can maintain politeness when the other person doesn’t deserve it. I can’t survive in a forest. No amount of re-reads of The Hunger Games will remedy that, and as much as I wish it were so, Suzanne Collins and her books don’t exist in Ilya. This late realisation has left me fleeing to the only place I know can save me.

The library.

If I know what’s going to happen, then I might as well take advantage of it.
 
Grand double doors similar to the throne room groan as I push them open, coughing from the sheer amount of dust in here. Though extravagant, the library has suffered years of neglect as I pull my fingers alongside the shelves. They come back stained with dust. If there’s one thing I can be thankful for here, it’s the smell of old books, the kind of scent that fills you with nostalgia. Like curling up in your bed with a beloved snack and the book that always pulls you out of reading slumps. With Adrienne abandoning me for her Imperial duties, I’m on my own to do some last minute research.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice behind me sends off the alarm bells in my head. I whip around only to see Ace standing there, a crimson leather bound book in hand. While I’m frozen in place, he drops down into an armchair, legs crossed. He’s already halfway through the book, so he must have been here for a while. Why?

“What are you doing here?” I cross my arms.

“Reading.” Ace replies like it were the most obvious answer in the world, which, of course it was. “What else would I be doing in a library?”

“I.. I don’t know.” I fire back, not as confident as he was. Expecting Ace to do something nefarious – what ‘something’, I have no clue –  I glare at his relaxed form. He has his book opened up, turning the page every now and then.

He's going to trick Kai into almost killing Jax.

My hands plead to curl into balls, and for a moment I consider using him as target practice. Right before I talk myself into making a bad decision, I recall the rule that participants of the trials aren’t allowed to cause each other harm before the trials. I can’t tell if this was already covered during one of the dinners when I wasn’t paying attention.

“Have fun watching me then.” Ace says, which made me realise I was still standing in front of him. “I’m sure you’ll find me plenty entertaining.”

Leaning against the bookshelves, I cast him a shameless glare. I pluck a book out of the bookshelf, occasionally switching my view from the words on the page that I wasn’t really reading to Ace. I won’t try to hide how I feel about him, even if he hasn’t technically done anything worth my hatred. Yet. “You’re arrogant for someone sitting here reading instead of training.”

Ace snaps his book shut with one hand, pulling himself to a stand and striding over towards me. With no space to back away, I have to endure his proximity.

“Oh, Blair, I don’t know if you were paying attention to my demonstration but,” His voice is patronising, mocking, and cold. “I don’t need to train. I’m ready for anything the trials throw my way, and I’m going to win.”

“Be careful Ace.” I smile sweetly. “You might find that your ego is going to get you killed someday.”

Confidence is a powerful tool. Ace has realised this, and is utilising this in a frustratingly effective way.

“Good thing I don’t plan on dying any time soon.” Ace responds, and I can just hear his underlying confidence. It’s worse now that I’ve seen how powerful he is, how assuredly he can cast an illusion. “I’ll win the trials, and I’ll hurt anyone in my path to get my prize.”

My knuckles whiten at the force I’m gripping the book with, and for a split second I consider hurtling it at him. Just for the possibility that it would hit him in his smug, pathetic face.

“Don’t worry Blair, I won’t forget about you in the first trial. If you play your cards right, you might be the first one I go after.” He folds his arms, speaking like I’m being gifted the greatest present of the century.

I don’t ignore the uncomfortable chill that rolls down the nape of my neck at the implications. I’d rather not become the first unfortunate victim of Ace’s spear.

When Ace finally backs away, I finally feel like I have the room to breathe again. I drop the book that I was holding on a nearby desk and watch as he returns to his place. With his attitude, one would think that he was a snobby noble rather than a slum dweller. I don’t trust him, though I suppose I haven’t given him much reason to trust me either.

Reluctantly, I turn my back to my search for books about the Whispers, the forest where the first trial will be taking place. It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out that the books were categorised by topic and not alphabetically arranged by author, which, funnily enough, did not make it any more simple to find the books I needed.

The first book I pick up is about the Whispers’ history, which wasn’t entirely helpful. Going through the book proved to be a useless waste of time and energy as nothing on it detailed what one should do if one had to survive there. Combing through this section of the library, I pick up book after book, all while keeping sight of Ace in the corner of my eye. After skimming through a misplaced book – seriously what is a book about star crossed lovers doing in the non-fiction section – I slump down into a chair, frustrated and exhausted. How is there no librarian here?

Every book on the Ilyan forest is immensely unhelpful, so impatience has led me to passive-aggressively crossing the room, pulling out random books to skim the contents. Anything on survival. With such a broad goal in mind, it’s confusing how many of Ilya’s books are on the Elite’s abilities and propaganda against the Ordinaries.

One book in particular detailed the melancholic life of an Ordinary: a fictional tragedy of a man born from Elite parents who somehow didn’t inherit a power. Skipping past most of the book, the ending had the man kill himself out of shame from his upper class family who were too repulsed by their powerless offspring. A waste of paper for such a pretty book.

I shove the book back in its place on the shelf.

The next book was a complete account of every known Elite ability in Ilya, paired with little drawings to illustrate each power. Some of them I already know: Silencer; Crawler; Brawny; Tele. Expecting to see unique abilities I hadn’t heard of near the end of the book, I was shocked to see that three quarters of the book was empty. Every turn of the page revealed more blank sheets. Did they leave space for new discoveries? Or did they stop because they didn’t want Ilya’s enemies to get their hands on a guide-to-Ilyan-Elites?

I suppose the king wouldn’t be too pleased if I brought that up at the next dinner.

Soon, I transition from neatly putting novels back in their place, to leaving them on top of other books, or, horrifically enough, disposing of them secretly on the table. It seems like I’m not the only one with that original thought given how densely packed the desks are with books from lazy people like me who can’t be bothered to put them back in their places.

I’m going to tear the library apart at this rate.

Staring at the now empty armchair, I must have been too consumed in my own thoughts to hear Ace leaving the library. Crossing the room, I pick up the red book Ace was reading and look through its contents. Boredly, I throw it back onto the chair. It’s just another fiction book about who knows what.

From the window, I can see the sun just barely beginning to dip past the horizon – have I really spent that long in the library?

Feeling disappointed in my lack of results, I plop down on a nearby table to take a break with no one around to judge me for sitting like an improper lady. Fatigue and hunger hit me at once like a double edged sword, my brain traitorously conjuring up images of the dinner I missed out on and the sleep I desperately yearn for. I stretch my arms out wide on the table, one of my hands bumping against a book. Looking down, I notice it’s the same one I pretended to read while observing Ace. The book itself was nothing grand, a standard sized copy with a dark green cover and golden outlines depicting a holly.

I flick through the pages, expecting to see nothing of importance. My back aches slightly from bending over to read, and I’m thankful that Adrienne isn’t here to comment on my posture. There are a few illustrations to give the reader a visual of the plant the book is describing –  each one is painted with a rich watercolour that gives me the idea that this is a one of a kind book. Or the artist just really likes painting plants to create multiple copies of the book. My mind hardly pays attention to the words when I catch something. I pause, flitting back a couple of pages until I get back to the paragraph that caught my eye.

‘Native to the Whispers, this plant is mildly poisonous to animals but to humans, it only causes some irritation, however. . . ’

I don’t bother to read the rest of the sentence as I go back to the beginning of the book, my fingertips buzzing with excitement. The book depicted all sorts of wild berries and plants, some that are safe to consume and some that would cause severe symptoms. You’d be surprised at the sheer number of poisonous plants here in Ilya.

That night, I go to bed with the moon already halfway across the sky. Under the pillow lies my new reading material, bookmarked halfway through.

Chapter 4: All eyes on her

Notes:

Sorry for the late update! My laptop threw a hissy fit (it broke) so I had to write most of the chapter on my phone which is a nightmare to deal with. If there’s any formatting issues, that is why.

I truly commend any fic writers who predominantly write on their phones because I know the struggle now haha.

Tw for a panic attack at the end of the chapter.

I’ll also work on breaking down the larger paragraphs into smaller chunks for better readability! (This includes future chapters as well as the ones already written)

A smile is meaningless if not practiced.

It matters not how delicate you are, nor how charming: a smile is like makeup, one that society expects you to wear constantly. It is the only kind of makeup that you will not be shamed for wearing. It is, in fact, encouraged.

You are nothing without your smile , my mother once said.

It is the most recognisable feature, a gateway into revealing the deepest facets that makes up an individual based on the way their lips tug upwards.

Well I’m sorry to say, mother, that I can’t recognise this person or their smile.

The person staring back at me is a stranger, and I’m nothing more than an intruder.

My lilac hair is pinned back with hairpins akin to needles into a loose but deliberately placed bun that sits high on my neck. Forest green silk pools around my body as my seamstress applies her final touches to the outfit, a kind older woman with exceptional embroidery. Instead of looking at my dress, my eyes are glued to the body length mirror in front of me, staring at my face.

Again, I tell myself, not my face.

I’m showered in compliments speaking of my beauty, but this beauty isn’t mine. Eloise, while still a little reserved, gushes over the fabrics of my dress and how stunning it looks on my body, but this body isn’t mine. Even as I reply to her, denying her claims as an attempt to be humble, my voice isn’t mine.

I thank the seamstress for her work as she swiftly leaves the room, assumedly to go tend to her other clients. She stops, hovering near the doorframe. Looking back to me, she blinks a few times.

“What was that?” She replies, appearing a little stunned.

“I.. I said thank you.” I say, frantically exchanging a glance towards Eloise as a silent plea, “Was I not meant to?”

“No. I mean, yes, but,” She pauses. “I’ve crafted your gowns for years. You’ve never said thank you before. Not once.”

How awful was Blair to not thank the people who made her own clothes?

“It’s never too late to thank someone?” I say awkwardly.

“Well, you’re welcome, Blair Archer.”

I grin at her, but as she leaves, my facial muscles relax.

But a smile my dear , I hear my mother say, does more harm than good when faked.

Numbness torments my heart at the way I effortlessly lie to those around me who all believe my name is Blair Archer. No matter the amount of times I assure myself this is all for survival, it does nothing to dull the aching in my gut every instance I answer to a name that doesn’t belong to me.

Like a machine, I move towards the desk where Eloise has all her makeup set out, designed to make me look as appealing as possible for the masses of Ilyan nobility and minor royalty attending tonight’s banquet.

Whether or not I wanted to skip it altogether, Eloise cleverly pointed out that it was required, that nothing I could do could get me out of tonight's banquet.

A subtle crimson hue is smeared across Eloise’s index finger which is promptly applied to my lips, though she does it far more elegantly than I ever could. She must have done this a great number of times to other women of nobility. She adds an ebony looking mixture to the corners of my eyes for the eyeliner, then adding power to my nose and cheeks.

“I’m sure there is no rule against me leaving the banquet midway through.”

“The guests will surely notice your absence. All eyes will be on you and the other contestants.” Eloise sighs, and I can’t fault her annoyance. If I were debating with someone over the logistics about the attendance of a banquet, I’d be irritated too. Especially if the debate has been over an hour long.

“Maybe Sadie can produce a clone of me to take my place,” I muse, “But I’m not sure if she can even do that.”

Or if she’d be willing.

“You will do no such thing.” Eloise says, “If anything, the balls are the only good part of these trials, so enjoy it.”

Enjoy it.

Enjoy hours upon hours of idle chatter, waltzing around with people I don’t know, an unwanted date, and dancing to songs when I can’t dance. The only silver lining of the banquet is, of course, that food will be served – although I’m still debating on whether finger food is enough to satisfy my stomach for the night after countless missed dinners and breakfasts spent training.

In my defence, I’d rather go hungry for a few hours than wind up dead in a trial.

Though the mistress known as hunger has tempted me one too many times to sneak into the kitchens to steal a piece of food, with nothing but courtesy – and the fear of getting caught – holding me back.

I regret it now.

After helping me get ready for the interviews, I stumbled into Eloise a few times while exploring the palace between training, though ‘exploring’ was a shorter term of ‘trying to make a mental map of the place so I don’t get lost’.

It wasted less breaths to claim I was exploring, but she never doubted me as we conversed shortly before she left to tend to her duties.

“I have a daughter around your age, you know.” Eloise recalls, fondness in her voice. I break my gaze from the mirror before me to look over at my maid, causing her to smudge some of the eyeliner.

“Sorry.” I murmur, turning my body back to its previous position, “What’s her name?”

“Stella.” She says as she fixes the mess on my face, “She’s very clever, my girl, studying history at Ilya’s finest university.”

“You must be very proud of her.”

“I am.” There’s a pause. “She’s very similar to you. Hates parties.”

“Okay, I don’t hate parties. They’re actually quite fun.” I protest. Actually, I think I’d enjoy tonight’s banquet if the inevitability of tomorrow’s events weren’t hanging over me constantly like a personalised Saw trap.

“Of course, of course. Stella makes the same excuse.” Eloise says, placing her hands on my shoulders. They’re warm. A touch of a mother.

“There, all done.” She lowered her head so we’d be at eye level staring into the mirror with each other. In contrast to our first meeting, Eloise speaks to me like I’m her daughter and not the woman she’s obligated to attend to.

Perhaps, for one night, I can convince myself that I’m me.

Not Blair.

Not a contestant.

Me.

The longer I stare at my reflection, the more I change my mind.

“Is it too late for us to switch places?” I ask.

“Yes.”

*

I’m being suffocated in a silken green ocean.

Not the best start to the evening, I’ll admit.

As sweet as the tradition of the woman making their entrance last is, it isn’t very practical. Surrounding me are women of various ages, their expressions ranging from bored to enthusiastic. The discussion around me is polite but subdued, so I wait for the doors in front of me to open, my gaze focused on their patterns rather than on the women around me.

None of them are interested in conversing with me anyways, besides for one woman I don't recognise that compliments my hair and makeup. We make small talk, where I learn her name: Amelie, a tall woman with dark curls running down her back. Before I can ask her which tailor crafted her sea green gown, the doors open and everyone quiets.

It turns out that descending the staircase – with the repeated mantra of ‘Don’t trip’ stuck in my head – was the easiest part of the evening. 

“Evening, Blair.” Kai greets me at the foot of the stairs, taking my arm in his, “You look stunning.”

“As do you.” I say, allowing myself to be pulled to the centre of the room where our table is.

The ballroom sparkles with elegance, big enough to fit my entire neighbourhood. Massive chandeliers hang down from the ceiling, bedazzled with millions of tiny crystals. Circular tables have been set out, including ours directly in the middle like a stage.

Most of the seats have already been filled, save for Paedyn, Hera and Ace. The latter two appear shortly to take their seats as far away from each other as possible. I can’t blame Hera, I doubt anyone could be pleased with being forced to pair with Ace.

Sadie and Braxton sit next to each other, neither making attempts to talk. Andy adopts an unladylike position, one of her elbows stretched to rest on the back of her chair.

Beside her, Jax is still bouncing his leg, though considerably less than when he was being interviewed. Looking at him now, it was hard to imagine that he is only fifteen years old.

‘Fifteen and already bestowed the honour of competing in the trials!’

No one can convince me that Tealah is that deranged to mean those words.

Thankfully, Kai’s attention shifts to Jax and Andy, leaving me to people-watch in the hopes of finding some kind of entertainment for the night.

Until the Resistance attacks, at least.

My attention span is short tonight, leading to me observing someone for as little as a few seconds before finding a new person to spy on. Almost all of them are watching me, or more likely, the table I’m seated at. I’m positive that this is entertainment for them, like we’re the newest stars of the next reality show. In less than a second, their gazes switch, and I follow their eyes to see what they’re staring at.

Paedyn.

Like a fish out of water, she descends the staircase like she isn’t too sure where she’s supposed to put her feet. As expected, her body is draped with silver fabric that shines as boldly as the dagger strapped to her thigh. She’s bold. Unafraid. Maybe a little stupid too, but no less iconic. At the bottom of the stairs awaits her date, Kitt, who seems as enchanted by the Silver Saviour as everyone else is.

She takes his hand, though I don’t miss the way she spins the ring on her finger.

All eyes on her, exactly what Adena intended. 

The pair approaches our table, where Kitt sets down a goblet of wine – from what I could tell – in front of Kai.

“Thought you might want that back, Brother,” Kitt says, though it was clear Kai wasn’t paying attention to his words. His eyes were fixed onto Paedyn, hardly being subtle about the way he was looking at her.

Kai downs his goblet as Paedyn and Kitt settle in their seats opposite to where I’m sitting with Kai. The first drink of many, I’d wager. Instead of setting it down, he trades it with another cup filled to the brim with sloshing red liquid.

Instead of pining after Paedyn, maybe you should address your issues with alcohol first.

Stiff, suffocating silence follows. We’re all too aware of the eyes watching us with their not so indistinct curiosity, making it increasingly hard to strike up a conversation. With our shared glances, I wonder if they too have realised the fate that awaits us tomorrow, that we’re still competition in the end.

As servants pour into the ballroom, remarkably balancing two plates on one arm and using the other hand to balance it, I recognise that this is likely the last hot meal I’m going to have for the next six days.

To appear demure and civilised, I don’t immediately pounce on the seasoned salmon the moment it’s placed in front of me. Instead, I wait for everyone else to start eating before I dig in too.

It's unbearable how quiet it is, and the noise of cutlery scraping against the plates is annoying me more than it should.

“That’s a lovely gown you’re wearing, Paedyn.” I say, shattering anyone’s hopes of a peaceful dinner.

The scraping of the cutlery ceases at once, and I’m stuck with everyone’s attention on me. Paedyn looks up from her dinner. Amusement touches her lips, “Why thank you, Blair.”

And that would have been the end of the discussion, if someone didn’t decide to open his big mouth.

“Making friends right before the Trials? How original.” Ace sneers. My fork digs into the salmon on my plate, and I rather aggressively cut a piece of the fish as the only way to contain my growing irritation.

“It’s called being polite, but I don’t expect you to be familiar with that concept.” I shoot back, bringing the salmon chunk to my lips. Flavour bursts in my mouth but the taste is dulled from the tense atmosphere.

“Why? Because I’m from the slums?” He bluntly accuses, leaning forward in his seat. His elbows rest against the table, unabashedly breaking one of the unspoken rules of dining etiquette.

No one dares to utter a word; uncomfortable faces lay on everyone apart for Ace, who stares at me as if he were challenging me.

He’s trying to pick a fight.

“No.” I settle on, “It’s because I don’t expect someone who acts so high and mighty all the time to possess any real manners.”

He scoffs. “And what do you know of manners?”

“More than you, clearly.”

Instead of snapping back a rude comment, Ace turns to Kai, “Kai, why don’t you tell your date to play nice?”

And that does it for me. Within seconds my knife is raised in the air and pointed at Ace’s chest, still laden with the sauce from the buttered asparagus, but the message carried remains constant.

My control is still shaky, but it was no accident when the point of the blade presses against Ace’s suit. I’m toying with the idea of pressing further.

“Blair-“ Kai begins but I cut him off.

“Don’t address me like I’m his property.” I snap, hardly believing the next words that come out of my mouth, “My name is Blair. If you’re too cowardly to call me by my name, then why are you even here?”

The words are said long before I process what I had just voiced out loud. Guests have turned their heads our way, and I wish that I had been a little more quiet.

“Are you calling me a coward?” Ace demands, his tone threatening.

“Perhaps I am.” I enunciate each word, not denying the power trip I’m getting from using this Tele power.

And then I feel it.

Heat.

Flames snake up my chair, instantly freezing me in place. They slither up my legs, splitting into small lines of fire that encircle my arms and waist. Thick like rope, one wraps around my neck like a vine, the flames licking at my skin. Smoke permeates my nostrils, and I know I’m not the only one who can smell it too. They tighten around my body and I can feel myself suffocating.

“I’m not afraid of you or your illusions.” I choke out, my throat closing in on itself.

Thank the Plague that Ace is not a mind reader, because I am very much afraid right now.

“I think you should be,” Ace says, and I start to feel the underside of my head start to burn, “because as soon as the Trials start, I’m coming after you first.”

Then they disappear, Ace appearing as shocked as I do. I feel a resistance combating against the knife, stronger than the extent to which I’ve trained my Tele abilities, causing it to clatter onto Ace’s plate.

“Easy now,” Kai interrupts. “I'm not normally the one breaking up fights, but let's not try to kill each other before the Trials even start.”

Right. Kai is a Wielder.

Ace laughs, “Is that what you intend to do, Kai? Kill us?”

My hands reach up to my neck, rubbing the sore area where Ace used his scarily realistic illusions. I still feel the phantom sensation of ropes choking me.

“No, I’m sure he intends to make friendship bracelets for all of us and sing nursery rhymes together.” I huff, retrieving my knife with a sharp movement. It settles back in my hand and I set it on my plate.

“I intend to win.” Kai says.

“Of course you do. As do the rest of us.” Ace replies coolly, “Except for Paedyn, who intends to survive .”

Kai would have pounced on Ace and beat him to a bloody pulp hadn’t Kitt cut in with his invitation to Paedyn for a dance.

No one dares to spark another conversation, besides for Andy who drags Jax into a dance. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were to get away from the awkwardness present at the table. Hera’s got her head turned downwards to her plate, already empty.

For the next few minutes I work through the buttered asparagus sitting on my plate until I feel someone tap my shoulder. A young man not a day over twenty five stares down at me.

“Forgive me for interrupting your dinner,” He says, “But would you give me the honour of a dance?”

Begrudgingly I haul myself to a stand, accepting his dance with a pleasant nod and before I know it I’m being pulled into a dance.

Colours blur around me as I’m spun around, my footwork messy and uncoordinated. Salmon claws its way up my throat, threatening to emerge as bile. Who thought it was a good idea to have dancing paired with dinner? But the man made for nice small talk, and I enjoyed his company until I was swept away into another man’s arms.

I’m passed around like a used toy, finding different dance partners in my arms, some far more interesting than others. I can’t help but roll my eyes when I recognise my next dance partner’s suit.

“Where’s your date?” I ask dully, looking up at Kitt.

“Dancing with your date, it seems.” He spins me around, though I know he’s acting cordial just for the sake of keeping the peace.

It’s disingenuous.

“And you’re surprised?”

He either doesn’t hear me, or pretends not to.

“You look bored.” Kitt says, “Am I not entertaining enough?”

“I’m having plenty of fun, actually.” I shrug, “Banquets are a great place for people watching.”

“People watching?”

“What, you don’t do the same?” I ask, scanning the ballroom, “You see that man over there?”

“Which one?”

“Orange hair.”

I watch until his eyes settle on the man I was talking about before he says, “What about him?”

“That’s his fifth glass of wine tonight.” I say, confirming the man’s sixth glass when he snatches one off the tray of a serving boy. He greedily gulps it down in a distasteful manner before shoving the empty glass into a nearby friend’s hands.

Kitt frowns, “So he’s an alcoholic.”

I roll my eyes: Kitt’s so quick to make that assumption while ignoring the way his brother was drowning himself in alcohol an hour ago.

“He’s also been staring at a woman all night.” I correct, “He’s working up the courage to ask her to dance, I bet.”

Kitt holds me in his arms, only barely managing to keep the correct footing as he stares down Orange Haired Alcoholic Man on the other side of the room.

Ultimately he answers, “He’s walking over to her now.”

“Told you so.” I say.

A knife whizzes past my ear, glancing the skin as it buries itself into the wall ahead of me.

Right on cue.

Remembering that I’m supposed to be unaware of what’s going on, I swiftly shift characters: playing the role of the confused and scared girl. The one who doesn’t know what’s going on. The one who is oblivious, unsuspecting like everyone else. Like I’m an actor, performing in front of alarmed guests. I don’t allow my fear-stricken eyes to slip for even a second.

“What’s going on Kitt?!” I ask, yelling over the sound of the commotion.

“I.. I don’t know.” Kitt says, grabbing my arm and pulling me to the side of the room.

Narrowly missing a flying plate, my head snaps around the room. Kai manhandles a very disgruntled Paedyn; Sadie staggers up onto her feet; Hera fades out of view using her Veil abilities; the rest I can’t see amidst the chaos.

The Resistance is outnumbered: if they had really been planning on attacking the palace then they were ill prepared with leather armour and little to no weapons.

I turn my head, “Hey, Kitt, where is-“

He’s gone.

My chest tightens, panic bubbling in my stomach as I’m left hopelessly standing between tables. Guest are discreetly shuffled out of the room but I’m only focused on one thing as I stumble forward into the fight. Others crash into me, saving their own skin; more Imperials flood into the room, Plague-given abilities on display.

“Adrienne!” I yell, almost breaking into a run before someone grabs my wrist.

“Miss, I’ve been instructed to get you out of here.”

“But-“ I’m cut off as I’m yanked away from the fight and towards the doors where the deathly silent corridors did nothing to silence my worries.

*

It’s been who knows how long since the guests have been dumped into a room deemed safe enough for everyone to remain in while the Imperials fight off the Resistance.

And Adrienne.

It’s easier to worry about someone else rather than worrying about tomorrow. To swap out one anxiety subject for another. The longer I dwell on it the longer I feel my alarm levels rising, the longer my palms grow sweatier and the longer I can’t breathe.

I really like breathing.

The guests shepherded into the room, making the place feel cramped and unbreathable, aren’t helping. Impatience fuels every tap of my foot, every fidget of my fingers, every glance towards the door.

I hadn’t checked the clock but I knew that it had been at least half an hour. The fight must surely be over now, so why are we still here?

I need to leave.

Now.

“What are you doing?” The Imperial by the door says as I saunter up to him, reaching for the doorknob.

“I’m getting out of here, obviously.” I answer. I can’t stay in this room for another moment.

“You can’t leave.”

“Can’t I? It’s useless to just sit around and do nothing.” Sharply tugging the door, I swing it open with ease. They really need to lock their doors if they don’t want guests leaving.

Before I can leave the room in search for Adrienne, a hand pushes the door to a close, trapping me in the room again. I look over my shoulder to see Braxton.

“Blair, we can’t leave yet.” He says firmly. “We shouldn’t be endangering the king and queen and everyone in this room by letting the attackers know exactly where we are.”

Shit. That’s a good point.

Nevertheless I stand my ground, squaring up to Braxton despite him being much taller and larger than me. A frown creases my brows.

“It’s been ages. The fight is probably over already.” I scoff, picturing the hordes of dead Ordinaries in the ballroom. Each of them, killed over a trait they couldn’t control. Their attack on the palace hadn’t been planned, and now they’d pay for it with their lives.

These people are blessed to be Elite.

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions over this and get ourselves killed because some people don’t like being patient.” Braxton snaps back, and someone else chirps in too.

“He’s right.” Sadie adds, “Maybe we should leave this to the Imperials. They’ll let us know when it’s safe to leave.”

Arguing is fruitless despite our hushed voices, leaving scarcely any eavesdroppers to hear us. It took a while, but I relented, muttering a quiet ‘fine’ before retreating to my spot by the fireplace that a Blazer had started.

I would have been otherwise cold without the heat, but the warmth tickling my skin was like fire suffocating my lungs, and I had to stay away. The biting cold on the other side of the room was worth it considering the bruise on my throat from Ace’s illusions had begun to turn red.

I find him staring at me from the other side of the room, running a hand through his slightly disheveled hair. When we lock eyes the fire creeps up my arms again, tightening around my body like poison ivy but the moment I break eye contact I realise that there was no fire anymore and that Ace hadn’t done anything.

*

I’m the first to shove my way out the door when we’re informed that it’s safe to leave.

Maybe it was the fire taunting me from where it sat.

Maybe it was Ace smirking at me like he knew something.

Maybe it was the spiralling feeling that something was going to go horribly wrong. But I couldn’t stay in that room for a second longer. Everything felt too small. The corridors were closing in on me, I was sure of it.

Left, right, right again.

Another left.

No, wrong way.

Go right.

I didn’t know where I was going but anywhere was better than going to bed and waking up for the hell that was waiting for me tomorrow.

I couldn’t.

I shouldn’t.

I should leave.

Run away.

Where’s Adrienne?

I don’t remember.

I can’t do this.

My chest squeezes and I feel my throat struggle to take in air.

I’m going to die.

I stumble down the stairs, gripping onto the rail like it’s my lifeline. Fresh air. Oxygen. Something. Anything.

I’m going to die.

I tear through the halls, not bothering with an apology to the people I run into. Everything is so loud, like a marching band is banging drums right into my ears. My head twists around frantically. Air. I need air.

I burst into one of the gardens, sucking in as much oxygen as possible but my lungs aren’t complying. My mouth won’t open and when it does a pathetic cry slips out.

Every breath feels like daggers striking at my heart.

Tears spill. They run hot down my face.

I’m going to die.

Nightmare. I’m having a nightmare. I’m not really in Ilya. I’m at home. Sleeping. I’m dreaming. That’s it.

Oxygen. I need oxygen. I need to breathe. Why can’t I breathe?

Am I having a heart attack? This must be a heart attack. There’s no way this isn’t a heart attack: I must be dying right now. How silly, dying in a garden. They must have a lot of fun putting that on my tomb.

Go. Leave. I have to go. Now.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I collapse onto the ground, clinging to a stone bench.

I’m

       going

   to

         d           

              i          

                    e

*

A mixture of dirt and other materials fly into my mouth when I suck in a large breath. Instantly I sit upright, coughing violently to clear my mouth of the moist dirt. Little nails scratch in my throat after my wheezing.

Leaves crunch underneath me, combined with the gross squelching of mud and twigs snapping under my body weight. Pine trees tower around me tauntingly, dripping with dew from fresh rain that mixed in with the hidden scent of wildflowers.

Shit.

I raise myself to a stand, almost slipping over a damp piece of tree bark slick with mud. There was nothing but trees as far as the eye could see aside from the occasional sprig of foliage dappled with berries.

Wind caresses me in gentle strokes, making me glad that I wore layers to bed.

After seemingly hours of clinging to the bench last night, my breathing calmed down enough so that I could pick myself up and carry my body to my room, lasting long enough to change into clothes that I had previously prepared for the first trials before passing out in bed.

A piece of paper, even with its weightlessness, sits heavy in my pocket.

I don’t need to read it to know what it says.

This isn’t a nightmare.

It’s the First Trial.

I laugh. I must sound crazy. A Sight must be recording this, capturing my movements to display after the Trial ends to a stadiums worth of Ilyans.

“Happy Purging Trials.” I announce furiously to myself, but also to the person I know who’s watching me, “And may the odds be ever in your favour.”

I have a long six days ahead of myself.

I smile. After all, a smile is meaningless if not rehearsed.

And I’ll perform if it guarantees my survival.

Notes:

This chapter was a pain to get through, but with the first trial starting I am very excited! Will people survive? Will new people die? Who knows!

Chapter 5: The hand that mocked

Notes:

Well this chapter was difficult to write, especially after being washed over with the tsunami that is writers block, but I did thoroughly enjoy writing this! I'm a little new to writing combat so I hope to improve in the future, and I made sure to break up the paragraph lengths for better readability.

With each side character that our lovely protagonist interacts with, I'm going to explore them in depth when the time calls for it. Each one of these characters are human: they mess up, have negative flaws, have different motivations, and I hope to explore all of that in this work.

Thank you so much to the lovely person that left a comment on my last chapter, it definitely motivated me to finish this one off. Hope you enjoy!

Beady black eyes stare at me, unblinking. We’re locked in a stalemate, neither of us moving. My heart beats in my ears as I slow my breathing, fearful that I’m being too loud. Its nose twitches, body lowering closer to the ground before leaping into a sprint.

I’m quicker. 

The hare screams as it freezes in place, entrapped by the claws of my telekinetic abilities. The shrill sound makes me still, but I shake off that uncomfortable feeling as I slowly approach it. 

“Don’t scream. Please.” I say like it can understand me, “That makes it so much harder to do this.”

Close your eyes. It’ll only last a second.

I raise the rock, squeezing my eyes shut and preparing for the blood and flesh following my decision. 

As I bring the stone down as hard as I can, I yelp when it suddenly connects with the ground next to the frightened little hare and not landing in the squishy flesh it was intended to be buried in.

Shit.

I double over, last night’s dinner spilling out onto the base of a tree. The telekinetic connection snaps, the hare speedily bounding away.

I wipe away the bile at my lips. My fingers fiddle with the leather band wound tightly around my upper arm. The band is concealed with my dark sweatshirt, but any of my opponents would know that it’s there. 

I think I’ve discovered Hell.

Granted, there aren’t any fiery devils running around punishing people for their sins, but this is close enough. 

In the last few hours, I successfully managed to get lost. Blisters in my heels enhance my discomfort the more I ventured further into the Whispers, easily getting myself lost. At the time of me waking up here, it sounded like the logical conclusion: find food and water and then I’m set for survival. But I drastically underestimated the distance necessary to locate sustenance.

“Fantastic,” I mutter, kicking a pebble as far as I can. It slams into a tree, dropping to the ground with a thud. “Absolutely bloody fantastic.”

A flash of stark white clothing blots the corner of my vision, a person standing in its place. Another Sight. 

“Are you enjoying this?” I say, and she expectantly doesn’t reply. A shine passes her eyes, storing the footage before leaving. 

There better not be audio for these recordings that’ll be a part of the highlight reels after the trial ends. I wouldn’t be able to stand hearing Blair’s sharp voice yell out ‘May the odds be ever in your favour’ like I’ve heard it echo in the back of my mind like a broken record player.

I am not as iconic as Effie Trinket.

Leaves crunch behind me and my muscles lock into place. I turn and a fox darts away behind the trees.

“Definitely not spooky, right?” I joke to the leaves dancing down to the forest floor and the animals that have made themselves scarce.

For once I wish to hear something call back out to me.

My stomach growls, the sting accompanying hunger showing up like an unwanted guest. Thoughts were always a good distraction from hunger until you remember how your stomach rakes at you for food at the most inconvenient of times.

A little deer trots along the forest path lined and littered with trees and twigs, stuffing its nose into a bush. I step towards it, wincing at the leaves crunching beneath my boots.

The deer tears its face from the bush, a few violet berries caught between its teeth which is promptly swallowed. It makes a sound before scampering away.

“Even the deer are scared of me,” I muse, crouching down in front of the bush. The possibility of the plant being dangerous is high, but I’m tempted. Picking a plump berry, I crush it between my fingers and taste the juice.

When my throat seems to be intact – and not burning with unfamiliar poison – I grab as many as I can see. One of the thorns slices the base of my thumb, but I’m too pleased with my stash to worry about it. 

Pockets stuffed, and me content with my findings, I spin around, opting to travel in a new direction. A fresh start.

How long had it been since I came here? Two weeks? Three? I would have been sitting at a desk, furiously scribbling away for my biology exam had I been back home. On that night three weeks ago, I was supposed to be studying protein synthesis for the exam, but Powerless was too tempting to pass up on. 

I could have chosen anything else, like my freshly bought copy of Iron Widow, but no. I chose a comfort read instead.

Would I be back home now, if I studied instead?

I had never really been that good at school. 

Teachers commented on my tendency to always have a book on hand and that I’d be ‘’so much smarter’’ if I paid attention in classes instead of smuggling a book under my lap. The disappointed looks on their faces after giving me my test paper back are burned into my memories.

I just gave up on school. 

I couldn’t concentrate and every variation of ‘help’ felt like hands strangling my throat. 

With every exam that passed, I knew that it would be harder to redeem myself. My parents tried to be supportive but I could always spot the disappointment behind their eyes.

I’d rather be here than at school anyway. At least Blair Acher doesn’t need to take stupid exams and stupid classes and making decisions for a stupid future-

Something catches my eye.

A person?

Has someone come?

Wait.

No.

A lake. 

Water.

Breaking into a sprint, I push past the trees to give me a boost, anything to propel my body forward and closer to the crystalline lake glowing with survival. The possibility that the lakes are riddled with disease crosses my mind only after I collapse at the base of the water and cup as much as possible into my hands. 

Again and again, water dribbles down my chin, staining my clothes but I don’t stop diving my hands back for another gulp.

By the time I’m done hydrating myself, my fingertips are pinched with wrinkles and my throat is moist with the beautiful taste of hydration.

I look back up to the rest of the lake and that’s when I see it.

Mouth hanging open, eyes pointed to the sky, crimson red engulfing the water.

A body.

 

Kitt.

The shock enters and leaves my body as quickly as it entered, and I almost laugh.

Though I feel the nausea creeping up, I school my features and stand, putting distance between me and the faux Kitt. 

“Reusing your tricks, Ace?” I call out to the forest. He’s here, he must be. 

A twig snaps and so does my head as I glance in every possible direction. My fist tightens; a puny branch raises itself. It can’t do much against him, but if arrows can pierce hearts then so can I.

“I thought you’d have a little more originality. I guess I was wrong.”

No response. 

With only a glorified twig to protect me from a brutal death at Ace’s hands I can only hope that he makes himself known. The illusion of Kitt shrivels away, leaving no memory of the person it was trying to imitate. 

My ragged breaths grow more erratic. Sweat clings to my body until I finally hear that chuckle of his. 

Ace emerges from behind a tree. He tries running a hand through his hair but gets it stuck. A few blemishes adorn his face: a few minor cuts and a large gash running from his chin down his throat. 

Ace stops in front of me, shifting his weight onto one leg.

“I told you I’d come for you first.”

“Spare me the theatrics. I know you went after Paedyn first.” I scoff, glancing over at the lake. I realise my mistake of looking away and snap back to Ace, “Your trick on her failed and now you’re trying it out on me?”

At that, Ace doesn’t have an immediate retort, “What are you-“

“And what took you so long? Got lost, did you?” I ask, purposefully keeping my distance from him. 

“We can cut the small talk. Give me what I want.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“Come on Blair,” Ace smiles, an outstretched hand. “Give me the band.”

His eyes are wide. Crazed. A stark contrast from the confident character I had interacted with a night ago. 

“No.”

His hand races to my throat, gripping it with ease. I can feel it – the twitching in his thumb, the urge to crush my windpipe.

“Oh you nobles are so fucking predictable.” He cackles, and I choke out a wheezy noise.

Ace brings his fist hard across my jaw and before I have time to cry out in agony, his hand tangles in my hair and throws me to the ground. I slam against a jagged rock, a crack ripping through my skull. 

Something rings distantly, my eyes misting over, blurring the incoming figure.

What was I doing?

I’m floating, my body detached from my head. Disorientated, I find my hands and plant them against the needle leaves jabbing into my skin. I stumble upwards right into Ace’s fist, which slams into my nose.  

I fling my hand out to send him flying backwards, his back hitting a tree. My fingers tingle with the remnants of power, but the drug-like high of telekinesis is dulled out by thudding in my skull and the pressure that squeezed every muscle tighter.

Everything spins, spins, spins, and the pain blossoming in my temple is enough to make me give up my band if only to make Ace stop. Blood dribbles down from my nose and seeps into my lips, flooding my mouth with the discomforting taste of weakness. 

Ace is already up. 

He closes the distance. 

My hands ball into fists and I raise them. Without meaning to, they shake. It’s a subtle motion but my whole body is quaking. Shivering up and down and my legs are weak and fuck he’s coming closer-

Like a newly birthed doe I stumble backwards, my mind too crowded to concentrate my Tele abilities to do something, anything useful.

I turn to run but his hand snakes through my hood, throwing me down to the ground. Ace stares down at me, eyes bloodshot. He forces his shoe down on my throat, squeezing the oxygen from my lungs.

My palms press against the sole of his shoe but it was like trying to move a mountain. Hopelessly I kick my legs upwards, nails scratching Ace’s leg and tearing out chunks of his flesh. 

Still, he remains static, fists clenched and quaking and sludge spread over his trousers.

Truly the face of someone gone mad.

I can’t place blame on him.

“Not so powerful now, hm?” He says and maybe, maybe if I were the reader watching like an omnipotent God, I’d congratulate the twisted irony.

Tears slip out as I violently shake my head, thrashing like a toddler having a tantrum over spilled milk.

I wish it were spilled milk.

An ugly sound rips from my throat that almost forms his name. Everything blurs together like watercolour paint and Ace becomes a muffled figure. 

I’ve been set on fire, my whole body crawling with parasites that chew at my skin. Smashing my hands against Ace’s calf, I grow more frantic.

It takes on average four to five minutes to die from oxygen deprivation. How long has it been?

I count ten seconds. 

It feels like an agonising ten minutes.

My control on my fingers slips when my head drops to the mud, eyes scarily ready to close and hands sprawled flat against the forest floor.

Where even am I?

The world becomes a slurred mess of damp noises and someone’s muffled words and my heart racing like the wings of a hummingbird. 

I’m slipping.

Wood digs into my fingertips. I curl my hands around it.

This isn’t actually too bad.

It’d be a shame if not one Sight recorded my passing.

Are you watching, Adrienne?

I’m sorry.

With my last remaining strength, I cry out and blindly stab at Ace.

Something cracks and the pain explodes.

But it wasn’t my bones.

Ace yells something indiscernible, stepping away from me to rip out the branch buried in his calf.

I roll to the side, my ragged breaths burning my throat as I stand. Oxygen has never tasted so sweet before, but I take every opportunity to relish in every breath.

Ace curses under his breath, and I look back at the crimson pumping out of his wound, and the hands that quake around the bloodied weapon. He screams, lurching towards me with his arm cocked back to drive the branch through my heart.

My hands flick up as Ace does, lifting off the ground. He’s stunned for a moment, and so am I until I rein in my racing heart and smash him down into the ground. This time the power drains from me, my fingertips burning instead of the familiar tingle.

Swaying on the spot, I turn to run, freezing when Ace coughs.

A part of me hoped he had passed out.

“You have nothing to lose.” He says, and I still look at him.

“What?” I say, quickly grabbing a stick and wielding it like a dagger.

“You,” He grunts as he stands, a noticeable limp as he trudges towards me, “have nothing to lose.”

My lips press into a thin line, mirroring the distance he closes with the distance I pull away, “My life, maybe?”

“Your life,” He scoffs, “Has more monetary value than everyone’s life earnings where I’m from. Your death would be mourned by thousands. Your coffin would be decorated with purple carnations and little girls who never knew you would cry.”

I hadn’t thought about it before. I wasn’t important, not back home anyway. I had few friends I talked to and even fewer that I trusted. My parents wanted to have a child that could make them proud; I desperately wished to escape.

As Blair Archer, I was influential. A commanding voice and a stern look from her could send servants scattering. A small flick could send Imperials flying back. Ilyans cheered her name during the interviews, and was as lethal as she was stunning.

Blair Archer, as venomous as she was, would have mourners.

Ace’s head lolled to the side like it was too difficult to keep it upright, “Do you know what my coffin would look like?”

“I don’t know-“

“Of course you wouldn’t.” He interrupts, a manic smile and eyes as wide as plates, “Do you think his Royal Highness would waste a coffin on a slum dweller like me?”

“I suppose not.” I say.

Ace shifts his gaze, eyes dropping into a glare, “My sincerest apologies. I forgot you wouldn’t know what the meaning of struggle was.”

I go rigid. My muscles wind up, locking in place. It all becomes too loud, too quiet, too everything and the only thing I can focus on is the sound of my parents voices. My teachers. The mocking laughs of my classmates.

In an instant, I’ve pounced onto him, sending blow after agonising blow. I straddle on top of him, keeping him in place as my hands grow bloody and my moves increasingly sloppier.

“Shut up!” I scream, “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

I haven’t suffered? My internal voice yells, every thud of my heartbeat falling in time with the falling of my hand across his face.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Ace struggles underneath me, striking my shoulder but I return the blow with one just as powerful. His breathing was ragged, too loud, and the birds sung in the distance, too loud, and I panted heavily, too loud.

Too loud.

Ace looked unrecognisable.

His lips swollen and eye on the cusp of a bruise, every inch of his face was bloodied. Tears burn my eyes, the adrenaline leaving as quickly as it came, but all I can see is red, red, red.

Blood.

It's everywhere.

Ace shoves me off him, not that it was difficult the way my eyes locked with my hands. Red, red, red.

I look back at Ace.

What have I done?

If I was intending to apologise, the sentiment was lost when I caught sight of silver. Ace notices it too, and there’s a moment of pause before we both bound towards the spear conveniently placed ahead of us.

My palms are slick with sweat and blood, crimson curves engraved into where my nails dug into them.

I was never a runner, and my lips are cracked from dehydration, but my legs have never carried me more. With Ace’s wound, I’m at an advantage to reach the spear first, the cool metal a welcoming sting against my bleeding hands.

I face him, the jagged end pointed at Ace. He stands with enough distance that I can’t immediately impale him.

And then I hear it.

Hissing.

Glancing down, I let out a shrill scream as the spear warps into silver-scaled snakes wrapping around my arms. It drops to the ground as I stumble back into a tree, tearing and grabbing at the beats. My eyes are pulled shut, expecting fangs to sink into my skin.

Nothing happens.

I open them again. The snakes are gone, and instead Ace stands, spear in hand.

His illusions.

For the first time, Ace doesn’t smile as he hurtles the spear towards me.

Like when he was training, except I have become the target. And the bullseye is my heart.

A cry wrangles from my throat as I jump to the side, too slow to avoid the spear glance past my arm. A line of blood opens up in my upper arm, just centimetres shy of my band.

Fire bursts in my arm, and I clamp my hand down on the wound.

I’m gone as Ace relocates his spear, leaping over the various tree roots that felt a little too strategically placed to feel natural. Steadying my breathing like my running coaches taught me, the trees blur into a mix of brown and green and each tree acts as a new landmark, another tree further from Ace.

The branches extend and twist into unnatural limb-like shapes, diving down to grab at my speeding figure and I swear that I can see faces carved into the trunks. But the more I run, the less frequently they appear and soon the forest becomes a forest again.

If I weren’t so out of breath, I’d laugh.

 It’s all just a game.

A game with strategy.

A game I can win.

A stitch aches my waist and by then I’ve put enough distance that slowing down feels safe enough. Taking refuge behind the body of a pine tree, the adrenaline sucks away and I’m left an exhausted heap against the floor.

“I’ve never missed sleeping more,” I whisper, resting my back against the tree. Sweat has drenched my clothing, the fabric sticking to my body. I pull it over my head, hastily met with a grotesque bloodbath.

Like red ink, my blood runs down my skin, coating most of my lower arm in the sickening liquid. Little beads swell at the site of the wound, flowing like raindrops sliding down a window. I’ve never seen so much blood in my life.

A shaken sob escapes me.

I’ve never been more underprepared for something in my life.

The leather band coils around my arm, perfectly untouched. At least other than my dignity and pride, there was something that Ace hadn’t stolen from me.

My wound up muscles steadily relax, and I breathe out.

A crunch sounds behind me.

“Found you.”

My heart falls out of my chest, bringing down my hopes as Ace brings down his spear at my chest.

Blinding pain shatters my feigned sense of security, emetic horror flooding my senses at the spear protruding from my shoulder. I topple to the side, pathetically attempting to crawl to freedom but Ace throws me back. I land against the tree roots, my breathing laboured.

“This could have been so easy for you.” Ace says, towering over my shuddering body, “Your people are always so very stubborn.”

I huff out a laugh, shakily raising my hand.

Nothing.

My hand drops.

A horrible squelching sound snaps through the air as Ace twists the spear out of my shoulder. Too exhausted to scream for help, I whimper as he cuts off my leather, leaving a wide gash in its place. I stare upwards, the sun acting as the backlight to Ace’s figure. He dances between the blurred line of man and monster, and I can’t tell which one I’m staring at.

Aren’t we all?

Aren’t all of us contestants just waltzing between what’s considered righteous and monstrous?

Ace pockets the leather, setting aside the spear to crouch down in front of my immobilised body. The tree roots grow to life, curling around my body. They feel so real, so alive, that I’m convinced that Ace can’t only be a simple Illusionist.

Or I severely doubted his ability.

“Someone like you,” Ace whispers, “won’t survive long in these woods.”

“You’re not in control of the chess board.” I wheeze. He straightens himself up, taking the spear with him.

“And what, you think you are?”

“No.” I laugh but really I think I’m crying, “None of us are.”

Ace looks away, twirling the weapon in his hands. I blink and in a moment he brings the spear down on me but the exploding pain is absent as he buries it right next to my head.

“It’ll do you a whole lot of good if you shut that mouth of yours more. In fact, next time I’ll help you permanently shut it.” He says, voice low before jerking the spear away. The illusions around my body fade.

His footsteps depart, getting quieter and quieter until I’m left with the phantom memory of someone else’s company.

And the sun mocks me from above, teasing me with a warmth I yearn for but will never reach.

Are you watching, Your Majesty?

I’ve played my turn. Your move.

Notes:

I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out as I'm quite busy at the moment, but I'll be sure to write as soon as I can. Little update: I have a new laptop now so I will no longer have to suffer with writing the story on my phone :')

Thank you to anyone who leaves a kudos and you're welcome to comment your thoughts on the story so far, or just about Powerless in general <33

Chapter 6: And the heart that fed

Notes:

Can't believe it's been over a month since I last posted. Time really does act differently when you're so busy your hair might fall out prematurely (I'm only half joking)

A pawn can only move one space at a time.

Only one lonely step at a time.

And every trudge across the chessboard, every time the pawn takes out one that is weaker, it is not even halfway across the board. No matter how many turns a pawn gets, eventually they will be bait to pry out an opening to leave the opposing King defenceless.

Inconsequential in the eyes of Kings and Queens, a pawn’s sacrifice will be forgotten, woven with the blood of its allies and enemies alike.

What happens when you pit pawns against each other for the frivolous entertainment of the pieces that sit protected, surrounded by the pieces it will eventually relinquish?

An intense game of cat and mouse ensues, of course.

The bigger, stronger pawns will pick off the weakest links until they are left standing in a bloodbath of their own creation.

And I am nothing more than a pawn that has been knocked over, taken off the board and deemed unimportant. Weak. Dismissed.

I certainly feel like it.

Cool water laps at my legs, the lower half of my body floating at the surface of the lake I stumbled into. My head is nestled in a cushion of hair and wet sand that piled high next to my cheeks.

Hours had ticked by; hours spent gazing at the sun as it climbed over the sky and dropped down to the horizon; hours spent with my body immobilised, too weak to move; hours spent passing in and out of consciousness, dancing between the thin line of being fine and developing a fever. Any feeling in my fingers have dissipated from the lack of movement.

Even the thought of moving them felt like an overexertion of my energy. Energy that I couldn’t afford to deplete. Energy that was better used to assist the eyes that were threatening to pull shut, blocking out the honey sky that looked like the crusted pastry of a sticky bun. To keep my heart beating. To keep my blood in my body.

So that perhaps, I may live to see the sky turn black like ink.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at my tattered body that I hid away from the world with my sweatshirt. Over anything, it was preferable to lay here forever and melt into the ground, decompose into the earth and decorate the bay of the lake with my remains.

My shirt had creeped up my waist enough so that every glance downwards, I’m reminded of my failure. The horrid mistake of underestimating my opponents.

The excess blood had dried around the wounds, staining my skin with an ugly shade of crimson. Sitting up would feel like a million needles stabbing into my side from the massive gash across my waist, courtesy of Ace.

Numbness creeps into my fingertips, itching to move yet somehow unable to. It takes a good minute to get my body parts responding, and I feel around the ground, only one arm moving. My fingers toy with the wet sand, rubbing them between the pads of my thumb and index finger. A little further back and blades of grass tickle my skin. The mud squelching beneath my arm. The stem of a wildflower that I split with my nail.

I’m still grounded. I’m still here.

Alive and breathing.

My fingers find a slab of tree bark next, and I have to shift my body a few inches to gain just enough distance so that I could grab it.

Now what?

Smiling lazily, I bring it up to my ear.

A few seconds pass.

“Hello? Is this emergency services?”

No response.

The rough bark scrapes against my ear, drawing blood. I clutch it with a death grip.

“I think.. I might need help. I’m injured and I can’t walk.”

I laugh. The same kind of laugh you’d exchange with an old friend or the kind of stranger that you click with.

A phantom response lingers in the forest, escaping from me like smoke.

My head spins momentarily, turning everything upside down, inside out, before settling again.

“Why can’t you send anyone over?”

Because no one is coming to save you.

I wait. I wait a long time, eyes focussed on the winding pine branches and the darkening sky.

“Hi Mum. It’s been a while since I called.” My head lolls to the side, my cheek pressing against the grainy sand. “Yes. I’ve been busy with college like you asked.. so I haven’t had the opportunity to talk much. Yes, I’ve been studying. Of course I’ve been studying.”

She’s asking me about school. Always about school.

Why can’t she ever ask me how I’m doing?

“Yeah. A lot has happened recently. I’ve met new people. Lots of new friends.  And I..” My voice trails off. “I miss you.”

I turn sideways, resting my body weight on the side of my torso that wasn’t sliced apart by the spear. Curling inwards, I form a tight ball with the tree bark pressed against my ear like I can truly hear my mother’s voice on the other side: mirroring the sleepless nights I’d spend in this same position, the phone ringing out as I waited for a response from her.

Constantly waiting, waiting, waiting.

She hardly ever picked up these days. Calling her was a distraction from my studies apparently.

“Yeah.” I murmur. “I don’t know when I’ll be back home. Maybe for the holidays.”

Her response is there. I know I can hear it.

“I’m doing good, mhm. School is.. it’s great actually. Yeah, I think I’m really improving.” My voice is hoarse, yet I soldier on with the script that I had been practicing for weeks. “I think I might even be enjoying science now.”

It was always funny how easily lies came to me. It’s not like I was actively seeking them out, but one way or another they dropped into my lap at times too specific to be coincidental, yet refusing them would be a waste of an opportunity.

Studying science hadn’t been my choice, but it was a respectable, lucrative field that would make lasting impressions on family members and strangers, so says my mother. The college I attended was chock full of overachievers that replaced water with caffeine. All aiming for the top universities of course, and cried whenever they got lower than 80% on an exam.

And then there was me: failing my classes with only a year left to scrape together the braincells to actually pass with the barest minimum of a grade.

80% was a dream too far from my reach.  

Perhaps it would have been easier if those piteous looks from teachers aimed my way weren’t constant. Every time they’d pass me my exam back with the paper turned downwards so that my failure wouldn’t be staring me down in the face. Every time they’d request me to stay back after lessons to gently lecture me on how I’m a pleasure to teach, but I just need to apply myself.

Like I wasn’t trying. Because I was. I really was.

‘..just not making enough progress..’

I wasn’t useless.

I’m not useless.

‘..a really smart student, but..’

Don’t pity me.

Stop pitying me.

‘if only you would practice more..’

Getoutofmyhead—

My hand tightens; the strip of bark crumbles into splinters, stabbing into my palm. The echo of the voices are gone, replaced with the boundless depths of the forest and my racing heart.

“No!” I lurch upwards, pain searing up my side as I capture the remains of the splinters in my hands, holding them tightly against my forehead, like my Tele abilities would mend the faux phone back together.

“No… nonono…” I pound my closed fists against my head, tears sliding down my cheeks.

“Come back.. please.. please come back..”

But mother’s voice has faded.

And I am only left with wood embedded in my skin.

*

Tears carve into my skin, mixing with the sweat as I drag the rock along the forest floor with one arm, my other rendered useless considering my fucked up shoulder.

A lone, trembling rabbit entrapped by the snares of telekinesis, paralysed.

My face is like an iron mask as I raise the rock high above my head. Shocks of agony ripple through my body, concentrated at my shoulder but I refuse to waver.

This time, I don’t miss.

*

Food was the key.

Admittedly, unseasoned rabbit probably incorrectly skinned and gutted doesn’t taste like a Michelin star meal, but anything was good enough at this point after losing the location of the berry bush I found the day prior.

Which were safe.

I think.

My headache had diminished enough for it to not be at the forefront of my mind, which was an added bonus to the slightly overcooked rabbit meat laid out on the stone.

Rationing had long gone out of the window as I gorged on the meal, easily stripping the bones of any meat. Beside me, a campfire gently roared with inky black smoke wafting upwards and dissipating into the atmosphere, curling around pine branches and engulfing the trees with its sickening embrace.

See, mum? Reading the Hunger games ten times was worth it.

Well, I wouldn’t call it a particular stroke of genius when I had stumbled across matches in the forest, no doubt placed for someone’s convenience – or dropped by another participant. No, the real challenge was setting up the campfire in a way that wouldn’t take down the whole Whispers with it once I lit it. Even now, I watch the flames periodically. One small spark, one misplaced ash, and I’d burn everything down with me.

At least our marionette strings would be cut from the puppet master’s hands.

A small distance was placed between me and the fire, still too uncomfortable with the heat coating my arms. The heat, heat heat, like the heat that burned my skin at the banquet.

I look down at my arms, noting the distinct lack of burn wounds.

Fuck. How did Ace make his fire illusions feel so real? Like I was really being burned?

For a Defensive, he’s powerful.

I shake my head, no. No. That’s exactly the kind of thinking that the Elites have. The exact kind of mindset that has Ordinaries like Paedyn Gray forced to hide away in the darkest alleys for survival.

I won’t be that person.

For the past ten minutes, I’ve been fiddling with the remnants of my meal, sliding the grease over my fingertips, tapping the bones against the ground. In any other scenario, the texture would’ve revolted me and I’d leave to wash my hands, but my sense of direction is so poor that I can’t even recall where the lake I came from was located.

My head spins momentarily, vision blurring and blackening until it settles. What was I doing here again?

Right. Survival.

Who knew surviving would be so difficult?

I used to think my will to live was weak, like there was  a single thread holding me from spiralling down the depths of a dark well. But being faced with these trials, with opponents who won’t hesitate to cut me up to get what they want, it sparked the flame that I thought died out long ago.

Panic strikes my heart, and what would usually would be a quick switch into a standing position takes longer with half my body out of commission. A couple of trees away stands a tall woman, her brown hair braided away from obscuring her vision.

Sadie.

“Well you’ve gotten cozy, haven’t you?” She says, strolling towards me and stopping a few metres before me. She’s close. Too close. Alarm bells ring, the buzz of my powers lingering under my skin, ready to activate.

I breathe out. The buzz dims.

“Sadie.” My voice is timid. Weak.

“Blair.” The face I always imagined with a shy smile amidst the pages of the book is replaced with an unfeeling expression. She eyes me with a small frown, eyes narrowed. “You look.. awful.”

And I’m sure she’s right. My hair knotted and clothing scuffed and torn up, I look nothing like the well kempt woman that Sadie knows. Not at all like the Blair Archer she grew up with. A complete contrast to me, Sadie’s skin is unblemished and any regular Ilyan citizen would not be able to tell that she spent the last two days in the forest.

I, however, am a trainwreck in progress.

“You’re one to talk.” I spit back, my words lacking the venom necessary for an insult. My tired voice seeps through.

“Petty as always.” Sadie shakes her head. “You know what I’m here for. This doesn’t have to get messy if you give me what I want. Your band.”

My reply is instantaneous. “I don’t have my band.”

Another step forward. She’s closer now. Close enough so that this time I can see the exhaustion etched into the dark circles under her eyes, the dirt beneath her nails and the subtle swell of her ankle.

“You’re lying.” Sadie states it like a fact.

“What? Why the hell would I lie about-“

“You actually expect me to believe that the ruthless girl I grew up with would give up her band? Seriously Blair?” She huffs. “The same girl that would threaten to fire our tutors because they said she was wrong one time? The same girl that decimated every opponent in the training ring without breaking a sweat?”

I can picture it: her batting her lilac hair out of her eyes as she commands weapons to move like wind towards her opponents. She’d laugh as blood was drawn where she didn’t even need to move a muscle. Servants would cower under her ice queen glare, scurrying away when they dared to talk back to the general’s daughter.

Blair Archer. The name holds sour memories, a reflection of a lifetime I never lived.

A name I’m disconnected from. A name I stole.

“Well it wasn’t on purpose.” I combat, one arm raised feebly, folded into what somewhat resembled a fighting stance. Thumb outside the fist.

My other arm hangs limp, useless.

For a fracture of a second I feel Sadie’s eyes soften. They harden again. “Save your lies for someone who wants to hear them.”

And then she pounces, easily landing a few hits. Snapping my body to the right, blood pours out of my side, dripping down my leg. I flick my hand outwards, sending Sadie up into the air. My control is shaky still, so she hovers wildly in the air before flying backwards, landing onto the ground. Her head bashes against a tree stump, scarlet leaking from her lips.

“You never change. You still fight the same.” Sadie wheezes, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Blood smears across her face. She’s lifted into the air and dropped again until I’m standing before her, landing a frail punch to her jaw. Pressing the pointed end of a branch to her throat, I fall to my knees with my working arm pushing her against the tree stump.

“And you’re not Sadie.” I spit.

The corners of Sadie’s lips perk up before she disappears, leaving me to collapse into the stump.

“Clever.” A disembodied voice calls out. “Usually it took you longer to figure it out back when we were kids.”

Kids? Sadie and Blair have history?

Ah, right. Sadie and Blair grew up together, alongside Kai, Kitt and Braxton. A minute detail mentioned in the book that I initially swept over upon my first read. After my second read, I was able to fully absorb all the subtle information.

Legs quaking as I stand, the voice echoes around me. I spin around, aimlessly searching for the source of the voice until a figure steps out from behind a tree.

Sadie.

Hopefully the real Sadie this time.

She limps towards me, almost stumbling over her feet. This time, her injuries are shown instead of walking on them like an uninjured clone would. A tiny detail, but being a reader and an observer made my mind more attune to those sorts of things.

This time when she swings at me, I’m prepared. But Sadie is no mercy giver. Deploying every tactic in the book, she evades all my hits and manages to pry her way past all my blocks. I barely dodge a high kick aimed right for my head.

I catch her wrist just as it’s about to come into contact with my shoulder, twisting it behind her back and kicking her at the small of her back. Stumbling for a moment, Sadie composes herself quick enough before I can immobilise her.

Another kick to my side.

A two fingered jab to my shoulder.

A grab at my arm.

She’s specifically targeting my injuries.

And it’s working.

“I don’t want to fight you Sadie.” I physically can’t. Every movement, every exertion of my muscles is amplified tenfold to have lasting effects on my body. My hand grips my side, a foolish endeavour to slow the bleeding.

At least a dozen Sadies blink to existence, some sitting high up in the trees, others stretching their muscles. Preparing for a fight. The one who I think is the real Sadie scoffs, lunging her fist at my face. Something cracks.

“Oh so now you don’t want to fight me?” Arms grab at my shoulders, nails digging into the fleshy wound. Droplets of sweat form around my forehead.

“Make up your mind.” Sadie spits as I thrash against the hands of her clones keeping my hands behind my back. “You say we’re friends. Best friends. Then I’m dead to you. You say you enjoy sparring with me. Then you look disgusted when I mention it.”

She’s close enough for me to smash my head against hers. A sharp gasp leaves her lips as she clutches her temple, cradling her head in her hands. The clones grab at my hair, keeping me in place.

Then Sadie brings her palm sharply against my cheek. The sting of the slap remains.

“You could at least pluck up the courage to admit what you did.” She whispers.

The character I previously witnessed to shy away from the smallest amount of attention, the one who hardly danced at the banquet and quietly slipped away when the resistance attacked, calm as a cat, now stands before me with furrowed brows and lips pursed.

Oh, they have history alright.

Sadie backs away, folding her arms while the rest of her copies surround me. Each of them seemed like distinct individuals. One was fiddling with the ends of her braids; the other cracking her knuckles; another standing on the balls of her feet while observing the little robin in the trees.

My chest heaves as I raise both my hands in front of my face. Hair-fiddling Sadie steps inside the circle first, quickly followed by my fist flying towards her face. Easily blocking it with her palm, Sadie counters with a strike across my nose. Flares of agony dance around the injured structure. That Sadie gets flung about fifteen metres back, branches scraping her waist along the way.

Most of the copies get taken out that way until I’m left with three.

Ahead of me, Sadie clutches the side of her waist.

“And you could pluck up the courage to fight me yourself instead of getting a clone to do it for you.” I spit, keeping my eyes on the clone behind me. As soon as I detect movement, I sharply turn around, only for my head to spin, causing me to teeter before my body becomes too heavy to carry.

I collapse into the ground. A pebble digs into my waist, drawing a pained whine from my lips. Dirt collects in my palm, my thumb tracing patterns in it.

I feel so tired.

My eyes crack open a fraction, letting the light creep through and the figure of Sadie strolling towards me. She crouches down in front of me, the sunlight acting as a backlight to her body. Knees buckled, I can only watch as Sadie grabs a fistful of my shirt into her hand and lifts me with impressive strength, keeping me from tumbling to the ground pathetically again.

One of her clones rolled up my sleeve where I knew my band wouldn’t be. The cut I earned from Ace taking his trophy had worsened in appearance: little flecks of blood dotted around the edges while clear fluid draining out of it.

Sadie’s knitted brows loosen. The other clones blink away.

It feels like too much effort to pull my lips apart to say ‘I told you so’.

The power screams at me again. Telekinetic buzzing.

My hand flies up to Sadie’s face, releasing the dirt and dust I’d kept enclosed in my palm. Her eyes widen, dropping me in shock as she coughs. She rises up into the air and is thrown back down, my stretched hand shivering from the overexertion. Still coughing the dirt from her lungs, I grab Sadie, forcing her to look at me.

“Piece of advice.” My knee drives into her stomach. Over and over until she coughs blood. It lands on my throat. “Stay away from Paedyn and Kai if you want to live. They’re teaming up.”

“How do.. how do you know?” Sadie breathes, her chest heaving as if every intake of oxygen is a struggle.

“Just a guess.” I say. Softly.

Sadie drops to the ground. Turning around, I don’t look back as my feet carry me forwards, forwards, forwards. Over the roots and past a burnt tree. I didn’t even consider taking her band until much later, but I was already too far away to see any reward in going back.

The dull ache in my side reminds me of my injuries. Lifting my shirt, I grimace at the sight.

Yellow pus oozes from the slash. The skin surrounding the site was red and blotchy, and I could see bruises in the making. I pinch the wound and try to squeeze it out like you’d drain a blemish, but the force makes stars dance in my vision, my skull too heavy to sit atop my head.

I’m walking on two left feet, crashing into a tree. Clutching onto it for dear life, the world was spinning like a top. Up. Down. Left. Right.

Everything merged into each other.

Trees began to double and I began to fold into myself, my knees buckling.

Speckles of white merge into a single person sitting on a rock, swinging their legs childishly.

“Please..” I groan, my hand moving towards the Sight. They tip their head curiously to the side. Then they leave in a hurry before I can reach them. Like I’m made out of sugar, I disintegrate and crumble onto the rock.

The Sight is probably long gone by now.

Leaving me to melt into the ground, becoming one with nature.

*

Death wasn’t a surprising factor in the Purging Trials. It was encouraged, as bets were made and regular citizens fought over who they thought was going to win. Death hadn’t been something I was particularly afraid of. It was the least of my worries in my previous life, between disappointed teachers and mountains of coursework to complete.

I used to joke to the empty corners of my room that if I ever died, it’d have to be in the least dramatic way possible, but not something stupid like tripping over my own feet and landing in acid. No. It had to be insignificant. Like a single grain of sand going missing. Like the blowing out of a candle.

Death was subtle like that. Each life was a candle.

And mine was just flickering out—

Light eases my eyes open. A blue, blue, blue sky stares back at me. I’m laid flat on my back, arms stiffly placed either side of my body.

I’m not dead.

For some reason, that realisation sits like a heavy weight over my chest.

There’s a scraping noise close by me, and I finally sit up to see what it is. A couple metres away from me, a messy bob of wine red hair was turned away from me, nimble hands manoeuvring a blade that cut away at a branch. She was propped against the trunk of a collapsed tree, shaping the branch into a pointed spear.

“You.” I rasp, my voice hoarse. Andy stops, her golden eyes sliding towards me. Immediately on the defensive, I jump towards her, my arm pressing down against her throat.

“What.. the hell?” Andy says, her voice hardly escaping past the pressure on her windpipe. Her bitten nails dig into my skin, throwing me off her.

Doubling over to pound her fist into her chest, Andy coughs for a minute and wheezes for air until groaning, “You’re going to tear your stitches.”

“Stitches?” I heaved, looking down at my body. My sweatshirt was gone, leaving me in a sports bra. Pushing aside one of the straps off my shoulders, I see it. My shoulder wound, sealed up with white thread.

My head snaps back up to Andy. Still apprehensive, I raise Andy up into the air. “What did you do to me?”

She scoffs. Arms flailing, she struggles until she transforms into a robin. The bird slips through the claws of the Tele, landing in her original position. Morphing back into her human form, her eyes are narrowed. “It’s called saving your life.”

“What?” More like why would she do something like that?

“Yeah.” Andy says, cracking her neck. “You’re really making me regret my decision now.”

Flopping back into a more comfortable position, she grabs  the branch she was working on, pointing it at me. I shove it away from my face. “This is thread.”

“And the last of it too. So you’re welcome.” She doesn’t lift her head, instead focussing on her task.

“I’m not thanking you.”  I pull my knees to my chest. All my wounds have been sealed. All by that thick white thread I used to see in arts and craft stores. How handy of her.

I snort at the irony. Andy looks at me weirdly and I quickly deflect with a question. “How long have I been asleep for?”

“Not long. Only a few hours.” She shrugs. “You’re lucky I got to you when I did.”

“What are you, some kind of doctor?”

“No, but I know the basics of survival. You clearly don’t.” One thing that was certainly true.

I glance down towards my hands, my thumb tracing over the small cut I got yesterday from the berry bush. It was swollen slightly, a little too much for how miniscule the wound was. Yes, I absolutely had no idea what I was doing. Unfortunately, reading Suzanne Collins and the Poppy War doesn’t make me an expert on all things survival.

Andy doesn’t even do as much as continue the conversation, too busy with her back hunched over and furiously shaving away at a new branch. It was too small to be considered a branch, honestly. More like a glorified twig. Two piles sat either side of Andy, one with a pointed end and the other with natural jagged ends.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Making weapons. I can’t stay in any animal form for too long because I don’t know how difficult it’ll be to change back with no one around to help to make sure I don’t..” She pauses. “spiral.”

Another question lingers on the tip of my tongue. “Why aren’t you using larger branches?”

Andy holds up one of her makeshift weapons to the light, admiring her handiwork. “I find that the smallest branches make the sharpest weapons.”

“That’s stupid.” I say. It didn’t make sense.

Irritation flares those eyes of hers. “And yet I found you on the verge of death and saved you. So yeah, I’ll make my weapons how I like.”

My cheeks flush red out of embarrassment. My muscles relax a fraction now that she’s made it clear that she won’t be an immediate threat. Not at, relaxed enough that my eyes feel safe enough to leave her and focus on the ground.

Another half hour passes like that. Occasionally, Andy asks for me to pass something to her. I oblige silently. It was easy to pass time like this. I didn’t realise how drastic the change would be in time when company was present.

It’s not like I was a loner or anything, I quite liked the presence of other people. But my poor grades set me apart from the other students, and no one would ever want to associate with someone like that. That, and the thought of talking to new people made my throat dry and my hands shake.

So I never tried. But this, this is nice.

Except someone decided to ruin the peace.  

“Thankfully I managed to stitch all your wounds closed without much trouble.” Andy says, setting down a branch. “But I’m also pretty sure that they’re infected.”

My heart drops out of my ass.

“Infected? Shit.” I reach for my waist, picking at the thread.

“Hey!” Andy snaps. “Don’t touch it.”

“But you just said it’s infected.”

“I did.”

“So I need to check.” My hands continue to pick at the thread. Andy now moves over to me, grabbing my hand.

“You really don’t.” She says, shoving it away.

“Will it get worse?”

“Without healing salve? Probably.”

“So I’ll die.”

Andy snorts. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’ve seen you with worse.”

“It isn’t funny Andrea.”

“It kind of is.”

“Must you be so frustrating?”

“Must you be a raging bitch?”

I huff, though a tiny smile creeps onto my face. Is this what bantering feels like? Sure, Andy was far from a friend and I’m not entirely convinced that she said it light-heartedly. Well, cruel or not, I appreciated someone else’s presence.

For the next few minutes, I find myself tracing the stitch patterns on my wounds, refraining myself from picking them.

“What happened?” Andy asks, tossing me a branch from her stack, along with a smaller yet equally shiny blade. Taking the hint, I begin sawing away at the wood, scraping off the tree bark first.

“Ace.” My blade cuts deeper into the wood accidentally. “Then Sadie.”

“I see.” Her voice is only faint hum.

“What about you?”

“No action yet.” More scraping. She’s made a little pile of the wood shavings. “A little disappointing ‘cause I spent the whole of yesterday scouting my area for anyone. The Whispers is a vast place and the likelihood that people would run into each other coincidentally is slim to none.”

“And somehow my bad luck gave me two competitors in a row.” A barrage of my woodchips get hurtled to the nearest tree. The power only makes me more exhausted. I probably shouldn’t be using them for the time being.

Another long pause. Andy seems to do that a lot.

Then, “Get up. We’re getting lunch.”

And then she’s on her feet, stretching out her legs. Wielding a branch like a weapon, Andy strikes the air a couple of times, the branch cutting through the air with a small woosh.

“We?”

“No, I thought that I’d do all the hard work myself and you’d still get fifty percent of the meal.” Andy turns to me. “Yes, you’re coming with me.”

“Oh but I’m injured, aren’t I?” Feigning a yawn, I lay back down on my patch of dirt “Actually, I’m feeling very tired of a sudden, I really should just lie back down.”

“Back on your dirt patch? Weren’t you complaining about it earlier?” She tips her head to the side, unconvinced. Mud singes the hem of her burgundy top from all the time spent sitting on the ground.

“That was a.. misplaced judgement.” I say, closing my eyes. “It’s homely. Very homely, for your information.”

Andy doesn’t say anything, and I thought she left until I opened my eyes and saw her still standing there. She offers me a hand. A second passes. I take it.

I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

Andy combs her hair out of her eyes; it’s greasy enough to stay in place when she pushes it back. I’m sure my hair is the same, if not worse. God how I miss hair washing.

“I know a decent spot about a hundred paces north from here.” She says. “I’ll even teach you to hunt, if I’m feeling generous.”

“Should I be honoured?”

“Absolutely.”

Notes:

This may be my favourite chapter yet! Writing the ending was a little hard, but I like how it turned out. I might start doing little book recommendations for funsies (I say as my massive stack of books stares at me, unread). Anyways, so sorry for the delay in posting! Hopefully the next chapter will be out soon enough. Once again thank you to anyone who left a kudos and a comment :)

Chapter 7: The brightest hour

Notes:

Happy holidays! Here's a late present from me to you. I'm hoping to get the next chapter out soon, so be on the lookout for that! The promised book recommendation will be in the notes at the end. Enjoy! <3

“Careful.”

“I’m being careful.”

Stupidly enough, it was then when I misplaced my foot on the rock and skidded backwards, collapsing onto the pebbled ground. Andy hadn’t faltered in her walking, leaving me to scramble to a stand and not slip on the rocks this time.

After travelling for about a half hour, we reached a river decorated with an assortment of rocks, both jagged and smooth, lining the path of the waters. And I, emulating my inner child, thought it a grand old idea to trek on top of the cobbled path instead of the flatter terrain Andy was walking. She didn’t hesitate to point out the idiocy of my decision, of course.

“I’m not going to say it.” Andy’s voice is hardly containing her snicker. She twirls one of the branch-weapons in her hands, spinning it in a figure eight.

“You’re going to say it regardless.” I huff, brushing the mud off my sleeves.

“I told you so.” She voices.

A glare is shot her way. Like a ping pong ball, backhanded compliments and grumbled words were shared between us. Hesitant allies. My spine still tingles at the sound of a second pair of footsteps; the urge to fight still remains. But Andy saved me, for whoever knows what reason, so begrudging kindness is what she receives. She calls me a bitch, I call her Andrea. Call and response.

“What happened to ‘oh no Blair, you shouldn’t move around so much, you’ll tear my precious stitchwork’?” I say, mockingly replicating Andy’s voice.

“There’s exceptions to that.” Andy chirps.

“Right.” I look away. “How much longer until we get there? My feet bleed from the blisters I’m
getting from walking for hours.”

A half-truth, but any semblance of a truth still counts.

Andy spins around, holding out a long branch in front of me. Its end is pointed at my face.

“Ohh your feet are sore? I’m so sorry my Lady,” She croons, jabbing the stick at my collarbone. “Do you want me to carry you? Maybe even rub your feet?”

Any response my brain seems to think of seems inadequate, so I can only stand with my mouth agape. Andy stares at me for a moment too long before clicking her teeth.

“Is there ever a moment where you don’t complain?” She mutters, pulling her weapon away. It takes me a moment to compose myself before following her.

“Plenty of times, actually.” I say, irritated. Knowing as much as I know about Blair, it isn’t shocking information. “Do you always answer questions with more questions?”

Andy pauses, heading over to a tree to carve a large cross into the bark. It’s a tedious process, with Andy dragging the pointed edge multiple times to engrave her mark. Likely to retrace her steps back to the little camp she had set up: we couldn’t bring everything with us.

“Do I?” She asks slyly. “It’s right past this creek.”

I glance in the direction she pointed her branch at, stepping off the stones so that I could better see what Andy was talking about.

Past the thin pine trees, the small river fed into a larger lake cobbled with pebbles instead of sand. I kicked a few of them into the waters: ripples birthed from where they plunged deep into the lake. Nearby, a collapsed tree lay half submerged in the water with its stump a few metres away. Cleanly sliced through. Beneath the shimmering waters, I could almost see the scales of fish shying away into the intricate ecosystem created comprised of seagrass and rocks.

The trees line the lake, the thin trunks bent over as if in prayer to the heavens above.

Or perhaps the Plague.

I crouch down besides the shore, hovering my hand above the water so that it would barely graze my skin.

“Most of the lakes I’ve found have been artificial. This looks.. natural.” I say, looking towards Andy who doesn’t seem to be as engrossed in the sight as I am.

Andy, instead, climbs atop the fallen tree, cautiously climbing further into the lake. She stops moving when the tree seems to dip further into the lake. As the water splashes the bottom of her shoe, she physically recoils back. Quickly composing herself, she stabs her weapon into the water.

“Yeah well,” Andy shrugs, “it’s not a very interesting game if everyone dies of dehydration.”

“Right. Of course. Entertainment.” I say slowly, making my way over to where Andy is doing.. whatever she’s doing.

“The Hydros made those lakes, but this is the one lake where the animals of the Whispers gather.” Her explanation rings hollow to me as I move closer to where Andy is crouched without entering the water. Pulling the weapon out from the sand, Andy stabs it back into the lake.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Another stab. Andy grunts. “Hunting for fish.”

An impractical method, considering how limited her range was and how the tree bent under her weight.

I select a smooth stone from the abundance of pebbles around me and toss it upwards a few times before throwing it into the water. It skips one, two, three times before sinking. “Wouldn’t that be easier in the water?”

Andy’s head snaps towards me, those honey eyes filled with something that I couldn’t entirely describe as anger but any other word fell too short.

“What, you think I can’t hunt fish on my own?” She snaps. “I know what I’m doing.”

I frown, wading into the lake myself. The cold water seeps past my trousers, licking at my bare legs. The tingling sensation brings more feeling than I’ve had in the last two weeks. Ever since I’ve come here.

Further into the lake, I sink until I’m waist-deep, my bandages completely soaked through. I’m going to have to change them later.

“The water isn’t that cold.” I say, offering my hand. A slight quiver captures my hand.

“I’m perfectly fine up here.” Andy affirms.

As if that brittle tree could hold her.

I shrug, turning my back to her. With a hand pointed towards the waters surface, I pull the energy from deep within me. My heart feels like it’s being yanked from my chest but I refuse to break concentration.

A cacophony of water and seagrass bursts from the surface, contained in a large ball that I send hurtling to the shore. Ignoring Andy’s surprised gasp, I waddle over to the mess of flapping fish and clumps of seagrass, my legs heavy from the water resistance.

 I sigh a little. Only three fish: two large, golden-eyed with scales like the silver of the moon, and one smaller copy.

There’s splashing behind me, and Andy appears with her spear protruding through five similar coloured fish.

“Not bad.” She hums. “But let the small one go.”

“What? Why? I caught it fair and square.”

She crouches down, scooping it up and holding it at eye level. “It’s just a baby. Not a lot of meat.”

Swiftly turning around, Andy crawls over to the edge of the lake. A pointed distance from where the water would touch her. It takes a moment, but she eventually releases the baby back into the lake, keeping the spear tucked between her forearm and torso.

Andy stabs the two fish before they can flop back to the safety of the waters, hoisting the branch over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s get back to camp.”

*

Holding my waist, I load the wood into my arm and stumble my way back to camp. Andy’s there already, tending to the fire. I hand them over to her, “Here. It’s all I could find.”

“Hm. I suppose it’ll do.” Andy says, dropping them beside the fire.

“Oh,” I say, reaching into my pockets, “I also found these.”

My hand uncurls to reveal a ebony berries, so shiny that I can see Andy’s horrified face in each of them.

“Don’t eat those!” She exclaims, slapping my hand away. “They’re poison.”

“What?” Instinctively the berries are dropped, kicked away until they roll out of sight. “How do you know?”

“I didn’t get a fancy education and tutors like you did,” Andy says bitterly, “but I think I know what I’m talking about, thanks.”

I rub the palm that came into contact with the skin of the berries into my trousers while Andy inspects some of the wood I collected.

She hums, picking one up. “Good. These are dry. Dry wood means the fire will have less smoke.”

“And less smoke will reduce our chances of attracting contestants.” I finish. After getting back to camp, I entrusted the fire building task to Andy while I collected dry firewood. Or, at least, anything that was dry. Leaves, twigs, grass. Andy said anything was fine.

“That’s right.” She says.

The smoke is how Sadie found me, I’d wager. It could have been anyone that found me that day. It just had to be Sadie. Based on her clean braids and that calm expression, it was clear that Sadie had been training for this for a lot longer than the allotted two week time we were given.

Had she targeted me on purpose, or was it a coincidence?

But the dirt under her fingernails, the tender swell of her ankle, the bruises I no doubt gave her, all of it gave away to something more human. Someone who perhaps, one time had been close to Blair.

I shift out of my little mosey down memory lane as Andy hands me a piece of cooked fish. Already she has stripped one of them down to the bone, leaving it beside the campfire. The rest cook above the fire.

“We’re not rationing?” I ask, sitting down  I ask, sitting down beside her, though I keep my distance. The fish flesh burns the pads of my fingers, but I sink my teeth into the meal despite it.

“The fish doesn’t taste as good if we leave it for the next day.” Andy says, “Might as well eat everything we have now. I’m starving.”

“Yeah.” I hum.

Still distant. I don’t know what I expected.

The half-eaten Goldeneye sits on a wrinkled leaf; I busy myself with unwrapping the bandages that got soaked in the lake, leaving them laid out on a tree stump near the fire to dry. The chill of the evening curls around my bare waist. My sweatshirt is still drying after being soaked through in the river in an attempt to soak out most of the blood. For now, I’ll have to make do in my tank top.

With a borrowed cloth from Andy, I pat the sealed wounds dry. Air sucks between the gaps of my teeth as I wince. Not having any spares, I’ll have to reuse the bandages I already have.

The wounds hardly look any better, still leaking yellowed pus and itching with a crimson burn. Thank you Ace. If I die from sepsis, I’ll send you a thank you note. I wipe the liquid with the back of my hand, not wanting to sully the cloth any further.

We eat in silence. It’s awkward, but not uncommon with all the nights I spent either missing dinner for training, or finishing my meal quickly so as to avoid meaningless small talk with the others. It was both my inner introvert and the fear of getting caught in some kind of lie.

So this is what Ordinaries like Paedyn Gray have to go through every day of their lives.

Andy scarfs down her second fish, paying me not a single glance.

Would she advocate for Ordinaries to live freely from the oppression of the Elites? Or does she yearn for their disappearance from this world, like wiping her shoe clean from dirt?

“Hey.” I say. Yellow eyes stare back at me. Brows furrowed. Annoyance, clearly.

And suddenly I’m hesitating.

“Are you like—”  My fingers fiddle with the fishbones. “Afraid of the water or something?”

Now those eyes stare widened, colour not of honeyed sticky buns, or the sun, more like the fire that roars beside us.

Shit.

“I mean, I just noticed that you didn’t want the water to touch you earlier at the lake.” I rush to correct myself, “Not that it’s a bad thing, of course, I was just curious—”

“Oh Plagues above, do you ever shut up?” Andy snaps, “Your voice isn’t nearly as melodic as you think it is.”

Questions answered with more questions.

My reddened fingertips singed with heat from the fish press into my palms. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about—”

She lets out a growl – one that I cannot distinguish if it’s humane or that of a wolf. “You can stop talking now. You can’t humiliate me like you used to when we were kids.” The fishbones crumble in her fists. “I’m not the same pushover I was four years ago.”

The bone shards dig into her skin yet she’s unresponsive, like she is too lost in thought to realise her bleeding hands.

“You don’t intimidate me.” I say, shuffling back a little.

“Right, because the shapeshifting Elites only reason to look angry is to intimidate.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She looks away. “I think we both know exactly what you mean.”

Even in Ilya, being Elite isn’t enough. Offensive Elites are favoured over the Defensive ones, and certainly more than the Mundanes in positions of power like Imperials. In a world divided by powers, it isn’t enough to just be powerful. Possessing even a modicum of power can’t possibly be enough to thrive, let alone survive in this world.

In a way, it mirrors my own. Powers are replaced with wealth and class: those at the tip-top of the social hierarchy look down at the rest of the population from their golden castles and private fruit gardens, while those at the bottom are considered lucky to feast upon their apple cores.

So perhaps divisions lie not just in the boundary between the powerful and the powerless, but in the subgroups of the upper Elite society. A Shapeshifter like Andy who could easily fall victim to her own ability could be viewed as savage.

I guess I never considered that before. From reading the book solely from Paedyn and Kai’s perspective, they don’t offer the most unbiased view on the Kingdom. Kai being a Wielder and born into a position of privilege and silver spoons galore, and Miss Silver Saviour being an Ordinary already having a predisposed opinion on Elites.

So Andy’s ability might be a sensitive topic, to say the bare minimum.

I draw a smiley face in the dirt using one of the bones. “But the water. You still haven’t answered my question.”

Andy sighs, looking resigned. “Why ask questions you already know the answer to? It only pisses people off more.”

I turn away, my eyes trained at my lap. Silence holds us for a long while. And then my eyes catch on the fishes above the fire, releasing wisps of smoke.

Smoke. Smoke.

“Smoke.” I murmur.

“Huh?” Andy glances at me, then at the fish. Curses pour from her lips as she rushes to a stand, snagging the fish and blowing the smoke away, only relaxing once they dissipate.

There are two left. One for the each of us.

“I wasn’t paying attention to the fire, so the fish is a little burnt. Sorry” She says, passing me one with her hand blistered and burned. She doesn’t seem to mind.

“It’s fine.” I say. “It’s still good I mean.”

Anything is better than charred remains, so long as it fills my stomach.

Finishing the last of the plentiful meal, I gently set the fishbone down. Andy is finished too, though she carelessly throws her remnants into the fire. I move over beside her, grabbing her wrists.

“The hell are you doing—” She grunts, but I interrupt.

“How can you eat with bleeding hands?” I ask. The skin has begun peeling, flakes of white chipping off her palms. The pinkish flesh beneath contrasts her calloused hands. Blood collects in the crevices and bends of her skin. Bone shards still embedded.

What a mess.

“Let me take care of your palm. It’s bleeding, and burned.” I say.

“I don’t need help.” Yet she doesn’t shy from my grip.

“You saved me. Probably from death. So it’s the least I could do for you. There’s a nearby river, come on.” Pulling us both to our feet, (ensuring I am holding Andy by the wrists and not the hands), I collect the things I need and lead her to the nearby river that’s only a few paces away. The both of us sit beside the gentle stream.

“Are you used to injuries?” I ask her, dipping the cloth in the river then twisting it to remove the excess water. The damp fabric grazes her skin, and she winces at the contact. I try to be more mindful with the way it touches her.

“In my training, yeah.” She says, staring hard at anywhere but my eyes. “Had to get used to being in the form of all sorts of animals. It’s not easy.”

I hum in agreement, wiping the blood away. It soaks into the cloth, dappling the pure white cloth with impure dark stains. I wash most of the blood out in the river, repeating the process again.

“It’s not like being a Tele or a Blazer.” Andy says, “It’s not one ability to master, it’s multiple all while not losing control.”

“Losing control.” I repeat to myself, “Like being in your animal form for too long?”

“Yeah. There’s that. And if I stay in another form for a long time, sometimes their.. characteristics pass over into my daily life. It’s a habit I haven’t broken yet.”

“So like, you’ll bark at someone?” I ask, stifling a laugh.

“Horrendous example, but I suppose if that’s the best way you can visualise it, then yes, I bark at someone.” Another wince. The blood is all cleaned up, but the burns still remained. I settle for submerging both her hands under the running water.

“Wait so—” I begin. “Does this mean that you’re cannibalising whenever you eat fish? If you’ve ever transformed into a fish before.”

“No, obviously not.” Andy snickers, flexing her fingers in the water.

“But you’re still eating something that you are. Sort of. So cannibalism.”

“But I’m not the same species when I’m eating the fish, so it can’t be cannibalism.”

“But you were still a fish previously so if you eat a fish then—”

“Not cannibalism.” She says finally and firmly.

“What if you transform into a wolf and eat a person?” I ramble, “Is it cannibalism then? Cause you’re still technically a person but you’re also not? So it’s cannibalism but also not cannibalism.”

Andy sighs. “I feel like there’s no right answer there.”

She’s probably right.

“Still, you don’t need to have a blank face when you get burned.” I tell her, lifting her hands out of the river and letting them dry. Ripping a part of my bandage that wasn’t stained with blood, I wrap the off-white cloth around each hand until I’m satisfied with the packaging.

“I hadn’t realised I was looking blank.” Andy says, “I’ll try look like I’m in pain, just for you.”

“Thanks.” I finally let go of her hands.

“That was sarcasm.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Thanks.”

That might be the first time I’ve heard someone say that to me. Though, I hadn’t done much to earn her thanks before.

“You’re welcome, Andrea.”

Andy rises abruptly. “Don’t call me that.”

I stand up too. “But it’s your name.”

Looking to her feet, she makes her way back to camp. I follow.

“You are so insensitive sometimes.” She says, fingers spread apart like claws, flexing them over and over.

“What?”

She stops and in an instant, she’s facing me, walking towards me speedily. I stumble back, but she quickly takes hold of the strap of my tank top, yanking me upwards. She’s only an inch or two taller than me, but now her head looms over mine.  Her greasy wine hair sticks out in all directions, giving her the image of a scruffy animal, like a wolf.

Those eyes burn at me, pupils dilated, every facial muscle locked into place and slowly tightening.   

“I prefer Andy.” Her voice is a notch above a whisper. “Closed book. End of story.”

This time, I decide to keep my chatter-box mouth shut as we settle back into the camp. It’s too awkward to continue the conversation, so I give myself meaningless tasks. I grab the rest of the bandages and hold them well above the fire until I’m satisfied. Only a faint pink smudges the areas where my dried blood used to be.

“The wound isn’t getting any better.” I tell myself, hiding the injury in a flurry of bandages. “I think I can last the rest of the trial to get assistance from the Healers.”

“Yeah. Just be careful with it.” Andy says. She’s working on another spear, a smaller, stubbier one this time. “Don’t tear your stitches, or your whole wound will open up and come pouring out with blood.”

“What lovely imagery.” I say. “But you’re right.”

Tightened to perfection, I tuck the end of the bandage out of sight. High above, the darkening sky signals the end of the second day of the trial. Or was it the third? I’ve lost consciousness too many times to remember.

No matter, I’ll just trudge through the rest of the trial like a reanimated soldier that refuses to die. Though, I’m far less graceful and skilful than a soldier.

Just as I’m about to doze off, heavy footsteps thud against the ground.

“Andy?” The voice calls. “Andy!”

The figure crashes into Andy, his gangly arms going for a hug around the neck.

“J?” Andy says, standing up. She’s quick to smile, ruffling his head. “Oh hey there, Jax! You look like you’ve been roughed up a little. Fall into a pit of snakes?”

“Nope! But I did—” Jax’s eyes fall on me, and so does his smile. “What is she doing here?”

I stand slowly, “I have a name.”

Andy glances between us, catching his shoulder. “Calm down, Jax. She’s with me.”

“But she—” Jax lurches forward, but is caught back by Andy. “It’s Blair.”

The way he hisses that name, recoiling back in disgust as if it’s some kind of curse, it irritates me.

Now I’m sauntering towards him, lips pinched downwards. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It means nothing.” Andy grabs my shoulder, thankfully not the one that is injured. Her head spins to Jax. “I saved her life, so she kind of owes me.”

“Actually I helped you with your hands.” I interject, “So we’re even.”

“Oh Plagues, your hands.” Jax gasps. “What happened?” `

Then those eyes are upon me, narrowed. His tone is biting. Accusatory. “Did she hurt you?”

“What? I’m not some sort of vicious monster that goes around attacking people!” I exclaim, my hand raised. In tandem, Andy’s spear rises too.

“I wouldn’t put it above you.” Jax spits. For a kid, he’s more outspoken than I ever was at that age.

Andy scowls at me. The spear hits the ground a second later.

“Am I dealing with children here?” She groans. “No, she didn’t. She’s fine, Jax. I’ll take a bite out of her in wolf form before she hurts me.”

A thinly veiled threat, but a threat nonetheless.

“Now then, can you two please stop acting like babies? It’s late and I want to sleep. Kill each other tomorrow if you must.” And just like that, she lets go of our shoulders, plopping down in her designated area and laying down.

“Fine.” Jax mumbles.

“Okay.” I say.

A tense routine was established. Jax got his own place of rest (markedly away from where I was going to sleep), even after being here for less than an hour. With how close they are described to be in the book, it’s not surprising. Not a single word is shared between me and Jax, or even me and Andy; I’m content with listening peacefully to their recounting of the trial up until now.

I draw enough water from the river and dump it onto the campfire, killing the flames in an instant. Its glow amongst the darkness would signal trouble, so we’ll have to settle for the cold.

Better cold than dead.

White speckles my vision. I’m the only one to notice the person hidden amongst the trees. Another Sight. Damn it, they’re everywhere.

I stare directly at him, glaring. Like I’m staring into the eyes of the King.

Your Majesty, are you enjoying yourself?

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed that chapter!

As promised, my recommendation: The Daughter of the Moon Goddess by Sue Lynn Tan. It's an amazing book that incorporates Chinese mythology into the story, the legend of Chang'e. The story is so captivating and each of the characters are immensely compelling, especially the main character Xingyin because she's more of a stronger female protagonist than what I've seen in other fantasy novels. It's a completed duology so there's no waiting ten months for the next book!

With that out of the way, wishing you all a happy holiday and a great new year ^^

Chapter 8: Uninvited guest

Notes:

Wow, it's been almost a month since I posted! Hopefully this 9k word chapter is enough to make up for the long wait <3
Book recommendation will be in the end notes.

I was up before the sun rose. It’s difficult to sleep when the forest had its eyes on you. Bloodshot, unblinking eyes tracking every step, every shuddered breath, every quick glance over my shoulder. Paranoia was a ghost that told me something was out there.

But I was all alone by the riverside, as I had been for the last hour. Refilling my flask then dumping the contents back into the river only to repeat the process again and again.

A burning itch had been plaguing my sleep the whole night, and it wasn’t just in my side and shoulder. In the shifting darkness I could barely make out a discolouring in my palm.

My brain told me to scratch at it until it bled. The more reasonable side told me to wait until there was enough sunlight to properly see my injury.

A yawn stretches my mouth wide. My head is still a little heavy after passing out last night. Overexertion and too much usage of my powers tend to do that apparently. Any step forward was agonising, and as soon as daylight hit, we’re going to have to move camp, so I’ll relish in the final moments I have where my body could simply stop moving.

Eventually, my body picked itself up. It didn’t feel like I was moving, but somehow I ended up back at camp where Andy and Jax slept. I lowered myself down to my designated bed, closing my eyes to take in the ambient noises of the night.

The wind curling around the branches, tickling the back of my bare neck; the faint, indistinguishable croaks of the Whispers’ wildlife; the continuous sawing of a dagger; crickets hopping around.

My eyes snap open and zero in on that noise. That jagged noise can’t be too far from here.  

A flash of silver steel catches my eye in the form of a dagger hovering above Andy. As I rush to a stand, my knees give out and I crash into the ground. The sawing noise stops briefly, before resuming.

When I finally manage to stand without collapsing, I kick randomly at the empty space above Andy, hoping my theory is right.

My foot connects with a solid body. A soft thump sounds amidst the silence of the night, followed by a sharp hiss coming from thin air. The dagger lands a few feet from Andy’s head.

Hera.

Just what I needed. Another opponent.

“Andy,” I hissed, keeping my eye trained on the weapon. “Wake up!”

She doesn’t move. Hoping she won’t hate me later, I sharply kick her side, jolting her awake.

“Blair, what the hell are you doing?” She groans as she sits up, but I’m too busy staring at where Hera is, though I’m certain she’s gone by now.

“Someone’s here.” I briefly glance at her. I look back and there’s only grass and pebbles where the dagger is supposed to be.

Andy moves to stand beside me, her eyes locking in on where I’m staring. “There’s no one here. You’re being paranoid.”

“That’s because it’s Hera.” I tell her sharply, cautiously picking up a rock and hurtling it at the empty space. It hits the tree with its course undisturbed.

“Who?” Andy asks.

“The Veil.” I say. “She can turn invisible.”

Andy curses under her breath. I can’t blame her for not remembering who Hera is, I completely forgot she was even in the Trials. Hera, who just so happens to have the most inconvenient ability to fight against. In the dark.

Andy abruptly shoves one of her weapons into my hands; she’s clutching one too. Her back presses against mine as we observe our surroundings, spears pointed in every direction where a sound is produced.

It takes at least five minutes of this for Andy to speak.

“Blair.” She says, “I think you need some sleep.”

“I am not going crazy.” I snap back. “I know what I saw.”

Andy shifts away from me, tossing her wooden spear back into the pile. “I’m not calling you crazy.”

I look around, and the longer the time passes the more I’m convinced she’s right. Sleep hadn’t come easy to me in the forest, so maybe this is the result of an extreme lack of rest.

My shoulders slump. “Yeah, you’re probably—"

Something knocks me to the ground, an invisible weight pulling me down. Hera’s hand presses down against my mouth while her second hand tries forcing down a dagger into my chest. Fear weakens my bones. I shake uncontrollably as I grab at the handle, forcing it back upwards.

A struggle of power ensues, the point of the blade growing dangerously close to my skin. Grabbing a fistful of dirt, I throw it into my assailants face, loosening her control over the blade. I throw her off me into the firepit I extinguished last night. Hera coughs, and the invisibility falls, revealing her hunched over form.

Her dark hair was loosely tied back, with clumps falling out of the hair tie around her face. Mud smudges her cheeks, coupled with a few cuts and gashes she no doubt received from other competitors. Or from falling into a thorny bush. I push the blunt edge of the spear against her shoulder. With her long sleeves, I can’t tell whether she has her leather or not.

“You really weren’t crazy.” Andy murmurs, spooking me with her unexpected appearance.

“Where the hell were you when I was almost stabbed?” I hiss to her, shoving my spear against Hera’s shoulder to restrict her movement.

Andy shrugs. “I knew you could handle yourself.”

My teeth grind against each other to the point where my jaw began to ache. How coincidental.

Why should I be surprised that Andy wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to help me?

“Right.” I grit, glaring at her. Something pushes my spear away, and I snap back to where the firepit is. Hera disappears, then reappears to my right seconds later, lunging at me.

Her dagger slices cleanly through my damaged side, tearing through my bandages and most of the stitches. My cry is strangled, weak, pathetic, and my fall is just that. I take one, two, three steps backwards before tripping over some tree roots.

No, not tree roots. A pair of legs. Jax.

Jax jostles from his slumber, eyes wide. Blood escapes between the cracks of my fingers, dripping down my thighs.

“What’s going on?” Jax asks me quickly, the first time he’s ever said a word to me directly.

“Hera.” I grunt. “Seriously, how the hell did you sleep through all of the commotion?”

But he offers me no reply, Blinking over to where Andy hurls herself at the invisible Hera.

I crawl over to where I can rest my back against a tree stump, pinching my wound shut. It aches terribly, but the damage could be worse. I raise the arm of the shoulder that isn’t messed up beyond belief and feel around the top of the stump for my dried sweatshirt. I pull it towards me, pulling it over my head. It’s probably on backwards, but I don’t have the time for such luxuries.

Andy dances around Hera, who shifts between using her powers and remaining visible. Their fight is by no means graceful. Sporting her crafted weapon, Andy swings it wildly at the places she assumes Hera to have been after going invisible.

Strangely enough, she doesn’t shift into any animal, instead facing Hera without powers in a tousle for the dagger. Standing at the outskirts of the fight, Jax remains passive, Blinking around but never really engaging with either of them. He can’t find an opening to help, and neither can I. Andy cries out loud, doubling over and clutching her thigh momentarily, but she’s up before I can process it.

Grabbing Hera by her hair, Andy drives her knee into her chest over and over, ripping the dagger from her bloodied hands. Chest heaving, she drops Hera and looms over her with shaking hands and the dagger clutched in her left one.   

I recognise that crazed on Andy’s face, the almost-smile that doesn’t quite reach her cold eyes, the certainty in the way the dagger hovers above Hera.

I recognise it because I saw it on Ace two days ago.

And all of a sudden I’m running, my legs powered with some sort of adrenaline-high pumping through my blood. I crash into Andy seconds later, sending us both to the ground. I hold her down, channelling all of my strength into pinning her dagger-wielding wrist down for long enough until I see Hera’s figure retreating into the darkness of the early morning.

“I almost had her!” She yells, shoving me off. “Why wouldn’t you just let me—”

“Kill her?” I scoff.

Andy glares at me. “I was trying to take her band. Which is the whole point of this damn Trial.”

That’s not what it looked like.

“Jax?” Andy calls out. Jax appears beside her. “Are you alright?”

He offers nothing but a thumbs up, his hands resting on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

Andy seems to almost deflate, like all of her energy had unceremoniously left. “We need to move camp now.”

Fantastic.

“I thought we were going to do that in the morning.” I say. I was counting on those few extra hours of darkness to finally catch up on some well needed sleep so that I would be somewhat alive in the morning.

“It is technically the morning.” Jax says.

“We leave now.” Andy cuts in firmly. She sways momentarily before steadying herself. “Unless you want another visit from the Veil?”

*

It took nothing short of five minutes to gather everything we needed and set off deeper into the forest, following alongside one of the smaller rivers so that we’d at least have a water source. Jax volunteered to scout ahead for suitable places to settle down, though I’ve got a gut feeling that it was to avoid being around me for any longer.

I can’t fault him for that. This fragile alliance I have with them likely won’t last long before something happens to cause them to turn on me. These are the Purging Trials after all, and I’m sure I’m the last person they’d want to work with – both Andy and Jax.

Jax and I hadn’t exchanged any more words singe last night, something I’m grateful for. Whatever bias Kitt and Kai held against me clearly passed over into the fifteen year old.

Fifteen years old.

My mind keeps replaying what Tealah said: ‘Fifteen and already given the honour of being in the Trials!’

Honour. What honour is this? I think I’d rather sit my biology final exam.

Andy walks beside me, hopping over tree roots as they come up. She’s walking slower than usual, though I reasoned that it was due to her passive-aggressively shaving off bits of her spear to form a more sharply pointed edge. Hardly paying attention to where she’s planting her feet. I seize her forearm.

Her brows pinch together as she glances at me. A silent question.

“You were going to trip.” I point out the hole her foot was hovering over. “And I don’t think a twisted ankle is going to benefit anyone right now.”

“Thanks.” She says, twisting her arm out of my grip. Ever since the fight with Hera, I’ve been getting the cold shoulder from both Jax and Andy. We missed the opportunity to nab Hera’s band because of me. Because I let Hera leave, she could easily be trailing us right now.

No. I didn’t let Hera leave. I let her live.

That look on Andy’s face last night went beyond simply wanting Hera’s band, and I already tried warning Sadie as a frugal attempt to evade her death in the first trial. If I can stop it, I can try to save someone.

It was a silent rule of mine, to not change the storyline. Isn’t that what most people would do in my situation anyway? But what happened has happened and there isn’t anything I can do to go back and change things.

And in two days, they both might die anyway.

In less than two seconds I stumble over tree roots and vomit out my insides. In another two seconds, I’m walking again next to Andy like nothing ever happened. She says nothing, expectantly. I press a hand to my forehead – I’m burning up.

Switching between shivering and being set on fire throughout the night and day made it virtually impossible for my thoughts to wander for too long without being reminded of the pain and aches. Unfortunately now, the luxuries of the stories woven together in my mind can’t shelter me from the current situation.

Somewhere between my nailbed beginning to bleed from picking at it and almost breaking my ankle in a strangely shoe sized hole, Jax had returned by Andy’s side. They were bickering and bantering with each other while I walked ahead, far too lost in the scenery and my mind. I stumble over a root or a rock again, this time too agitated to let it go. I firmly kick the object and it’s softer than what I thought.

I look down and I almost throw up again.

It's a severed leg.

I yelp, falling backwards. It takes too long for my vision to clear up from the dark spots, barely seeing Andy limp over and Jax Blink, to see that the leg belonged to not a human, but an animal.

Andy pulls me back up to my feet. She asks me something, and I hear her but at the same time the noises are all muffled, dulled, silent. I follow the trail of severed parts until I find its source. A dead wolf, settled in a bed of grass. An arrow protrudes from its stomach, flies dancing about its corpse.

“It’s just a dead wolf.” I say, almost a sigh of relief.

“Just?” Jax asked, Blinking over to a second corpse only a few metres away from the first. I follow him, studying the wolf with a solemn eye. Something catches my eye, and I bend down to pick it up and pocket it before anyone saw.

“There might be some contestants nearby.” Andy says, grabbing my upper arm. “We should head further out into the forest.”

I wince, pulling my arm away. I had completely forgotten about the gash I so kindly received from Ace when he stole my band. I’ll be sure to return the favour in a few days.

“Yay,” I say, “More walking.”

“Yay,” Jax says, “More chances for our legs to fall off.”

“Yay,” Andy snaps, glaring at the both of us, “Less chances for us to die.”

We both quieten very quickly after that, and though blisters and blood lined the bottom of our shoes, not a peep escaped us.

*

It was a miracle we didn’t run into anyone else by the time Andy decided on a suitable location for us to settle down in. The sun hung high above us, indicating midday, and I’m all too happy to slump down against a rock to finally rest my feet.

Thick foliage provided adequate covering, dappled with berries that I was only half certain was inedible. An artificial water source was located a walkable but inconvenient distance away, so the best thing for now was to ration water to prevent constant trips back and forth. Jax had volunteered to fill all our flasks.

I swipe my thick, tangled hair out of my eyes just in time to see a familiar redhead crouch down before me.

“I need to see how bad the damage is after that fight with Hera.” Andy says, her gaze anywhere but my eyes. Silently, I obey and lift up my sweatshirt, needing to be aided by Andy with the lack of mobility in one of my shoulders.

“You’ve torn through most of the stitches.” She says, settling fully onto the grass bed in front of me.

“Better be the stitches and not my liver.” I murmur, inhaling sharply when she starts plucking out the torn thread from my waist. She offers no reply, not even an amused huff. My eyes refuse to wander down to my waist, knowing the sight won’t be pretty.

I rest my head against the cool stone and breathe out. As soon as this is over, the moment the sun sets on that sixth day, Healers will be there to mend the broken flesh and bones of us all. Like it could erase who caused the damage in the first place.

A pinprick of pain shoots up my side, and despite my best efforts I glance down to where fresh thread loops around my injury, then being tightly pulled by Andy.

“I thought you didn’t have any thread left.” I say. My throat is raw and scratchy. Swallowing hurts. The pain comes and goes in waves, and every time I allow my body to melt into a restful position, the agony returns with a sickening crunch.

“I did say that.” She stabs my skin again. “I don’t owe you any explanation for that.”

“Have you had much practice with this?” I ask.

“I’m a Handy.” Another stab. “My father taught me to fix all sorts of things, people included.”

Long silence follows. Andy was both gentle and indifferent to jabbing my skin with the blunt needle, but the pain quickly dulled into a routine. My bandages had been long abandoned, so I could only hope my sweatshirt would provide ample protection against Sepsis.

The awkwardness of the conversation, or lack thereof, is worse than the confusion. Andy isn’t entitled to share her resources with me, and neither am I. Whether it was out of kind obligation or something else, I needed to know why she’d do this for me.

“Why am I here?” I ask.

“I don’t know what you mean by that. ” She takes out a tiny knife, cutting the end of the thread.

“Oh come on, Andy.” I sit up fully. “I know you don’t like me. In fact, I’m certain most of the palace doesn’t.”

And that was evident enough from all the ways Andy described the way Blair treated her as children.

“You’re not wrong.” She doesn’t meet my eyes still.

“So why help me?” I say. “You could have easily let me rot and die in the forest, but you saved me. I just can’t wrap my head around the reason why.”

Andy slumps away from me, running her thumb along the leather handle of her blade.

“I saw your fight with Sadie.” She says.

“I didn’t see you.” I whisper, my mind trailing back to that fight. Sadie’s words, what had she said to me?

Not that I was paying much attention to anything during the fight.

“I was transformed into a bird and watched from a tree.” She stands shakily. “I was going to leave you when I saw you pass out.”

“What changed your mind?” My question is slow. Cautious.

Andy stares at the floor for a beat too long. Then, “Jax should be coming back soon.”

“Andy.”

She turns back, like it took too much effort. “Yes?”

“You’re limping.”

She stops in her tracks. “No I’m not.”

I cock my head to the side. “Let me see then.”

I hear Andy clicking her tongue, but still she made her way back to where I sat, pulling up her trouser leg. A curtain of blood coated her leg, still wet to the touch. The stab wound itself wasn’t deep enough to kill, but the flesh was tender and exposed.  

“It’s not good, I know.” Andy winces when I poke at the skin around it.

“How the hell have you been walking on this for hours now?” I ask, attempting to summon all of my poorly learnt biology knowledge about infection. The only thing I can muster is something vaguely related to white blood cells.

“I didn’t want to waste time. We needed to leave camp before Hera potentially returned.” Andy says. “I don’t trust you with a needle by the way.”

“I wasn’t planning on using it. It’s too big to stitch up.” Stealing Andy’s knife, I cut a strip of cloth off of the bottom of my sweatshirt.

“Woah, no—” Andy shoves me away. “Get that blood soaked thing away from me!”

“I washed it!” I protest. Andy gives me a look. “As much as I could wash it while in the forest. And I don’t see any secret stashes of bandages on you, so this is the best you’re going to get.”

When Andy remains stiff, I huff. “You helped me. Let me at least repay the favour.”

“Fine.” She relents.

With Andy’s leg draped across my lap, I take the cloth and wind it around her thigh, using my sleeve to wipe away the rest of the blood. Not the cleanliest thing in the world, and I’m sure my mother would kill me if she saw me being so defiantly unhygienic. I could almost imagine her shrill voice berating me for it.

Ensuring the bandages were tight enough I tie them up and pull Andy’s trouser leg back down.

“Thanks.” She says. A polite courtesy. Some sort of palace obligation, I’m certain. How could anyone be genuine towards me?

“Do you want to me to help stitch it up?” I offer. A little too late, but it was safer to close the wound than leave it open.

Andy shakes her head, removing her leg from me. “I’ll do it myself later on.”

She tosses me my sweatshirt, this time leaving me to put it on without aid.

“Maybe you should get fatally injured more often, Blair.” Her tone is light, her words anything but. “You’re less of a bitch that way.”

I say nothing, because how is anyone supposed to respond to that?

She walks to the other side of the camp.

Once more, I am reminded that I am not in my own skin.

*

Midday passed by so quick it was easy to miss it. Scouring for food had become the primary objective, and after a few long, gruelling hours of work, the three of us had been fully satisfied with food. Perhaps it would be smarter to ration it, but as I had swiftly learned, things will disappear if you don’t grab at them hard enough.

It's then when I finally take out the small object I had picked up earlier, a rectangular sort of object that was frayed at the edges. The paper had nearly torn as I pulled it open and an ocean of cards spilled out, landing in my lap.

“What’s a deck of cards doing in the forest?” I muse to myself. Andy and Jax hadn’t noticed my mad ramblings. Either I was delirious from dehydration and blood loss, or I had truly somehow acquired a deck of cards in the middle of what was essentially the Hunger Games incarnate.

I don’t know why that notion was so funny. Perhaps I was truly mad.

“Andy,” I call out to her weakly. She turns to me, and I hold up the box the cards arrived in.

“Oh?” Andy strides over to me. “Another present left by a Sight?”

“I guess so.” I say, gathering them up as best as I can. “Though I don’t know why a deck of cards is more beneficial than say, a weapon or food.”

“Entertainment?” Jax chimes in, though he’s looking more at Andy than me. “It must be boring if people are sitting around all day in the forest, nothing to do.”

“No, that doesn’t make sense.” I shake my head. “Teaming up isn’t exactly the aim of this Trial, and a deck of cards is a group game.”

“Blair’s right.” Andy says. “It’s meant to be a solo game.”

“I’d rather have a deck of cards than nothing.” Jax says after a minute.

“Agreed.” Andy nods, flicking her hand towards me. I hand her the deck, and she begins shuffling it. Her eyes are friendlier than they were a few minutes ago. What for? For the sake of Jax, who already despises me more than half of the palace?

I take a sip from my flask, only for my lips to be met with nothing. I shoot a glare at Jax, who isn’t even looking my way.
 
“What game should we play?” Jax asks Andy, who’s already passing out the cards.

“How about a game of bluff?” I offer, a simple enough game.

No one protests, so the cards are passed out without a word. Bluff, or the less ceremonious title of Bullshit, was the only game I could play against my classmates that I had a decent chance at winning in. The goal was easy: you win when you run out of cards.

When it’s your turn, you put down a card or more that is the next one in the sequence. The catch is that all cards are placed face down, which introduce my favourite mechanic of the game: lying.  You don’t actually have to put down a card you were meant to, and if you’re called out for your bullshit, the pile goes to you. If you were telling the truth, the cards go to them.

The best advantage was knowing your opponents. My classmates had easy tells: an uncharacteristic bubble of laughter, constant lack of eye contact, hesitating for a second too long before putting down a King instead of a five.

Playing with strangers was the challenge. But for me, I had long grown used to watching rather than directly participating. The lightweight cards are familiar in my palm, my finger gliding against their smooth surface as I shuffle through my cards. Around fourteen cards, looking like the standard deck of cards I’d find at home. Shuffling through to the end of my pile, I study my cards.

The first card depicts a blond haired, green eyed man with a crown rested atop his head, holding both a sword and a dove. In the corner, there’s the letter ‘K’ for King, and a heart.

The next is the Queen card, a beautiful woman with noir hair and lightning bolts dancing across her hands.

The Jack card is a black haired man with various symbols surrounding him, wearing a solemn expression. The rest are familiar, numbered cards wearing the symbols of Spade, Diamond, Heart, or Club.

We decided to go in order of youngest to oldest, so Jax went first, throwing down a Queen. I went next, announcing my King card, as per the rules. Then when it was Andy’s turn, she paused for a moment too long before setting down a card, calling out a ‘Ten’. Her eyes land on mine, daring me to call out her bluff.

I stay silent.

Jax sets down two nines a little too clumsily. I open my mouth to call bullshit, but Andy flips over the cards before I can do it. Luckily, Jax had actually put two nines. We both have to hide our snickers when Andy swipes the pile, adding it to her slowly growing hand of cards.

Since Andy gained new cards, it’s her turn now. This time she goes lower, saying, “One two.”

“One three.” Jax says.

Two seconds pass before I say, “One four.”

“Bullshit.” Jax cuts in, turning over my card, which was actually a four. He grumbles taking the three cards.

“Language.” Andy smiles, speaking with the mock sternness that a parent would give a child. Or a best friend would give to another best friend.

“I’m fifteen!” Jax protests, and I can just tell that this isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation before. “I’m allowed to swear. And it’s part of the rules.”

I try not to be too obvious with my eye roll, tuning out their conversation. How silly this was, playing a card game and bickering while people with very real, very murderous intentions could be stalking us right now.

I turn around, looking up at the scenery only to see empty trees. Nothing is there. I release my breath and turn back.

“What would you do with the prize money if you won?” Jax asks, setting down a card. “One ten.”

“Two nines.” I set them down.

“Hmm, I’m not sure.” Andy says. “Two eights. Twenty thousand shillings, right?”

“Right.” Jax nods. “One nine.”

“It’s a lot of money.” I say, shrugging. “I don’t know, maybe I’d commission a seamstress or an artist to make me something.”

“Of course you would.” Jax scoffs,  but continued before I can retort. “I don’t know what I’d do. There’s not much to need in the palace.”

I look at my cards. Back home, I know there was plenty of things to need. Food on the table, hot food not haphazardly thrown out from the fridge. Rent money, money to pay the technician for the leaky pipe in the bathroom that has been a problem for over six months.

Money for bus fares and hot chocolate, enough that you wouldn’t go blue in the face with embarrassment whilst the cashier waits for you to cough up enough coins.

There were plenty of things to need back home, but Blair Archer didn’t need things as frivolous as money. She could order food be brought to her without the need for payment.

In the end, the cash prize is just another piece of bait at the end of the fishing rod for the Elite competitors living in the slums to claw at like cats, hopelessly.

“Two eights,” I say, snapping out of my little mosey down the branches of my mind.

“Bullshit.” Andy spots it immediately, flipping over the two cards that I had just plucked out of my deck haphazardly.

I make a ‘tsk’ sound, swiping the deck into my hands.

“Should we really be lazing around like sitting ducks?” I ask, “One two.”

“One three.” Andy says, twisting the ends of her hair and shoving it out of her face. “There’s no harm in resting. You need it especially.”

“Maybe we should look for other contestants.” Jax offers, setting down a card. “I’ve only got my band, and I haven’t run into anyone besides you guys.”

Quickly, he adds, “Two twos.”

“Frankly I have no desire to try to steal someone else’s band.” I combat, my fingers ghosting against my sleeve where underneath, my skin is bare where a band is supposed to be. I hadn’t noticed how I missed its pressure digging into my arm.

“Why, cause you got your ass kicked the first two times you tried?” Jax murmurs under his breath, but a swift pebble thrown his way gets him to shut it.

“Okay at least I’ve been in a fight.” I snap. “What have you been doing this whole time?”

“Very important things, thank you very much!” Jax says sweetly, his smile forcibly reaching his eyes. “Oh, I saw Braxton actually.”

Andy frowns, the game forgotten about. “You did?”

He nodded. “Maybe early on the second day? He had burns all over his body. It was.. gross. I got away quickly though before he could see me though.”

“Coward.” I say between fake coughs.

Jax rolls his eyes. “At least I can stand up without passing out.”

“At least I actually won a fight.” My eyes are on my cards, but the corner of my mouth tips up. I don’t know if my fight with Sadie could be considered as a win on my end, but it wasn’t like Jax was there to witness it.

“At least half my body isn’t stitches.” Jax shoots back.

“At least I—” I pause. What the hell am I doing arguing with a fifteen year old kid?

“Children, please.” Andy sighs, focusing on Jax. “Was Braxton the only one you saw?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Most of my time in the Whispers was spent trying to survive.”

“It was the same with me.” Andy hums, shuffling through her deck. “Wasted a hell of a lot of energy travelling for hours to find anyone. I was lucky to stumble across Blair.”

“But you didn’t fight her?” Jax questions. Andy sends him a look, a frown that keeps his lips closed.

“Do both of you still have your bands then?” I ask, my question mainly directed at Andy.

They both nod.

An uncharacteristic impulse strikes me. My fingers twitch: ammunition in the form of twigs and stones lie scattered across the forest floor at my disposal. Would it truly take so much energy to steal their bands for myself? Losing my own band puts me at a disadvantage, but taking two bands? Surely that would put me in the lead, right?

The impulse dies out quickly. I’d succumb to my own injuries before I’d ever land a scratch on either of them.

Yet the thought still lingers.

I’m pulled out of my trance with an instantaneous migraine.

“Blair?” Andy pokes my arm. “You still here?”

“It wouldn’t be too tragic if she died sitting upright.” Jax says.

I shake my head. “Still here.”

“Much to all our dismay.” Andy says. The sarcasm is either vague or non-existent. She taps my cards. “Want to continue the game?”

“No, that’s alright.” I shake my head, setting my cards down. “I’ll just go get some water instead.”

Using the tree stump beside me for support, I rise with shaky legs, almost collapsing. I glare at Jax. “Don’t you dare say anything.”

He says nothing in return, so I’m only left with briefly nodding at Andy as a ‘goodbye’ before setting off in the direction of the river.

I don’t make it ten steps without Andy calling out, “The river is that way.”

“I knew that.” I say grumpily, following where her hand points and redirecting my course.

Not before passing by a snickering Jax and a half-smiling Andy.

*

Voices followed me to the river.

They screamed at me, pleaded with me, chastised me. Every sound amplified itself the further I got away from camp and towards the river. To satiate my anxiety, I stopped in my tracks every few seconds just to stop and stare at my surroundings.

The voices laughed at me.

They’d call it being hyper paranoid. I prefer the term hyperaware. Isn’t that how most people survives anyway? If fear keeps people alive, I’d utilise that emotion and wield it. Perhaps then I’d knock the sense into me that attacks should be dodged, not taken like a blabbering idiot.

This river too was artificially made. You could tell from how the water was a little too clear and the sediment remained a little too still for it to be naturally made. With my flask in hand, I refilled the metal can repeatedly, since Jax had so kindly decided to return with his and Andy’s flasks full, but mine coincidentally forgotten.

Over time, my migraine had eased, yet pricks of needle-like pain stabbed themselves into my temples like a half assed lobotomy that was still in the process of completion. Water dribbled down my chin as I chugged the water like my life depended on it, only slowing down when I felt a presence behind me.

“Andy.” I say, “You can’t scare me again.”

Silence.

Okay. Maybe I was going mad.

A moment passes, then, “Boo.”

I scream, jolting forward and almost toppling into the river. I jerk around and hurl my flask at the voice.

Jax, not Andy, Blinks away then reappears when the flask lands on the forest floor. Getting up to retrieve it felt like too much. I’d get it later.

“You must think yourself as some sort of comedian.” I say, staring down at my shifting reflection in the river. Jax’s reflection comes into view two seconds later. His lips are pursed, his brown eyes lacking the warmth I see when he talks to his brothers or Andy. Moments later he drops down beside me.

“People have said my sense of humour is superior.” He says. I spare a fleeting glance at the boy. His nails have been chewed down to the point where some have begun to bleed and some hangnails were obviously torn off from the stem; he’s doing it now.

I had taken note of these anxious habits of his during the interview and all of those shared dinners, or at least, the ones I hadn’t skipped in favour of training. In watching the others, I had also spotted their little habits.

Kitt digs into his food a little more aggressively whenever his Kingly duties are brought up; Kai avoids eye contact; Andy fiddles with something, like shaving off parts of branches to make weapons; Paedyn taps her foot. I’m yet to figure out Sadie, Braxton, Hera or Ace yet, but I’m sure I will.

Before all of them die, at least.

“What are you doing here?” I ask eventually.

“Andy wanted to make sure you hadn’t run off somewhere.” Jax says.

“I have nowhere to run.” I laugh hollowly. “Besides, I couldn’t run even if I wanted to.”

I lift my sweatshirt just enough for the ugly, jagged wound and fresh stitches to peek into view.

Jax loudly winces, “I didn’t need to see that.”

I make a non-committal grunt, dropping my hand to my side, “Sorry.”

Jax’s footsteps retreated, then returned. He gives me my flask. “Does it hurt?”

“Like hell.” I accept it readily, taking his offered hand as a crutch to get up. His expression feels hollow, but that might just be a byproduct of being around Blair.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to stab Ace in return.” I say, smiling but it feels a little too much like a sneer. Using my sleeve, I wipe away the mud around the mouth of the flask, hoping that drinking contaminated water won’t speed up my road to Sepsis infection. Because I’m sure that’s how it works.

Probably.

“Are you heading back already?” Jax asks as I start heading back to where I’m only somewhat sure is the direction of the camp.

“I’m bored, and I wasn’t gone long.” I say, throwing my head over my shoulder. No one is there.

“You were gone for ages, actually. Almost an hour.” Jax reappears beside me, walking casually like my skeleton hadn’t just jumped out of my body.

“I.. I didn’t realise.” I stutter, regaining control over my heart rate at the scare. The paranoia was truly getting to me. “Yeah, we should head back.”

*

Leaves crunch beneath my feet like splintering bones. I hadn’t realised that before: how loud that sound was. Here, the leaves were so dry they cracked and crumbled with the slightest pressure applied.

Beside me, a second pair of footsteps joined. Jax had accompanied me on the walk back despite being perfectly capable of Blinking to camp. These Ilyans are confusing. They switch between tolerating and hating like it’s a game of jump rope.

At least back home, if someone didn’t like you, they told you outright.

“What was that?” I grab Jax’s arm, pulling him to a stop.

“I don’t hear anything.” Jax says.

I could have sworn that I heard something.

We stand there, and I’m listening, listening, listening, before, “Come on.”

My pace increases, though not enough to strain my waist. Jax disappears next to me, and I see him re-emerge ten metres away, then Blinking away again.

That noise is clearer now: heavy, inhumane breathing. Two sets of it, I’d say.

By the time I stagger over to camp, it’s all in ruins. Sticks from the half-finished campfire lay scattered about, claw marks scratching into the surface of the dirt.

I catch sight of Jax, his muscles locked into place, onlooking two large bears fighting. Fighting.

“Jax!” I hiss, the quietness of my words unnecessary with the levels of concentration of the animals. Seconds later he’s by my side.

“That’s Andy.” He half whispers, nodding towards the bear wearing the darker coat of fur; looking closely the light caught on its – her – golden eyes for a split second.

“Shit.” I curse quietly, stepping backwards to avoid getting caught in the crosshairs. “What are we supposed to do?”

The bears now circled each other, one heavy paw after the other. It was clear enough that this was an unbalanced fight: Andy was too small in her bear form compared to the bear with the light brown coat who already had its teeth bared.

Light claw marks dented into Andy’s back. Not deep enough to bleed, but deep enough to hinder her. There was the smallest limp in her walk too, but Jax didn’t comment on it either.

“There’s nothing we can do unless we want to get our arms bitten off.” Jax says, and I can see him frantically tapping his foot. He buries his head in his hands. “Why did it have to be a bear?”

Just then, Andy jumps at the bear, latching her jaw into its neck. She rips out tuffs of its hair; patches of hair are missing from each animal. Just how long had this fight been going on for?

“What do you mean?” I ask. Jax immediately straightens up, backing away when both bears stand on their hind legs, wrestling for the opportunity to gain the upper hand.

“Well..” He starts, “Andy hasn’t trained in her bear form that much. So..”

“So she’ll lose control much quicker.” I finish for him.

A hesitant, “Yes.” From Jax tells me all I need to know.

Perhaps I should have ran when I had the chance.

Looking back, Light-coat is on top of Andy’s back, scratching while she thrashes to get it off of her. Then, she turns and rises on her hind legs, struggling, swiping at the bears face. Light-coat does the same, their arms uncomfortably clashing.

I heard witnessing a bear fight was impossibly rare. Despite the morbidity of it, I’m transfixed by it.

Jax hold my arm, dragging me behind a tree to provide some coverage. The fight was erratic: Light-coat was backed into a corner by Andy, resulting in the bear dropping down and latching its jaw to the side of Andy’s stomach.

A deep groan, almost a howl, came from Andy’s jaws, and she stagged backwards.

Watching this felt like cockroaches crawling up my arms, my nails clawing into the rash that had formed on my palm. Picking at the skin until it bled, then peeling away at it more. The pain kept me distracted from the fight laid out before us.

They were watching each other again, the bears. Light-coat had backed off, but wasn’t yet gone. Heavy, coarse breathing came from them both. For some reason, Andy’s felt more humane. I felt that heavy breathing earlier this day when I had held her down before she could go chase Hera in the middle of the night.

I was distracted by my thoughts, it was if I had blinked, and Andy was upon Light-coat again, thumping down her paws and lodging them into the neck of the bear. She was thrown off, and a stare down ensued. Spit dripped down from both of their jaws, with the other bear’s head bowed down. Almost as if in shame.

I don’t know how long they stayed there, both of their chests convulsing with each deep, ragged breath. Light-coat’s head remained like that, bowed, before stalking off.

I can hear Jax’s loud exhale. I too was holding my breath.

“The only thing left is for Andy to transform back.” Jax says.

I find myself making some sort of noise in agreement, my eyes fixed on Andy’s bear form. Her golden eyes seemed to dull down to a mustard yellow. Nose grazing against the ground, blood pools down from where the other bear clawed into her. She looks exhausted.

And then her head snap up, directly at Jax and me.

And she begins charging at us.

Jax Blinks away after realising, settling high into a tree.

She’s charging at me.

Run. I should run. I need to run. But it’s like I’m locked in place, my knees buckling over when Andy all but crashes into me. I yell out, pinching my eyes closed as my body comes into contact with what I can only guess is a fallen tree, sending shivers through my skin. Cockroaches, again.

The bear was uncomfortably close, hovering above me with her mouth stretched wide open. Like a yawn.

Her jaws were the size of my head. I was certain that if I leaned forward just a little, Andy could comfortably bite it off.

The berries we ate earlier rises up in my throat as I breathe in her breath, mixed in with blood and moisture.

“Hi Andy.” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Good bear..?”

Andy stares at me. Blinks.

Then lunges for my head.

Something grabs my hair and I’m jolted away, instantly standing upright in front of a bush. The sudden shift in my location has me tumbling into a tree and throwing up.

“Gross.” Jax says, stepping away from me. “You’re welcome.”

“You..” I breathe. My heart feels like it’s trying to escape my ribcage from how hard it’s pounding. The Earth is swaying, no, I’m swaying like a roundabout at a children’s park. Jax catches my arm.

“You.. saved me.” I finish my sentence finally.

“Yeah.. I did. I’ve never Blinked anyone but myself before.” Jax says, mild excitedness returning to his tone. “That hasn’t ever happened before.”

“Thank you.” I choke out. Embarrassing tears drip down my face, onto the tree. I pivot to the side before he can see them.

Wiping my bloodied hand on the rough bark of the tree, I narrow my eyes towards the slumped over figure of Andy a few metres from us, her chest still rising and falling. More specifically, the human, non-bear figure of Andy.

Taking careful, measured footsteps, my heart calms a little once I’ve confirmed that she won’t jump out and attack me. Jax, meanwhile, is casual, strolling up to Andy and rolling her over.

“She’s alive.” Jax announces.

Am I happy or sad about that?

Andy stirs, and I step back. My waist aches, but I can’t, won’t look at the injury.

She sits up, dazed and blinking like a fawn fresh from the womb. Straggles of her wine red hair stick out in wild directions, muddy and greasy. Her lip was split, the skin around her eye slightly swelled.

“What- what happened?” She gasps Jax’s sleeve. “What did I do?”

“It’s fine.” Jax assures. “Nothing bad happened. We’re all okay.”

Both him and Andy stare at me, like I’m the judge of the trial that would determine Andy’s fate. Jax glares at me.

I force a nod. It’s the most I can do. As she moves to stand up, a cry leaves her strangled voice, desperately patting behind her back. Realising her signal, I move behind her and lift up her shirt a little. A large claw mark stretched across her entire back.

“I know it’s bad.” She whispers.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Jax smiles.

“It’s..” I trail off. “How about we go to the river, hm?”

“Yeah.” Andy stands with Jax’s help. “River sounds good.”

*

I sit by the edge of the river again, this time with Andy who stripped off her shirt and now stands in the water, holding onto some roots so that she won’t be swept away. Silence has been our friend ever since we got here, a sentiment I could easily get behind. Jax wasn’t here either: we sent him to get more berries.

I roll berries between my two hands, picking the firmest one to pop into my mouth. Andy’s pile hasn’t been touched yet. She claims she isn’t hungry, that it was too much of a gamble between sweet and sour. I chose not to debate on the sourness of the berries because frankly I wasn’t sure if she was concussed or not. Or delirious. Or both. With Andy it was difficult to tell.

Despite this, she also complains about the water being too cold, but she’s been standing there for far too long, letting the cool water lap over her injury.

“What really happened?” Andy asks. Her voice is monotonous. Flat.

“Nothing.” I say, almost instantly.

“Don’t lie to me.” Andy shakes her head, skimming her fingers along the water’s surface, “Jax can protect my feelings but you can tell me the truth.”

“You..” I sigh. “You got into a fight with a bear. You got pretty badly injured.”

I can spare her the grim details. Maybe when she’s in a better headspace.

“I don’t remember it at all.” Andy wades over to where I am, stealing a berry from her pile. She eats one, scrunching her nose. It must have been sour. “That’s the worst part of being a shapeshifter. The temporary amnesia.”

“It’s temporary?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She eats another one. “It, uh, depends on how long I stay in animal form. Was a grand old surprise when I found out the first time. The nobles certainly had things to say about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Your apologies won’t change the opinion of the court.”

She’s probably right. The court will believe what they want to believe, and if they endorse the puppet show that is the Purging Trials, I can’t imagine they have great opinions about a shapeshifter who can’t control her shifts.

“What’s up with your hand?” Andy asks, and I recall my bleeding palm. I hold it out for both of us to see.

“Rash.” I conclude. “I don’t know how it got there.”

“Might’ve been the poisoned berries.” She says, cupping some water and dumping it onto my palm. “I think some of them can cause dermatitis. I’m not sure.”

“Thanks.” I murmur. The water stings, but it provides moisture to my dry and cracked palm. Andy lifts herself out of the river, swatting away my hand when I offer to help. She slides her shirt back on again, selecting another berry. She only bites half of it this time. Offering one to me, I flinch mildly, taking a second before accepting it.

“I won’t bite.” Andy frowns, and I laugh at the irony.

“Oh right.” I say, a tiny smile escaping.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Hostility creeps into her tone, and just like that, Andy’s back on her defensive mode.

“You tried to maul me to death.” I point out, then quickly curse at myself for giving that away. I watch the morphing expressions on Andy’s face. Wide eyed confusion; fear; anger.

“And you lost us Hera’s band.” She hisses, like those two things are comparable in any way.

“That wasn’t my fault.” I say, “I was trying to stop you from doing something you’d regret.”

“Something I’d regret?” Andy throws her head to the side, scoffing. “I’m not fragile, Blair. I can handle hurting someone.”

“But why should that be the standard?” I affirm. “We were just having dinner three nights ago civilly. Why should we resort to violence because a piece of paper told us to?”

“Because unlike you,” She enunciates the ‘you’, like it’s an insult. “I have something to lose by not winning. Not everyone can live off of our parent’s money comfortably.”

I scoff, reaching beside me for the little blade Andy always carries around with her and hold it between us. Instead of it pointing towards her, I’ve angled it towards me, taking my other hand and wrapping it around the blade.

“If you hate me so much, then why not kill me?” I hum, leaning into the blade. “If you hate me so much, what’s stopping you from impaling me right now?”

For a moment I feel like Andy’s really going to drive the blade into my neck. Then she sneers.

“Of course you’d carelessly toss your life around like this.” She mocks. “You’re so privileged that it disgusts me.”

Privilege.

“That’s not true.” I spit.

“You do this every time.” Andy struggles to stand, but she does it anyway. I do too, with the support of a tree.

“I can’t believe I thought for even a second that you might have changed.” She chastises, rolling her eyes, like the very notion is ridiculous to consider. “Just a little bit. That you weren’t like every council member that tried kicking me out of the palace because of my power.”

I still. I didn’t know that. The idea wasn’t a shocking one. But a cousin of the royal family, so easily thrown aside and considered to be kicked out? Maybe it was Andy’s connections to the royals that guaranteed her, and her fathers, cushy homes in the palace.

“You didn’t answer my earlier question.” I deflect, my lips pressed in a firm line. “If I’m so privileged, why even save me in the first place? I was so awful to you when we were younger, so why not just leave me to rot when you first saw me?”

Even saying that word, privilege, puts a taste more sour than those berries, into my mouth.

“Because unlike you, I’m a good person.” Andy disparages, “I’m going to win the trials, and it’ll be through my own skill as an Elite. Not through killing. Not through the brutal savagery you people seem to think I’m capable of, and not through any connections.”

Her words felt more than words. Like years of resentment to not just me, but to a whole society had built up, accumulated, and burst out right then and there. In a way, I respected that.

“I hope you have fun with that.” I say, turning around. My feet pull my body forwards, somehow, pulling me away from Andy.

And she doesn’t chase me, nor does she send Jax to fetch me back. I walk on and on and on until my legs can’t withstand the strain anymore.

And even as the sun dips down and the moon arises, nothing can pluck me from my thoughts.

Once more, the lonely pawn trudges on, a reanimated soldier.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed that chapter! If I'm being honest, I had a really hard time figuring out how to end the chapter so I hope it was good. As always, let me know what you think! I'm always down to talk about anything Powerless :)

This time, I'm recommending The Stardust Thief by Chelsea Abdullah. If you want a fantasy with little romance, this book is definitely for you. It combines the myths of the past in their world with the story so seamlessly, and the characters are complex and morally grey, not just black and white.

Chapter 9: Serendipity

Notes:

Guess who's backkk (spoiler it's me).

They haven’t stopped. The voices.

Once more, they trotted alongside me, skipping gaily and weaving amongst the trees, beyond the rivers and underneath natural canopies that, had I been in the right state of mind, I would have resided in, a safe place until the sixth night came crawling like a hound dog that has lost its hind legs.

For now, I was positively lost, both in mind and in this damn forest. I’ve been stumbling about in a straight line for as far as my body could carry me. My wounds made it impossible to walk for more than ten minutes, so begrudgingly, I rest lazily against a tree.

It was easier to lay here than walk to my death.

If it wouldn’t be the contestants, it would be the betrayal of my own body.

“It was better this way,” I repeat like a mantra.

Pressure would have built up between me, Andy and Jax eventually. I was not blind to the secretive glances that they shared, the off handed comments, the look they held that was more than just pure irritation towards me.

Yes, leaving must have been the right answer. I simply quelled the fire before it could burn. But I was bleeding,  exhausted, and all alone. If someone wanted to kill me, they could.

I flop onto my uninjured side, both too tired to keep going yet too awake to naturally close my eyes. A bemusing conflict.

A fat swallow flutters down from the branches and hops about the forest floor with cerulean feathers that tapered off to a dull grey. It jumped over a broken twig, angling its tiny head up at me curiously. I unfurled my palm; a few seconds and the swallow flies to my hand.

It twirps, bouncing about my hand and, had I spoken its melodic language, I would have laughed at its chirps, laughed how this bird must view me, and laugh at my attempt to converse with a bird.

What a silly human, it must be thinking, so feeble. Fragile, like glass that would shatter into a million unremarkable pieces. Unstable, like a house with poor foundations that topples over with a gust of wind. Brittle, like dead leaves crumbling in one’s hand.

The swallow wouldn’t have approached me unless I was a threat. My injuries have stripped me down to a skeleton. And unfortunately for me, humans can’t survive with just bones.

An exhale pulls more from me than just my breath. My head is too heavy to remain on top of my shoulders, unable to process my senses. Everything blurs around me until there is nothing but darkness.

I awaken with the sound of footfalls, curses, and a sarcastic self-response. I jolt awake, slamming my hand over my mouth as I stand on wobbly legs. Leaning against the tree, I survey the barren landscape before me, my eyes sweeping over the synthetic view, then up at the clouded sky.

The voice, now distinctly feminine, sounds closer.

My back grazes against the tree: I peek around the pillar only to dive right back. I quieten my breathing, settling my body weight so that leaves won’t crunch beneath it.

I really don’t need the Silver Saviour on my ass right now.

Of course, I knew that avoiding Paedyn throughout the course of the story would be impossible – we were bound to interact at some point, despite my grievances for it. After all, Blair’s character directly clashes with Paedyn’s.

The pretty daughter of the general with a silver spoon in her mouth, and the orphaned thief from Loot that got by day to day by depleting someone of resources they too needed desperately.

I knock my head back against the bark in time with her footfalls. Softly, so as to not alert her of my presence. It would’ve been fortuitous to learn how to climb a tree to wait her out, but of course I hadn’t, so I was stuck like this.

Again, I embolden myself to take another gander. Paedyn has her back turned to me, her thick silver hair hanging limply in a braid that swished to the side with each sharp movement.

Her bow and quiver is slung around her back, chock full of knobbly arrows that look too close to falling apart at the drop of a hat. Wrapped around her waist were bandages stained with red, clearly hindering her movements.

I lean back. A twig snaps.

And I label every curse in every language I know upon myself.

Pressing myself flat against the pine, I cease my breathing and close my eyes as if the act of seeing would give my location away. Her breath hitches and soft footfalls thud evermore closer to where I’m barely hidden.

There’s a clatter of sticks and stones and something fabric-like stretches, and soft mutterings fall behind me. Paedyn likely has her arrow nocked, ready to shoot the first thing that moves.

The snapping of twigs stops. My mouth is dry, so much so that it made those few days of dehydration seem ideal in comparison. My hands found the bark of the tree; I was pressing so hard against it that the patterned wood imprinted into my arms.

I’m close to simply melting back into the tree, and I wouldn’t have minded that right now.

Angling my head upwards, the thrum, the distinguishable power nips at my skin. It prickles, the sensation growing louder in sync with my own heartbeat before I jerk my hand to the side, and a pine branch falls simultaneously.

An arrow fires, pinning the thin wood against a tree.

I nearly faint against the tree as if a week of exhaustion had hit me at once. I reach into my pockets for the mushed berries I still had from Andy, popping one into my mouth. The temporary relief floods me with the warmth that accompanies the sour-sweet taste.

“Must’ve been some animal.” A soft voice says that is unmistakably Paedyn. As her footsteps begin to retreat, I lean my head around the tree to confirm her retreating figure. Her head whips around, braid flicking around her neck in tandem, and I zip back to my position, curling inwards, trying to make myself as small as possible.

In a fight against Paedyn, I could win with my Tele powers. On a normal, uninjured day at least. At least both of our injuries level the playing field.

My heart finally takes a rest from its frantic palpitations as I hear another curse and fading footsteps.

And once more, I am alone.

*

I’m in an endless maze, a labyrinth that twisted and turned, warping my perceptions of where I was. I should be at the forest edge by now, drinking in the distant sights of Tando or the Shallows, or perhaps even the shallow outline of Loot Alley. Something, anything.

I am sick of seeing trees. I’m sick of seeing.

After my close run in with Paedyn, I blacked out. Considering the tender spot on my forehead, I must have landed face first onto the ground. The forced rest had mildly repaired my senses just enough so my hands and legs did what I needed them to do, and didn’t hang like a limp noodle.

Staying in one place had proven to be a danger. Staying in one place, allowing myself to rot again, increased my chances of finding someone far less generous than Andy or tolerant like Jax.

So my body trudged forward, both sluggish and hyperattentive to any noises around me. 

I survey the repetitive landscape for the tenth time, idly making a mental note of the same trees, the same rock formation, the same patch of wildflowers—

I stop walking.

There, ahead by the creek, a body, contorted in a position too discomforting to stay in while awake. She lays in a bed of wildflowers, with pale lavenders peeking through her scattered braids. Her lips hung open, eyes fluttered to a close, a hand still curled around a handful of shiny black berries.

“Sadie,” I breathe, breaking into a run. Something had seemingly possessed me, a deeper emotion beyond my control or understanding propelling me, causing me to collapse at the side of which she lay.

She was dead.

No, no, no—

My eyes grew misty, an anger amplified ten times over and I couldn’t quite place why I was feeling so much at once.

“You’re supposed to be alive,” I hissed at her.

She didn’t respond.

Bags had formed under Sadie’s eyes, her skin a sickly grey compared to the vibrant warmth I remembered her with. Her lips are cracked with dehydration and stained with dry blood, juice dripping down the side of her cheek which I wipe away. It leaves a tingling sensation on my finger pads that almost feels like burning.

My gaze travels down to her arm, specifically to where I know I’ll find it. I pull down the zipper of her hooded sweatshirt, ignoring the hooked wound at her collarbone and instead rolling down the cloth past her shoulder, then her arm.

I sigh. There’s nothing but a paper-thin cut where her band is supposed to be resting.

Disappointment floods me, deflating my body like a sad balloon. But the feeling died out the moment it was born; I roll up my sleeve at my gaping wound that Ace left me, then back at Sadie’s papercut.

Someone had intentionally cut her band off carefully while she was dead.
 
Nausea gripped my throat, squeezing mercilessly. Kai. He had to have been the one to do this.

That vile man, the moment I see him I swear I’ll—

My tears broke me from my stupor. I was switching between anger and sadness, far too deep in my own head to articulate my thoughts correctly. Shakily, I took her hand between my own, scrubbing her sweaty palm clean of the berries.

Now that I’m seeing them up close, I realise that they’re the exact same type of berry that I had almost eaten not long ago. The poison berries Andy knocked out of my hands.

Poison. She was poisoned.

I throw the berries as far as my body will allow. They don’t go very far.

A deep purple rash embedded into Sadie’s palm. I uncurl my hand and place it beside hers: the rash on my skin matches hers.

I drop Sadie’s hand, still warm, to shove the tears from my eyes. I am irrevocably convinced that I caused this. I should have been more forceful with her, pleaded with her to stay away from Kai and Paedyn. Perhaps then I wouldn’t be sitting beside her body.

Enthralled my pathetic attempt of a pity party, I catch sight of it, the small rising and falling of her chest, the telltale signs of breathing. A noise involuntarily sounds from the back of my throat, and I fall to her chest, placing my ear against the ramming of her heartbeat. Again, without knowing it, I began to cry.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I allow myself to lay there for too long, murmuring over and over again that she was alive, seizing her hand again just so I could feel her warmth.

Maybe I really could change things.

Sadie’s hand briefly squeezes mine and my heart leaps like an old machine that had been fired to life again.

“Stay alive for me.” I mutter, glancing around as if the woodland creatures would give me answers like I’m Snow White.

Slowly, I lifted Sadie into a sitting position, swiping her hair behind her shoulders and pulling her chin downwards so that her mouth opens.

“Come on, spit out the poison. We don’t need any more of it in your system.” I say, watching as some of the poison dribbles down her mouth.

Wiping it away again, I suck in a breath before shoving my fingers into her mouth, trying to trigger her gag reflex. Her chest convulses, her body horridly dry heaving as I hold onto her shoulder so that she doesn’t collapse onto the ground. 

Sadie’s eyes shoot open, her hand abruptly grabbing mine and shoving my hand out of her mouth with enough force that I’m knocked back on my ass. She coughs heavily, pounding her chest. Tears well up in her eyes.

“What the fuck?” She sputters between clutching her shirt and dry heaving. As soon as she calms down, she repeats, with clenched fists, “What the fuck?”

“You’re welcome?” I say. “I just saved your life.”

Sadie’s face meanwhile, contorted from angry to.. something else. Her eyes were wide, brows curved downwards as she claws and grips her throat, struggling to breathe.

“I..” She muttered, her focus jumping from one thing to the next, never landing on me. “I don’t know..”

“Hey,” I move closer, holding her shoulder. “Hey, Sadie?”

But she’s not looking at me. Her eyes are everywhere but on me, her hands shivering and shaking and her pupils grow wild with dilation.

“Remember where we are? The whispers, the first trial?” I say, speaking softly because I don’t know what else to do.  

Sadie sucked in a harsh breath that was more of a sob than anything else. Just as I think she calmed herself down, her hand suddenly flies towards my face, striking me across the nose.

“You could have killed me!” She yells, before I can process the injury.

Blood runs down the curve of my lips. “Asshole. I was trying to get you to throw up the poison that you willingly ate like an idiot—”

“Don’t asshole me.” She cuts through, her words biting. “Don’t you remember that it’s bad for poison to pass the throat again? You could have ruptured something.”

Now that I think of it, it makes perfect sense.

How stupid of me.

“At least I did something.” I scoff despite her warning glare, “You could have died.”

Sadie abruptly brushes off the dust from her knees, bracing herself to stand. She rolls her swollen ankle accidentally in the process.

“Well I’m quite alright now.” She announces, shoving my bad shoulder out of her way. She has clearly resolved to get away from me as fast as she can.

Understandably. I don’t have a band, I’m useless for her to fight.

I follow closely behind her, waiting for when Sadie unceremoniously collapses not two seconds later. As expected, considering her ankle is still swollen.

“Careful.” I hold the underside of her arms. Her legs are shaking. “Your body is still weak from the poison.”

“I can recover. Without you.” Sadie snaps.

“And if you drop dead the moment I leave?” I ask. “What happens then?”

Silence. I stare at the back of her head as she refuses me an answer. I can’t say I blame her, she had tried killing me and vice versa.

“That matter shouldn’t concern you.” She speaks curtly, shrugging me off. Yet she doesn’t leave.

“Well, I can’t just leave you now.” I offer as she turns to meet my gaze, unconvinced. “You know, to make sure you don’t go into shock from the poison.”

And definitely not to make sure that she stays alive for the rest of the trial.

“What game are you playing, Blair?” She asks accusingly.

“Chess. And you?”

Sadie curses under her breath and I know it’ll be a long two days.

Still, I see the small lilt of a smile from her.

*

It was an eternity before a Sight had finally delivered the cryptic message alluding to meeting at the edge of the Whispers, so long that I had rambled conspiracies to Sadie for hours on end, most of which concerning the King purposefully lengthening the games for his sick twisted pleasure.

Sadie had responded with hurtling something in my direction, usually a small twig or a pebble, sometimes a jagged stone, to get me to shut up. I had, eventually, when Sadie’s symptoms worsened.

She slipped into unconsciousness not too soon after I found her, passing in and out of being awake between fevers and delirium. Despite her lecture about vomiting out poison, she had done just that, several times in fact, before once again passing out.

Which led me with the simple task of lugging Sadie’s deadweight all the way to the edge of the forest.

Hooray.

With Sadie’s arm slung around my shoulders, I readjust my position, still facing the direction the Sight had pointed me to walk towards. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was going around in circles by now: everything, every piece of scenery looked the same.

My hand steadily gripped her waist, conscious of her dislocated shoulder that I wasn’t grabbing this time. I was not going to make that mistake again.

Neither of us knew how to fix her shoulder, so we didn’t try.

“Come on, just a little longer.” I say out loud just for the excuse of pretending like I’m talking to her to comfort the small voice in my head.

There wasn’t many opportunities for us to speak in the day and a half we spent together, half of which was Sadie experiencing poison symptoms and me awkwardly hovering so that I didn’t overstep her boundaries. Right before passing out, she mentioned how sleepy she was.

She made it adamant in the beginning that I shouldn’t help her, but I had no option but to carry her now.

I couldn’t just leave her there. Not again. Not when Paedyn and Kai had obviously done this to her. Not when I felt responsible for this.

My eyes widened. Just there, up ahead, trees slowly diminished into a clearing too far from me to really notice the details. And laughter.

Laughter, bubbling up and around, slinking between branches and right down my spine in the form of a shiver, and I freeze.

My heart rams against my chest like a gong, over and over. Sadie’s head lolls forward, and I tighten my grip. I won’t let go. I continue forward, pivoting a little to the right in the direction of the noise.

I spot the all-too recognisable wine-red of Andy’s hair, so stained with mud that it appeared more burgundy than usual. The moment she locks eyes with me, her mouth drops into a small ‘o’ shape, Jax beside her.

Then my eyes land on them.

And I’m filled with indescribable anger.

“You!” I fumed, my eyes pinned on one Kai Azer.

I stalk towards him, so quick that Sadie momentarily slipped out of my grasp. I break my attention for a second to grab her again, gently setting her down on the forest floor. I’m not too pleased with leaving her there, but it’ll only be for a moment.

“You.” I repeat, realigning my fury to where it should be. On him.

“Blair—" Andy starts. I cut her off.

Buzzing behind my eyes, under my nails, pumping the blood in my body. It compels me, and I oblige, throwing Kai into the sky and slamming him back down.

“You foul monster.” I spit, “Do you have any empathy for the people you hurt?”

Kai looks bewildered. “What—?”

I send him up and down. Again. Normally Kai would have taken control of my Tele powers and ceased this within seconds, but it seems that I’ve caught him by surprise.

Just what I need.

Before I can lunge at him with the dagger I nicked from Sadie earlier, Andy’s arms hook around my shoulders, pulling me back and breaking my concentration so Kai falls again.

“You tried killing her!” I yell, struggling against Andy, “You dined with her, you trained with her, she was your friend!”

Tears pricked the corner of my eyes and I can’t quite explain why I’m so upset. “And you poisoned her.”

“W.. who?” He asks.

My fury grows. “Sadie, you sadist!”

“We didn’t try to kill her.” Paedyn cuts in, stepping in front of a wheezing Kai. Her voice is firm, brows crunched together. “We found her in the forest, we thought she was dead. So we stole her band and left her alone. Kai left her in a field of wildflowers.”

I laugh. They must think I’m crazy.

“Let go of me, Andy.” I dig my nails into her wrists. Still she doesn’t let up.

“Not until you calm down.” She says.

I find myself jumping towards Kai, only barely held back, as he and Paedyn head off to the blaring crowds up ahead. Only until they’re out of sight does Andy let me go.

“You should’ve let me kill him.” I mutter, rubbing my thumbs into my temple to ease the throbbing headache forming. I crouch down to lift Sadie again, struggling with her unconscious deadweight. She feels too heavy now even though I had no problems earlier.  

“Gee that sounds so familiar.” Andy remarks, easing some of the weight by picking up the other side of Sadie. Jax Blinks back into view, though he is silent.

“Haha.” I say, pulling Sadie out of Andy’s grasp. No matter how much I’d appreciate the help, I can’t trust anyone else’s intentions but my own.

At least until this Trial ends.

Moving past Andy and Jax, I lumber onwards to the clearing, where the rest of the contestants come into view in a faint outline. The darkening sky does nothing to help this, and had it not been for the screaming Ilyans ahead, I would have thought we were in the wrong place.

On the opposite side of the clearing, Ace emerges. He looks worse for wear from when I last saw him: greasy stiff hair sticking in wild directions, wild eyes and a spear clutched angrily in his arm.

To the side, a few metres away, Kai and Paedyn stand.

Still agitated, I mutter, “Alliances ruin all the fun.”

Paedyn says something in response, but I’m not paying attention.

Because Braxton is charging right for me.

I hardly have enough time to drop Sadie carefully before Braxton crashes into me, his first crunching into my jaw. I twist through the air as I fall, landing on my waist which tears loudly; the stitches are broken, and blood soaks my side.

Exhaustion hinders my movements, blurring my senses as I tap into my power and throw Braxton against a tree, giving me enough time to weakly stand, clutching my side.

Somehow, the crowds screams of excitement grow louder, only further hammering in my headache. Around me, a bloodbath ensues. And the people are all but entertained by it, sat in their little box of safety.

A velvet box centres itself among the crowd, with three people inside. The royals. I frown.

Entertainment, huh?

Braxton staggers from the tree, covered in blistered burns that looked swollen. My breathing is ragged, ripped from my lungs and shoved back in, a constant motion.

Keeping Sadie in my line of sight, I flick my hand upwards to send Braxton into the air if only to avoid physical confrontation. My body aches, and I don’t think I’ll be able to go on for much longer like this.

A chill creeps down my neck. Whether it was my fever returning or my instinct screaming at me, I couldn’t care less right now.

After too long of Braxton spinning in the air, both from him constantly losing his balance in a frivolous attempt to escape, and my frail hold on my powers, I let him go.

He lands face first into the ground, breaking his fall from the short distance.

“We don’t have to fight like this, Blair.” He says, hobbling towards me.

Right. Kai stole his band.

Everything locks into place, all my bones, like they’ve been screwed on too tight, so I could only watch as he picked me up and flung me sideways much like I did to him. I land on my back, sputtering and coughing and pushing my hair out of my mouth.

Braxton closes the distance between us easily, until he suddenly doubles over. An invisible force strikes his stomach, then his jaw.

He spins around, his fists swinging at the empty air; no contact is made. That is until he grasps something and pulls.

Hera yelps.

He's got her hair grabbed. Then he pulls out a dagger.

I lurch upwards, tugging the dagger out of his grasp and onto the ground far from them both. Braxton is shocked temporarily, long enough for Hera to slip away.

Grasping a fist full of dirt, I chase after where I think she is, reaching out my muddy hand towards the air. It comes into contact with her arm, and I slide the mud down her skin, allowing some visibility.

Hera’s invisibility briefly collapses, her hands covered in mud as she tries wiping it off. Once she disappears again, I see it. The stain of mud floating in the air. Hera thrashes as my fist collides with her nose, holding her shoulder firmly.

She reappears again, but I already know where I can find her band. A thin string of leather holds both sides of the band together – someone had already tried, and failed, to steal her band.

I rip it from her arm, the friction causing a small burn against her skin.

Braxton struggles towards me, again, and Hera is about to retaliate before we all hear it.

A scream.

A horrific, guttural cry.

Jax crumples to the ground, a throwing star lodged into his chest.

Jax is silent; Kai is anything but. He has his brother cradled in his arms, picking him up easily and running into the crowd.

And the bloodshed surrounding me hadn’t stopped even for a moment.

I peer at the sun that was barely grazing against the horizon. At best we had another minute. Behind me, Braxton and Hera resumed fighting each other, this time no lethal weapon to end any lives.

So I do the next best thing.

I bolt towards Sadie.

The blood has travelled past my knee, coating part of my leg in an uncomfortable stickiness. Clearly the wound has opened up past repair. I land in a heap beside her.

A thin layer of sweat built up on her forehead, her lips slightly discoloured. She was stirring before. Now she doesn’t move.

I press two fingers against her wrist, searching for a pulse point. When I don’t feel it, anxiety starts to creep in.

“Okay.” I whisper, “That doesn’t have to mean anything. Sometimes it’s just hard to feel a pulse there.”

Light begins to seep in, spilling out onto the landscape like a tidal wave. Kai tenderly holds Jax, who has his eyes open. Alive.

The Trials are over, yet the bloodshed continues.

I lean forward, resting my ear against Sadie’s chest.

I hear nothing. No thumping. Nothing.  

All colour drains from my face.

“No!” I cry, “You can’t be dead!”

The clinking of weapons has ceased. I look up at several Imperials manhandling my opponents, dragging them away from each other.

I remain clinging to Sadie, tears threatening to spill until multiple sets of hands pull me back.

Away.

Away from her.

“Get her a Healer!” I scream, flinging my arms and legs wildly like a ragdoll which only made it easier for them to pull me away.

“She needs a Healer!” I insist.

Imperials retreat from the clearing, contestants in tow, leaving only Sadie on her lonesome in the middle.

They’re leaving her there.

If they’re going to leave Sadie, they might as well leave me here too.

Whipping around, I send all four Imperials flying back. I then turn around and book it back to Sadie despite every muscle tearing at the seams. Once the guards make it back to me, I’ve wound my arms around Sadie’s lifeless body.

When they try grabbing me, I speak firmly. “Get her a Healer.”

One of the guards, a straggly man, looks towards the King’s box, then back at me, sputtering, “But Miss Archer—”

“Get Sadie a Healer or I swear to the Plague I will personally rearrange your internal organs so that your intestines wrap around your oesophagus.” I say cooly, applying my ‘Blair voice’ that I think I’ve expertly memorised.

It takes a long time for one of them to nod. “Yes Miss.”

And before I can retort, one of the Imperials, a Brawny, picks me up and drags me from the scene.

I don’t have it in me to fight back/

*

They threw me into a cage.

Not a literal cage.

It certainly feels like one.

They stationed several guards around my carriage. Separate ones we were tossed into. They said I needed to calm down.

Calm down.

Calm down?

“I’m perfectly calm.” I say to the curtains, because curtains can talk now. They were drawn shut, of course. So I’m left in complete darkness.

I’ve been in here for a few hours. No. A few minutes.

I’m going insane.

Guards exchange whispers outside. Are they talking about me?

They must be.

The walls are closing in. Wrapping around me like a suffocating hug.

They grow taller, morphing into the shadows from the forest.

I need to escape it.

So I lay down on the floor of the carriage, curl myself into a ball, and close my eyes.

Notes:

I'm so happy the first Trial ended and don't get me wrong, these last few chapters were EVENTFUL. The only thing is the setting because it's so exhausting coming up with interesting adjectives to describe the same repetitive landscape :,). 'Oh no, the trees, something something, something about rocks,' and boom, a story.

I also think I'm gonna give Blair's backstory some depth and give her some layers beyond 'mean girl who is mean because she wants boys she can't have'. Lots of my fic is my own headcannon sorta, expanding on the world of Ilya beyond what's shown in the Powerless series. So I think it'll be fun to explore Blair some more in future chapters, and I hope you fun it fun too :)

Anyways, book recommendation for today is The Night Ends with Fire by K.X. Song. It's a high fantasy story inspired by Mulan with a more magical setting.

I love the main character Meilin and all the difficult choices she has to make considering her situation, and I love the author's blunt commentary on misogyny and how deeply ingrained it is in society (especially considering the book is inspired by Mulan).

Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you all have a great day/night (I really hope none of you are reading this at 3 in the morning) <333

Chapter 10: Cages

Notes:

Is it technically almost 3 AM right now? Yes. Am I exhausted? Maybe. Will I have a hell of a hard time getting up in the morning? Absolutely. But a writer's life is never peaceful, I've discovered. And with the power of Arctic Monkeys currently blasting through my headphones at a volume not appropriate for the middle of the night, I have a new chapter :)

Anyways, happy Fearless publication day!! (two days late, close enough). I caved and bought the kindle version, though I'm not very far through the book. I can't wait to finish it aaahh. I just knew I had to finish this chapter in spirit of Fearless coming out, so here ya go!

I am being suffocated in this dress. The stitches were designed perfectly to enclose my ribcage, tightening with every slight shuffle in this plush seat. They wind around my organs like a noose, threatening to asphyxiate.

My palms glisten with sweat that I have kept hidden by clasping both hands together, folding them neatly in my lap.

The Bowl Area feels too big, too open, compared to the all-consuming walls of the forest and carriage.

I was in there for hours.

Minutes.

They kept me locked up for days.

Minutes.

I was kept there for—

I was in there for sixty minutes.

Sixty long minutes.

Apparently the others only needed a few minutes to cool down. At most ten, for Kai who had almost thrown the Imperials across the clearing to try and get to Ace. Ace himself only needed six minutes to calm himself.

He had gotten three bands, Ace. His own, mine, and Jax’s. Somehow he fared better than most of the contestants, according to the Imperials who were stationed outside my carriage.

They really liked gossiping, apparently.

I’m drawn back to reality with drums mimicking the human heart, thundering over and over again.

How long has this been going on for?

Tealah’s dull voice has been droning on, providing commentary as images flash on the huge screen behind us, provided by the Sights.

My back aches from forcing it straight, and I’ve gathered that everyone else feels that way too. Drifting my gaze to the side, I restrain a tiny noise from releasing from my throat at the empty seat beside me.

Three days I have gone without seeing her.

Three days I spent in a lonely room in the infirmary, unconscious for most of when the Healers mended my battered body. The must have done a hell of a job, because the gaping wound on my waist reduced to a thin, pink line, similar to the rest of the wounds I sported, now healed.

The side effects of the healing still lingered like the pain that enunciated with every pounding of the drums. Migraines have been my company since the sun ascended on that day.

Everyone else has their back turned away from the audience and towards the screens. I do the same, my eyes catching on two figures fighting. Me and Sadie.

I watch as my past self drove my knee into Sadie’s ribs, the both of us exhausted and bloody. As I left, the Sight recording the encounter kept their focus on Sadie, who had collapsed. She curled in on herself, clutching her stomach. Shivering, I noticed.

She rose, unsteady, something shiny glinting in her hand. A dagger, which she held up as if to throw it.

It never left her hand. Sadie only stood there angrily, heaving.

The recording cut to Braxton brawling Andy and Jax, the former having transformed into a wolf with ease.

My fists tighten. This must have been after I left them.

Braxton sits two seats beside me, though there’s only an empty chair between us. Sadie is supposed to be sitting there. She should be sitting there.

Our eyes meet briefly, and I look away, staring impassively at the screen. His wounds looked much better than they did on the recording. Healers must’ve had a fun time treating him.

I want to zone out, my mind running through hundreds of situations. Thousands of outcomes. Instead I trip into a routine. Pretending to look relieved, happy, sad, whatever the audience dictates I should be feeling. They’re watching me, after all.

Then, when everyone presses their pointer fingers and thumbs together, Ilya’s diamond symbol, I do the same.

*

A punch knocks the wind from me faster than I can dodge, sending me flailing right into the dusty ground. When I inhale, dust sucks into my mouth and nostrils. I have to pound my chest to get the particles out, but the grainy sensation when I breathe in still remains.

Pressure forces me to lay face down against the ground. I have barely enough wiggle room to squeeze my hand out, tapping my fist harshly against the ground.

“You’re tapping out?” Adrienne says flatly. “Your opponent won’t let you tap out. They’d bash your head into the ground first.”

I slam my hand. Once. Twice.

She sighs, and rolls off of me. I take her offered hand to lift myself off of the ground, battering the dirt and dust from my sweaty clothes. She gives me a look.

“You’re distracted.” She notes.

“Maybe I’m just not ready to immediately be thrown back into training.” I say, digging my thumb into a knot on my neck, easing out the sore spot. I forgot to stretch, so I’ll be dealing with sore muscles the rest of the day. Lucky me.

“You’ve had three days of rest.” Grabbing my hand, she unwraps the bandages she had wound tight around my knuckles earlier to protect them while sparring. Once my hands have been freed, I flex them freely. They ache faintly.

“Three days of verging between consciousness and being out cold.” I mutter to myself, though I find myself staring at the palace. Again.

A long silence skips between us.

“I suppose we could give the training a rest for a few days longer.” Adrienne says, returning a spear that had been quite rudely knocked off the weapons rack. “Seeing as though you weren’t completely defenceless in the Whispers.”

“What a weird way to compliment me.” I muse, picking up a flask of water and greedily gulping down the few drops of sustenance that remained. The sun these days was temperamental, shifting between cruel, sweltering temperatures and chilly weather that froze any form of moisture.

The Imperial before me has her back facing me, sharply tugging out a silver sword that glints in the sunlight. Her finger deftly runs along the metal, testing the weapon with carefully timed swings; cutting into the surrounding air. At this early hour, very few Elites are training in the field, none of whom I recognise.

Adrienne is the only Imperial I’ve actually seen train recently. Just how lax had this faction of soldiers become?

She turns swiftly, the point of the sword gently grazing my collarbone as the sword moved in time with her still outstretched arm. I’ve learned to not react when Adrienne tests me like this.

Not a single emotion betrays her pursed lips. “We’ll train with weapons next time. Especially with the spear.”

I wince. “You saw the recordings of the Trial?”

It’s hard to imagine that she didn’t – not when the whole of Ilya had been eagerly watching like it’s reality TV.

“No.” She lowers her arm, sword falling with it, “I was on duty, but I heard others talking about some of the more.. exciting parts of the Trial.”

“Right.” I say softly.

I’ve forgotten myself. Forgotten the position I’m in. Every movement, every breath, every vulnerable moment and fight was documented by people I hadn’t even realised was there half the time.

My suffering, pain and anguish, recorded for their entertainment.

My hand automatically drifts to my waist. I still haven’t gotten used to the lack of blood coating my side, or the bumpy stitches that barely contained the leaking pus of an infection. I shiver as the pad of my forefinger brushes against the thin scar that wraps around half my midsection.

Adrienne’s lips part, like she’s about to say something.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” She says, slotting the sword back into its neat position, and leaving me in the middle of the ring.

I almost collapse.

Today has been a long day, and I haven’t even had breakfast yet.

*

My feet carry me along the familiar path about the palace, cutting through the gardens. This one has a pretty selection of blue, white and pink flowers that I wished I knew the name of, that has served as a sort of checkpoint to decode where I am in the palace.

I know that, if I take another left to the ceramic vase and past Azer family portraits that takes up an entire corridors worth of space, I’ll arrive at the courtyard.

After slipping into more comfortable clothing – how I have missed wardrobes during the Trials – I emerge from the entrance where thick stems weave around the curved pillars like a corset.

Maids mill about the courtyard, sticking close to the walls to allow for the peaceful illusion of an empty, clean space. Few Imperials are stationed here. Just what I need.

Sunlight brands my skin with warmth, blinding my vision temporarily as I walk to where a few Imperial guards and a man are arguing.

No, not just a man.

I roll my eyes.

“No contestants are supposed to leave the palace while the Trials are still taking place.” Mockery thinly disguised as politeness coats the Imperial’s tongue like rot, clamping down a rough hand onto Ace’s shoulder.

“I’ll only be gone an hour.” Ace says, “They told me I’d be able to leave in between Trials.”

A shared chuckle rumbles through the group. The supposed leader of the group, or the one burly enough to impose orders on shaking lambs more preoccupied with not getting snapped in two to question the legitimacy of this man’s status, responds.

“It’s a security measure.” His eyes seem kind, but his hand tightens around Ace’s shoulder. “We don’t need any more of those cult members slipping into the castle now do we?”

The Imperial leans in. “And we certainly don’t want anything going missing from the palace.”

I clear my throat. All four of them startle and turn to me. The Imperial snaps his hand away from Ace, wiping his hand on his trousers as if ridding himself of some kind of disease.

“Miss Archer.” He says, “What a pleasure it is to see you again.”

A pleasure. Right.

“Yes, yes.” I smile. “I’d like to leave the palace please.”

Ace smiles smugly, quickly painting his previously irritated expression, sculpting arrogance perfectly.

My eyes slide back to the Imperial, a tall man with shaggy brown hair and a scar running from his ear to the nape of his neck. I bristle, but don’t dare move, as he steps towards me.

“Are you sure? You would be all on your lonesome.” His fingers ghost along my shoulder. He has a silver band on his ring finger. “A lady as pretty as yourself shouldn’t be roaming the streets on her own. Where’s your Imperial?”

Cockroaches are crawling down my skin, burying themselves into my bones and leaving disease ridden patches of rash in its wake. My arms hang limply on my body, bursting with the energy to send him flying back with a surge of power.

Nothing happens.

“Adrienne?” I ask hoarsely, stepping forward and away. “She’s on duty.”

“Adrienne.” He scoffs, “Poor Miss has Adrienne.”

“I thought it was just a joke that she was taking care of Archer’s daughter.” One of them muses mockingly.

“She has to put up with her bratty attitude.”

“Adrienne or Miss Archer?”

“Does it matter? Aren’t all women the same anyway?”

“Why, what’s wrong with her?” I ask and the laughter settles.

Adrienne hadn’t told me anything about her position in the Imperial system. From what I had gathered, working in the palace was as prestigious a job as you could get. With it came a good salary, respect, and insurmountable power over other sector of Ilya.

The salary decreased the further from the palace you were stationed, going all the way to the slums, which was mainly for the junior Imperials that had just started the job, or seasoned men who were not skilled enough to move up the ranks. It was there, that built up frustration of being overlooked and ridiculed that lead to bloodstained whipping blocks, a way for the Imperials to let out their anger.

Or so I’ve pieced together from Adrienne’s cryptic one-liners. She has no reason to share anything with me, after all, so I’ve gotten used to not asking unnecessary questions.

Pearly white teeth shine at me. “It isn’t a matter for a young girl like yourself to concern yourself with.”

“Perhaps I could accompany you.” He offers, circling around me until he stands before me. “Protect you in case someone wants to scratch up that face of yours.”

“No, thank you.” I say quietly.

“What business does the General’s daughter have outside the palace anyway?”

“Something important. King Azer requested it himself.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily. “I suppose you could ask him yourself, but I hear he’s in a foul mood.”

My shoulders are stiff as the Imperial studies me. I toss my lilac hair behind my shoulders, flashing a smile. I force my eyes to widen like a child’s eyes would. Wide-eyed. Doe like. Completely innocent to this man. I unwind my muscles, loosening them to give the illusion that yes, I was given permission by the King to leave, and no you don’t need to ask him to confirm.

I pretend to not notice the way his eyes trace my body brazenly. Alternatively, I choose to focus on his wedding band he so proudly displays. I wonder what his wife is doing at home.

“Of course Miss Archer.” He nods. “Do you still want one of us to accompany—”

“No, thank you.” I smile, stealing a glance at Ace as I shuffle past him. His expression twists into a scowl.

“How is she allowed to leave?” Ace asks bitterly. “I just need an hour, an hour—"

“He’s with me.” I say suddenly, just as I was on the border of leaving the palace. “Ace. He’s with me.”

“Oh, but Miss Archer—”

“Is there a problem?” I turn lazily. A headache is blooming like a rotting camellia and I’m starting to think that staying back and getting a Bloom to do the work for me would have been less intensive.

The Healers in the Infirmary won’t allow anyone entry until the late afternoon, leaving me completely directionless. They won’t let me see Sadie, no matter how many times I threaten the Healers with threats I know I won’t follow through on.

After being discourteously shoved out of the room with only a small glimpse of a sleeping Sadie to placate me, I decided the best way to spend my time was to buy some flowers for her.

It is the least I could do for her.

The Imperial yanks me from this mosey down my thoughts as he takes my arm, pulling me towards him. He speaks in a low tone, though notably not quiet enough.

“We were given orders by the King to keep all contestants who live in the..” His tongue traces the word ‘Slums’ yet no word emerges. “..inside the palace.”

I conceal my sigh as an exhale. Poke a sleeping bear for long enough and its eyes will snap open and tell you what you want. Unsurprisingly, the Imperials are just as corrupt as I had imagined, and just as classist.

First I had to deal with my classmates who were assholes but not nearly as dangerous as an Imperial.

Well, any Imperial that wasn’t a bumbling fool.

Of course, I wasn’t naïve enough to imagine Ilya as an idyllic country: any country that celebrates genocide with yearly blood baths is far from idyllic.

“I need him to conduct special business.” I say sweetly, sharply tugging my arm from his grasp. “Again, if you’d like to consult the King you are more than welcome to do so, but I am a busy woman and I don’t appreciate being kept waiting.”

“Right, of course, Miss.” He nods, and turns to Ace. “You. Open your bag.”

Instantly, the other two Imperial lackeys loop their arms through Ace’s arms, holding him back. He forced his satchel open, holding no regard for his belongings as he rummaged through them. Ace tugs his arms about, fists tightly wound. I tip-toe closer, lifting my head a little to see what’s going on.

Ace had little to his name, clearly, similarly to Hera and Paedyn. A few notebooks, a leatherbound book, some trinkets and crumpled up paper.

“What’s this?” The Imperial asks, raising his hand. A gold necklace hangs from his pointer finger.

Ace’s hands loosen. “It belonged to my mother.”

The Imperial’s eyebrows bunch together, searching Ace like he is searching for a reason to find him guilty. When he finds no probable cause, he drops the necklace into the bag, slamming it close and pushing it back into Ace’s chest.

“You have an hour.” He says sharply, signalling to the two Imperials to let Ace go.

Then he turns to me. “Have a safe journey, Miss Archer.”

The Imperials part, leaving me and Ace uncomfortably walking side by side towards a group of carriages. My eyes are glued to the cobbled path, hoping I won’t trip over my own feet. Ace has a sneer on his face, but I detect distinct relief.

I walk over to a young man who I assume would take us to our destination. I take out a pouch of coins, handing it to him.

I drift back to Ace. “Well? Get in.”

“I’m not getting into a carriage with you.” He says, wrinkling his nose and backing away from me.

I bite the inside of my cheek to preoccupy myself with something other than shooting back a retort.

The man feeding the horses an apple has stopped, now slightly angled towards me and Ace. The Imperials at the gate have their heads tipped to us curiously.

I huff heavily, bunching Ace’s shirt into my fist and dragging him to eye level.

“They believe we are travelling together.” I hiss. “Unless you want to be tossed back into your room on your ass, you will get in right this instant Ace Elway.”

Any surprise is blinked away, quickly replaced by assholery I’ve come to associate with Ace.

“Of course.” He smirks, “Thank you for your generosity.”

His larger hand closes around my wrist, forcing me to let go of him. With an outstretched hand towards the carriage, Ace brandishes a sardonic smile. Courteous.

“Hm. Chivalrous.” I bat his hand away, clambering into the plush carriage. Ace follows suit soon after.

*

I almost lurch forwards at the wheels run over a bump in the road. I frown as Ace snickers.

Settling back into my seat, I clutch my bag close to my chest. Ace’s attention has returned to the window, far more interested in the passing scenery. His elbow perches on the wall, fingers splayed through the inky black locks of his hair.

Another bump in the road and I’m thrown upwards like someone used their Tele powers on me.

“What is with this rickety path?” I mutter sharply, pushing my hair out of my eyes. My palms meet the floor of the carriage and suddenly I’m back there, struggling to breathe, the ribcage of the carriage entrapping me like a Venus fly trap.

“The paths get worse the further from the palace we travel.” Ace responds dryly, and I snap out of it, collecting myself from the floor of the carriage.

He still does not offer me the courtesy of looking my way.

I smoothen out the frizz in my hair, combing my fingers through the now smoothened hair I’ve grown so used to over the weeks.

“How do you know?” I ask.

Ace’s eyes wander to me. “Because we had to take this same journey from the slums to the palace. Me, Paedyn, and that quiet girl.”

“Hera. Her name is Hera.” I snap. “Maybe you should give a little respect for the people you tried to kill during the Trial.”

“What, like you?” He sneers.

My lips twist into a scowl, and I lean forward, resting my arms on my knees. “Like Jax.”

“Ah, ah.” He holds up a finger, “I didn’t try to kill Jax.”

Asshole. “Yes you did—”

“Kai did.” He says, finally ending his staring contest with the window to settle on me. The weight of his gaze is too much for me. I stare at the ceiling above his head instead to at least look like I’m making eye contact.

“You’re the one who twisted the situation.” I push my satchel to the side. “You cloaked Jax and yourself in an illusion, you knew Kai would try to kill you.”

“Maybe you should be considering why the first instinct for your dear Enforcer was to deliver a killing blow instead of aiming to injure.” Ace replies smoothly yet the way he enunciates his words feels mocking.

Patronising.

“That’s not the same.” I fold my arms.

“Isn’t it?” Ace says. “So it’s different when Prince Kai does it, hm?”

The carriage rattles, the faint clip-clopping of horses cantering outside reverberating through the cramped space.

“Everyone was trying to kill someone in that forest.” Ace says quietly, feigning interest in the passing scenery again. He brushes aside the curtains. “If I remember correctly, you were keen on driving a blade through Kai’s neck before.”

“Either way, the audience got their entertainment, even if they didn’t get to watch us die.” His lips quirk into a sneer. “Don’t worry Blair, I’ll give them that entertainment soon enough.”

“Careful with your promises, Ace, you’re notorious for not following through on them.” I lean back in my seat. “Didn’t you tell me during the ball that you’d come after me first? Kill me?”

I remember the smoke, the fire that curled around my wrists. Impossibly real. The illusions had me bound to my chair during the banquet, dangerously close to burning my skin.

I rub the inside of my wrist, pressing down on the point to feel my pulse. It’s quickening.

“I guess your people are cowards after all.” I admit.

“Your people?” He laughs, flicking his hand in my direction. I frown, until I look down at the roots and vines climbing up my legs.

“Defensives.” I correct myself quickly but the stem is already wrapping around my throat. “You’re all about protecting yourselves, aren’t you?”

I can’t imagine why they’d have any other name than Defensive.

“And Offensives only serve to hurt others.” His hand is still raised. “Please, If I wanted to kill you, I would.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Razor blade thorns stick into my jugular. “Back then, on the first day of the Trial. You had me beaten down, bloody and bruised. You already humiliated me enough, stabbed me twice. You could’ve finished me off like you promised but you didn’t.”

My chest rises and falls but it only seems to restrict me more. A cage, a cage I thought I had escaped by getting out of the forest, then by escaping the palace. But I’ve stumbled into a new cage, with a man who could easily kill me now.

I stare at him, unblinking. “Why?”

Ace rips the curtains closed, and darkness coats the room. “I like playing with my food first before I eat it.”

My body moves on its own, careening forward just as the carriage ran over a large rock. The illusion dissolves. I glare at him. “I am not food.”

“On the contrary.” He says. “We are all the food. Ilya are the consumers, and the Trials is the twisted platter we are served on. If you thought the Whispers was bad, then you have no idea what’s awaiting you.”

Goosebumps prickle my skin like needles sewing poison thread into my tissues, weaving around my arteries and cutting off circulation.

“Your arrogance will get you killed.” I say. “You’ve got a target on your back and soon you’ll realise that when the time comes, no one will save you.”

“My arrogance? What about yours?”

“I am not an arrogant person.”

“Sure, the prissy Primadonna bitch of the palace. You flaunt your wealth and your fathers high ranking position to get what you want. I’ve done my research on you.”

Right. That’s who I am. Blair Archer.

“I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be, because the moment I win those twenty thousand shillings, I’ll never have to see you or the princes or anyone in the palace for the rest of my life.” His lips curve up. “If you’re still alive by then, that is.”

A chill settles into my organs. With every word exchanged I heighten my chances of having Ace be the last thing I see before death escorts me with open arms. My scars burn, a reminder of what he did forever engraved into my body.

I need to leave.

“What makes you so sure you’ll be alive too?” I say, like I don’t know that Kai will kill him in the second Trial atop Mount Plummet. Just like how I – Blair – am supposed to kill Braxon.

“I don’t know.” He says after a long pause.

*

“Where are we?” I slap my hand over my mouth, forcing back the bile into my throat as I stand beside the carriage. Ace steps out, scrunching his nose at me.

“Loot.” Ace sucks in a breath, standing tall. His nose high in the air. “What, you’ve never smelled fish before?”

“This isn’t just fish.” I gag. “It’s vile.”

Mud slicks the cobblestones that if you squinted, somewhat resembled a path. Stalls propped up by rotting sticks hold empty eyes and veiny hands that haggle with little children for a bag of silvers and a dream, a promise that one day life will get easier.

Lampposts with flaking paint like dry skin line each side of the street. Half of them are flickering and the others have died out, long ago. Mould has already begun sprouting at the base.

The streets are packed with people like sardines in a tin, smudged with dirt and grime and bodily fluids. The thin clothing that cling to their frames are likely all they own. Most of them look malnourished, hollowed out cheeks.

Paedyn seems lucky in comparison, with thieving skills to help her and Adena get by. Even if sticky buns aren’t technically the healthiest thing to eat all day for five years.

“Don’t let the residents hear that.” Ace slicks his hair back, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He goes off into the alley, and I’m inclined to follow.

“I thought you lived in the nicer parts of the slums.” I question him, having to speed walk to keep up with Ace’s long legs. “Why are we here in Loot?”

His eyes are elsewhere, “There’s someone I need to meet here.”

We loop around a wagon carrying bundles of fabric stacked so high that rolls of it are close to toppling off, past children tucked away in dark corners with wide, haunted eyes. My eyes snag on a little boy tugging on the hem of my shirt, only reaching my waist.

He looks like he should be taller, but malnutrition bites back like a bitch in these streets, it seems.

“Food.” He croaks, with no intention of letting go of my shirt.

“I—I’m sorry.” I whisper. “I don’t have anything.”

I try walking away but he’s like a stone pillar.

“Food.” He says, louder now.

“What are you doing?” Ace’s voice startles us both, and the little boy lets go of my shirt and scampers away, but not before clumsily ramming into me and my satchel.

I trip over my words. “I was just—”

Ace steps towards me, grabbing my arm. He pulls us both aside, out of the way of people passing by. Pulling a cloak off of one of the stalls of a distracted salesperson, he drapes it around my shoulders, tugging the hood down across my face. It smells like nail polish.

Of course. My hair is too much of an indicator against the monochrome of Loot. Anyone would recognise me instantly

“Stay close.” He says sharply, “Follow me. Don’t make eye contact with anyone.  This place is teeming with pickpockets.”

“Right.” I say, and this time I trail close behind him, not allowing any of my limbs to get caught by another kid.

The dull colours roll into each other, melting like Play-Doh until each shade looks like a slightly off variant of brown. With the hood obscuring my vision as I look up, I instead use Ace’s heels as the indicator for where I go, turning all sorts of lefts, rights, and seemingly going about in circles.

Suddenly I run into Ace’s back. He stopped.

I lift my hood. We’re at a shop, not like the stalls behind us. A quaint bell rings as we cross the threshold of the doorframe. It’s a relatively cramped room, antiquities line the walls: interesting trinkets, spyglasses, fancy glass statues and brass pins.

My hood slides off as I stare upwards at the ceiling where little pieces of bronze and silver shaped into the stars hang from string. Pretty.

Floorboards creak around us and a voice calls out, “I thought I told you to never come back here again.”

Ace leans against the counter, an unfamiliar yet relaxed smile plastered on. Genuine. “Come on, I knew you’d miss my company soon enough.”

“In your dreams, Elway.” From the back of the room, a door swings open and out emerges a woman with short fluffy hair the colour of a dull autumn and gunmetal blue eyes flecked with silver.

She hangs up her burgundy flat cap on a wooden peg, rolling up the sleeves of her long white shirt to her elbows. A dark brown waistcoat cinches her waist and a pair of silver framed glasses hang from her breast pocket.

Planting her elbows on the countertop, she drags a chair towards her with her legs and sits down.

“Always a pleasure, Harley.” Ace picks up a magnifying glass, observing it from above. “Where’s your other half? Dinah, right?”

“She went out to get some food.” Harley leans over to snatch it out of his hand. “I thought you left for the Purging Trials two weeks ago.”

“I did.” Ace nods, “We get a two week break between the Trials so I thought I’d come here.”

“You lived.” She scoffs. “Like a cockroach.”

She cocks her head in my direction, “And who’s Miss purple head here?”

She passes me an easy smile that makes it difficult for me to not smile back. Her shoulder length hair puffs outwards, a slight wave to those warm locks that she tucks behind one ear. She’s got a piercing, two of them: one on the lobe and the other on the helix. Both silver, and both on just the one ear.

These people really do like their silver.

Just as I’m about to open my mouth, Ace interjects, stepping in front of me, “You already know who she is, don’t pretend.”

“You caught me.” Harley raises both her hands, then offers me a hand. “I’m Harley.”

“Blair.” I shake her hand. Her grip is strong. “What’s with the trinkets?”

“Oh these?” She sweeps her hand across the counter, drawing attention to the nuts, bolts, screwdrivers and other equipment I can’t name scattered across it.

She smiles. “They belong to Dinah. She’s a mechanical genius, and sometimes she likes to tamper with some of the stuff we buy.”

Ace sighs, “We know, we know, you love your girlfriend.”

“Damn right I do.” Harley says, “Anyways, what are you here for? Because I know it isn’t for my sweet company.”

“You know how it goes.” Ace says, dropping his satchel beside the screwdrivers. He rummages for a bit, taking out a small leather pouch.

“Here.” He hands over a gold necklace. The same gold necklace he told the Imperials belonged to his mother.

Now that I’m up close, I see every detail of the diamond shaped jewellery. The tiny gold look that holds the chain to the diamond hollowed out. Lustrous opaque white stones line the outline of the diamond shape.

“Pretty.” Harley comments, putting on her glasses and taking the magnifying glass and taking a closer look. “Good quality chain, not that flimsy shit you find in the market. It’s small, so you won’t get as high a price as you want.”

“That’s alright.” Ace shrugs, casting me a look as Harley turns her back.

I wrinkle my brows. What is he doing?

He curls his mouth into a sneer, almost as if he were telling me off silently.

“Alright, here you go.” Harley tosses a small drawstring bag to Ace who deftly catches it. He pries the bag open with two fingers.

“Always good seeing you.” He throws the pouch upwards with his hand, catching it with the other and dropping it into his bag. “Give my regards to Dinah.”

“Hm. ‘Course.” Harley says, plucking her glasses from her face and back into her pocket. “See you around, Blair.”

A phrase used as a polite way to part even though the likelihood we’d see each other again was slim to none. Given how difficult it was to leave the palace in the first place, I’d imagine it’d get much harder with the King’s increasing paranoia about the Resistance.

No matter how easily he hides it behind that crown.

“See you.” I mutter. Harley leans over the counter, fixing my cloak and allowing the hood to fall over my eyes again.

“You might want to keep that hood on.” She says.

“Noted.” I nod, and me and Ace are out the door, enveloped by the unwelcoming embrace and noise of Loot Alley.

*

“Shit.” I hiss, desperately searching through my bag.

“Anything the matter?” The old lady selling flowers smiles at me and to placate her I smile back, turning around to resume my panicking.

“Shit.” I mutter finally. It’s not here. Damn it.

“What’s wrong?” Ace asks, standing stiffly beside me like he could’ve been doing anything better with his time than in the perfectly organised streets of a marketplace close to the palace, the place I had been intending to go to initially to buy the flowers for Sadie.

“I had money.. in here.” I comb through the contents again. “I swear. I know I did.”

I stare at Ace as if I’ll find the answer somehow.

“The kid.” He says simply.

“The kid.” I groan. “How could I be so stupid?”

I huff, throwing the cover of my satchel back over the bag in frustration. It’s in the name, Loot Alley, of course someone would try to rob me. And of course, like a little fly in a Venus trap, I fell for it.

I run my hand through my hair, getting pissed and that bloody headache is blooming like withering roses—

“Here you go.” Ace says. Coins clink against hands, and I hear the old lady say, ‘Thank you young man’, handing over the flowers.
 
I turn around, and he shoves the flowers into my chest, pivoting on his heel to speedily head back to the carriage.

I catch up to him. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“It’s fine.” He continues walking. “Though I don’t know why you’d want to buy flowers when you could’ve gotten a Bloom to make them for you.”

“Feels like cheating. I don’t know.” I shrug, opening the carriage doors and climbing in.

Maybe it would be quicker, less energy consuming, to order a Bloom to craft a bouquet. But something about it felt inauthentic. A part of me felt like Sadie would appreciate it more if I went and bought it myself, no matter how harrowing the journey was.

The carriage ride back was wordless.

*

Somehow my feet knew the path despite the two weeks since I’ve been here. My fingers dig into my legs and the stems of the flowers; I loosen my chokehold on them so that I don’t constrict them to death.

I chose sunflowers. They remind me of her.

The infirmary doors were large and imposing, giving off the opposite effect of putting patients at ease. I never liked doctors. I hated the tiny cramped offices and the men that would smile behind facemasks and the caging windows that kept me and my feelings from escaping.

At least the Infirmary was different.

My hand curls around the doorknob.

“Blair.” I jump a little, angling my head to the left. Adrienne. “You need to come with me now. Someone needs to see you.”

“Can it wait ten minutes? I need to do something.” I wave the flowers around slightly.

“I don’t think it can wait.” Adrienne says. “It’s your father.”

My father?

No. Blair’s father. The General.

Shit.

Notes:

Hope you guys enjoyed that! Book recommendation of the day (or night, hah) has to be Most Ardently by Gabe Cole Novoa. I've tried to stick with fantasy books for my recommendations but Most Ardently is just too good to not recommend. It's a part of the remixed classics series that takes classic books (in this case, Pride and Prejudice) and reinvents the story from a different cultural lens.

I just have to say I ADORE Most Ardently, I found myself really relating to Oliver's struggles and his navigation through a society that wouldn't have accepted him at the time for being queer and trans. The cover is also stunning by the way, and I always love looking at it.

Ok that's enough geeking out about books. Until next time :)