Blood seeps through my shirt. Some of it mine, though most of it belongs to the Silencer—which is what I still have to call him since the bastard refuses to even give up something as insignificant as his name. Even despite how persuasive my actions can be.
In short, I’ve been torturing the man for hours. I’ve made zero progress, and my small amount of patience is now nonexistent. I’m annoyingly amazed at how much torture this man can tolerate, although, I suppose that pain becomes a familiar thing when you are continually inflicting it upon others. You become numb to it.
The Silencer and I are starting to sound very, very similar.
The dungeons below the castle are dark, dirty, and riddled with death—so at odds with the light, lush castle above. Cells line the walls, some filled with prisoners, others filled with the remains of previous ones.
The Mute lining each of these cells is the only reason I’m still standing before the prisoner, inflicting my own kind of unimaginable pain upon him. Since the material was created with the help of Silencers before the Purging, it’s become extremely rare, forcing the king to hoard it. The Scholars used Transfers with their ability to place power into objects, putting the Silencers smothering strength within materials. Over the decades, this limited supply of Mute has been used to craft cells, cuffs, and shields around the stands within the Bowl Arena.
Other than the Mute cell, I’m also accompanied by my father’s loyal Silencer. Because, ironic as it is, Silencers can silence each other, assuming one of them is stronger. So, I work while the solemn Silencer stands by, and the one at my feet screams.
Without the protection that the Mute and Silencer offer, I’d likely be rolling on the floor in agony. Again. I can’t stop replaying the scene in my mind, remembering the pain splitting my skull. The utter helplessness as I lay there, completely at the mercy of a mere man.
But then she showed up.
Paedyn.
A Mundane. A Psychic, a fighter, a thief. And yet, the only one willing to help for whatever reason. The only one able to help.
Or so she says.
Although I’m skeptical, her demonstration was impressive. She shouldn’t have known about the Scorches, the banishment, the fight—any of it. And seeing that I don’t know a single thing about Psychics, nor have I ever encountered one, I can’t exactly prove her wrong. There are dozens of powers I have yet to witness, considering that my training consisted of mostly Offensive abilities. Father made sure I never wasted my time, stooped so low as to learn the powers of lesser Elites.
But even in my haze of pain, the glimpses I caught of her fighting were captivating. She was captivating. Yes, she was skilled, but what intrigued me most was how much emotion she channeled into each blow. The passion packed in each punch; the rage rolling off her.
I take one last look at the bloodied, slumped man in the corner of his cell before turning to my father’s Silencer. “I’m done here, Damion. You’re free to go.”
Wiping my bloody hands on my already bloody shirt, I step out of the cell to stride down the long hallway of the dungeon, passing glaring prisoners as I go. I make my way up the stone stairs leading to the main floor of the palace and nod to the Imperials stationed beside the heavy metal door at the top.
The king will be expecting an update of what I’ve learned from the interrogation, which happens to be absolutely nothing. I steel myself for the unpleasant conversation we are about to have.
Far too soon, my feet find the worn rug that covers the floor of his study, a victim of being paced and trampled on for years. My eyes roam over the large desk and cushioned chairs before settling on the two individuals sitting near the stone fireplace.
Relief washes over me at the sight of my brother. His blond hair is messy, like he’s been running his hand through it for hours, mirroring father’s ragged look.
“Well, someone’s been…playing with the prisoner for quite some time now.” Kitt’s tone is dark, but his eyes brighten when they land on me.
I sigh before settling into my usual cushioned seat beside Father. Crossing an ankle over my knee, I casually confess, “And after all this time, you’d think that I would have learned something useful.”
The thud of Father’s papers hitting the table is a sound I’ve come to associate with disappointment. “What seems to be the problem?”
“He’s being…” I pause, searching for the right word. “Difficult.” It’s the best I can come up with, earning a snort from Kitt.
Father looks less amused. In fact, he doesn’t look amused at all, and he never really has when it comes to me. “Then make him less difficult, Kai.” He pinches his fingers to the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, the action making him look older, wearier. “Either make him talk or kill him. I have no desire to keep the Silencer alive if he has nothing to offer us.”
I glance at Kitt, his face grave, void of its usual amusement as he watches Father. When the king is distraught, Kitt is devastated.
“It’s that damn Resistance,” Father growls, his hand dropping from his face to reveal a grimace.
“Do you really believe this Silencer is in line with the Resistance?” Kitt asks, concern written in the creases around his eyes.
“Why else would he try to take a prince? My son?” The king shakes his head, staring blankly at the flickering flames in the fireplace. “They’re trying to attack me in any way they can. I thought I took care of them. Purged the Fatals so they couldn’t harm us, overpower us.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Apparently, I thought wrong. Some remain, and they’ve joined them.
“We need to put an end to this little Resistance,” Father spits before downing the rest of the alcohol in his glass. “They may want Ordinaries to live, but in doing so, the Elite race and power will eventually die. Ridding my kingdom of Ordinaries is a sacrifice that must be made for the good of the people. But they are too damn selfish to see that. Kai,” his gaze is piercing when it lands on mine, “make this Silencer wish he were dead before bestowing that mercy upon him.”
“Oh, I was already planning on it, Father.”
I’m drenched in sweat.
Not an uncommon occurrence when training.
My bloody shirt is long gone, and the sun beats down on my back as Kitt and I circle each other in one of the dirt training rings. We go through our normal routine of sizing one other up and spewing nonsense before actually making a move to fight. The familiar pattern calms me, eases my restless mind for the time being.
We dance around the ring, swords flashing, laughing as I nick him on the cheek with the sharp tip of my blade, an action he returns in kind. The swords are soon discarded, replaced by our powers. Kitt easily hits targets with fireballs before dousing the burning wood with water. I, on the other hand, find myself indecisive and antsy: a terrible combination.
I filter through the abilities of those surrounding me, attempting to choose one to train with. The rings are full of dozens of Elites, all filthy from fights and slumped from sparring. I jump from a Flash’s power to a Veil’s before switching to a Shell, though I’ve never especially liked the feeling of my skin turning to stone.
I can’t seem to focus and that only frustrates me more.
I hear the whoosh from behind before feeling the familiar wave of heat that radiates towards my back. I drop to the ground, barely avoiding a stream of fire that would have singed off my hair.
“What has you so distracted?” I turn to see Kitt grinning crookedly at me. “Hey, I almost got you there. Wouldn’t be so pretty with that mop of hair singed off your head, now, would you?”
I can’t decide if I want to laugh with him or ring his neck—a common predicament I find myself in.
“I guess beating you in the ring today was too easy. Now I’m bored.” I shrug and grab some throwing knives from a weapons rack before beginning to pelt them at a tree a few yards away.
“Hmm,” Kitt hums. Even with my back to him, I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Can’t stop thinking about the girl who saved your life, huh?”
By way of politely answering, I spin and throw a knife at my brother. It just barely skims past the side of his head, sinking into a target far behind him with a thud. He blinks at me. “Touchy subject, I take it?”
I push past him and rip the blade from the wood. “Now, what would give you that impression?” I shrug casually. “She clearly wants nothing to do with me.”
I like a challenge.
“And besides,” I add, clearing the thought from my head, “It’s not like I’m ever going to see her again.”
Kitt’s response is quickly drowned out by the sound of our names being yelled across the yard. We turn in unison, watching as a lanky boy bounds toward us. I see the flash of a white smile against dark skin before he disappears, simply winking out of existence. Before I even have time to blink, he’s standing right before us with a goofy grin splitting his face.
I curse under my breath. “If you pop up like that again, I’ll make good on that threat to stake you to the ground.”
“What our brother means to say,” Kitt cuts me an amused look, “is ‘hi, Jax, how are you?’”
The boy before me is only fifteen and growing like a weed. He’s gangly, clearly still trying to figure out how to work his long limbs. I don’t know when he suddenly started growing up, and quite frankly, I don’t like it. The small boy who lost his parents in a shipwreck is now the tall young man we’ve adopted as the little brother we never asked for. But after all these years, Jax hasn’t just grown in height—he’s grown on us.
“I’m good, Kitt. How nice of you to ask!” That crooked grin only grows when he looks at me, brown eyes blinking innocently. I hook an arm around his neck and pull him against my chest to scrub a fist over his short hair.
He sputters, trying to shove away from me while I ask, “Aren’t you going to ask how I’m doing, J?”
When I finally release him, he turns to face me, rubbing his head with a grin. “My bad. How are you doing today, Kai?” He says this all with mock sincerity, and I can’t help but smile.
Kitt cuts me off before I can tease him further. “He’s in a mood,” he sighs before dropping his voice to murmur, “Careful, Jax, he’s been playing with the knives again.”
I brush past them to pick up said throwing knives, needing to do something with my hands. “I am not,” I spin and throw a blade into a target, “in a mood.”
Jax leans into Kitt’s shoulder, whispering, “That’s what he always says when he’s in a mood.”
“Excellent point, J.” .
“Plagues,” I mutter, “the two of you together is unbearable.”
They continue talking while I continue to pelt the target with knives. Better than throwing them at a person, so clearly, I’m not in a terrible mood. I’m about to let another blade fly when a flash of color catches my eye.
I hadn’t even noticed Blair was training on the other end of the courtyard, but there she is, lilac hair blowing in the wind while she spars with Sadie. Well, a dozen Sadies, seeing that she’s a Cloner.
They circle each other before Blair is suddenly surrounded by a barricade of bodies, all tall and chestnut-haired. It’s chaos. Blair tosses a copy of Sadie through the air with her mind only for another one to jump on her back, trying to bring her to the ground. It’s almost comical to watch, except that I know firsthand how deadly their powers can be, know what it’s like to possess them.
I look over to Jax and Kitt, their eyes pinned on the fight as I move to stand in line with them. Before long, Blair is strutting between the rings with Sadie following behind. Blair’s pale skin is in complete contrast to Sadie’s dark complexion, opposites of each other in every way.
Despite the two of them having grown up together, they couldn’t be more different. Since Sadie’s father is an adviser to the king, her family lives with the other nobility that are deemed important enough to reside in that designated wing of the castle.
They stop in front of us, Blair tipping her head as she says, “Boys.”
Kitt slings an arm around Jax’s shoulders before nodding at each of the girls. “Blair. Sadie.”
Sadie offers us a small smile, genuine but reserved in the way she’s always been. “I wanted to congratulate you two on making it into the Trials.”
Right. They announced the contestants today.
It’s no surprise that I’m in the Trials. The kingdom and I have been aware of my fate since I was a young boy. The future Enforcer must prove himself, and the Trials force me to do just that. My next mission is the win the competition, and if I don’t—
I freeze, Sadie’s words finally sinking in.
“I wanted to congratulate you two…”
I throw a confused glance at Kitt, certain this must be some sort of mistake. The Trials have always been my fate, not his. The future king rarely stepped outside the castle walls, let alone into a bloody arena where Death could claim him. Father would never risk the life of his heir like that, but he certainly has no problem risking me and my reputation.
“Yes, at least two of the brothers will get to be together,” Blair says with a smirk, her eyes flicking from me to—
No. Not him.
“W-what?”
His voice is filled with awe, his brown eyes wide with wonder.
Jax.
He looks between Kitt and I, a smile spreading across his face. “I did it! I’m in the Trials!” He’s practically jumping off the ground in excitement, resisting the urge to Blink around the rings out of excitement. I meet Kitt’s gaze, and his knowing frown matches my own.
This is going to make the Trials far more difficult. Now, I’ll not only be protecting myself, but also a little brother who nearly faints at the sight of blood.
But we say nothing to discourage Jax, pasting on smiles to replace the frowns pulling at our faces. Competing in the Trials is a high honor that only few are granted, and Jax deserves to celebrate despite our sudden stress over the situation.
“Well, it looks like we are all rivals now,” Blair says with a smirk, letting her words sink in. Not a very sly way to inform us that both herself and Sadie will also be competing.
We all stare at each other, Sadie silent and Blair smirking. Kitt clears his throat, cutting into the conversation. “Do you know who else is competing?”
Sadie nods, pulling a crinkled flier from one of her pockets. Kitt skims the names quickly before sighing. “Yep. There are only three names I don’t recognize. Must be Defensive or Mundanes from the city.”
He hands me the flier, and I quickly scan the list.
My eyes snag on a particular arrangement of letters before my breath snags in my throat.
There, at the bottom of the list, lies a name I’ve thought of far more than I care to admit.
It’s her.
