Field training: Day 25, hour 23
Once again, Lyla healed us.
Yet again, Lothaire screamed about how pathetic we were as we rewatched the battle. This time, he drove his fist into the chalkboard during the projection like he was imagining it was our skulls.
Spicy.
To be fair, I really wasn’t in a position to judge anyone else for their mental health.
I’d stopped hiding my pipe and was openly puffing on it as our “teacher” (very generous use of the term) lost his mind.
“How the fuck are you supposed to be assassins if you can’t handle fucking civilians? You were unorganized and embarrassing!”
Excellent points.
Lothaire gargled and spat across the room, then he resumed punching his fist into the wall.
Personally, I was loving this little feedback session and was really growing as an assassin.
I jotted down notes into my notebook.
“I KNOW DOGS WHO CAN FIGHT BETTER THAN YOU!”
I nodded in agreement and scribbled, Adopt, don’t shop.
“My blind grandmother who has weeks to live could have reacted faster than you sorry fucks!”
Well, she sounded fabulous. I wrote, Meet Lothaire’s grandmother before she dies. Seems urgent.
“What do you have to say for yourselves?”
Silence.
Lothaire seethed with unconstrained rage, and it became clear he was waiting for someone to answer.
I raised my hand.
“Aran!” Instead of pointing at me to speak, he picked up a chair and chucked it at my head. “Please answer!”
I barely ducked the flying projectile, suddenly feeling like this was a trap. I pursed my lips. “Um. I have nothing to say…because we suck?”
That seemed like a good nonanswer.
Lothaire paused and tapped his finger to his mouth like he was considering it.
He chucked his desk as he shrieked like a maniac.
John yanked me out of the way and saved me from being crucified by a wooden leg.
Damn it, my notebook was ruined. I was going to study my notes later. Not.
“Do you know what you’re all going to do now?” Lothaire asked with creepy calmness.
This time, no one was dumb enough to answer.
“You’re going to hoist boulders until you aren’t pathetic. Now move. Fucking move!”
The eight of us shoved against one another as we scrambled to obey (escape) our psychotic teacher.
Then we lifted boulders.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
Picking a rock up, then putting it down was definitely making me less pathetic.
Lothaire lifted a boulder above his head and chucked it at Scorpius. It took him out.
John and I laughed.
Lothaire whirled around and threw two at us.
We stopped laughing.
After six hours of lifting, all of us had broken bones. Also, all my knuckles were split wide open, and my arms burned like they were going to fall off.
More physical pain. Titillating.
When Lothaire finally said, “You’re done for the night. I don’t want to see you until lunch tomorrow,” no one moved because we were too afraid it was another test.
“OUT OF MY SIGHT OR I WILL KILL YOU ALL!” Sparks of power lit the air around him.
Needless to say, we sprinted to the fortress.
Back in the safety of our room, I crawled into one of the closed-off shower stalls and turned it to the hottest setting.
It scalded.
I scrubbed off every ounce of red-and-green gore.
Then I scrubbed at the invisible filth: the echoes of yells, the smoke, and the dying gasps of the people and creatures I’d killed.
I scrubbed until my skin was raw.
Then I scrubbed harder. The brush was stained pink with blood.
I didn’t stop.
Then, collapsing onto the cool marble, I spent hours hyperventilating.
Like a zombie, I eventually crawled out of the shower and pulled on clean clothes. I wasn’t grateful for the privacy of the marble stall, because I no longer cared.
It all seemed so trivial.
Poor me, a pathetic princess in disguise hiding from her throne. Boo-hoo.
I hated that I’d ever thought it mattered.
Who gave a fuck that I was a girl?
Death clung to me.
It wasn’t rational, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that death was a man and he now stalked my life.
Like my soul had been marked.
For suffering.
Not at all concerning. Nope. I was definitely not depressed.
Like the composed princess I’d been bred to be, I punched myself in the temple as I tried to dislodge the dark thoughts.
I paused and listened. I was still thinking about how death was haunting me.
How do you know? What even is a thought?
Cue the philosophical breakdown.
I punched my temple one more time to try and kill off the intrusive thoughts.
In our next session, Dr. Palmer would 100 percent be reporting me to the authorities. The thought of the infuriating woman filled me with rage.
“I’ll never let you take me,” I snarled at the towel hanging on the wall and pretended it was Dr. Palmer.
I showed her who was boss.
The doctor (towel) cowered before me. Instantly I felt better.
After my delightful bath activities—very refreshing—I dragged my aching limbs into my overly plush bed. The emerald cover was a delicious, smooth velvet.
The fireplace roared against the far wall, and the sturdy fortress kept the miserable wind at bay.
I closed my eyes.
Clear as day, the carnage unfolded. I watched every person’s face as I tore them apart with my daggers.
Fighting with knives was an intimate affair.
First, the villager’s hot breath choked and gurgled as they shuddered, limp. But then pincers grabbed wildly.
The soft comforter transformed into a lead weight, and it crushed me deeper into the too-soft bed. The bed was consuming me.
I missed my broken cot.
I thrashed wildly and, after an extended struggle, freed myself. I sprawled on the ornate rug in front of my bed.
World spinning, I turned my head to the side and stared into the fireplace.
Flames crackled like enchanted gunshots. Then the sounds shifted into garbled words.
Oxygen atoms tore themselves apart in a frenzy. Carbon dioxide gloated.
The flames were so smug with their flickering glow. I hated them.
The fire hated me back.
It screamed at me in a foreign language.
I flipped it off. I don’t speak your creepy language, so take that.
A sick sensation coursed through me as I remembered that Sadie’s mate Ascher had once said that flames shouted at him. We’d all thought he was just being dramatic.
I listened to the rough garbles that were too repetitive to be gibberish.
There was a chorus of voices.
Holy fuck.
So I did the only thing I could—I covered my ears and panicked.
Even crushed with anxiety, my mind put together the pieces. It was common knowledge that Ascher had trained from a young age to be an assassin and he’d killed a lot of people.
Now I’d killed a lot of people.
“You’ll get used to them,” John said casually as he walked past me and climbed into his bed.
“Used to what?” I asked.
He pointed to the fire and said tiredly, “The voices of the people you killed.” Then he pulled his comforter over his face to fall asleep.
Everything stopped.
Understanding hit me like a blow.
There were no such things as coincidences, just patterns and truths that people were too scared to accept.
The truth of John’s words was obvious. The flames were the voices of the people I’d killed.
I banged my knuckles against my temple and wished my brain would just stop thinking.
But it didn’t stop.
Throughout the realms, there were people that denied the mainstream belief that after death, the sun god brought souls into a golden valley.
These heretics claimed that the valley of the sun god was actually a twisted land of fire, ice, and suffering.
They warned that this world of death overlapped with the world of the living. If we weren’t careful, it would consume us all.
Mother had murdered any fae that spread such lies.
It was obvious.
Why would mother kill them if there was no truth to hide?
As if to punctuate my sick realization, a shadow loomed over me.
Shapes contorted and twisted.
Death was visiting.
Never mind. Malum’s face was hard and cold as he took a step over my prone body and stared down at me.
Massive thighs spread, face tensed, he straddled me.
He exerted dominance.
I exerted “needs medical help.”
The fire screamed at me louder. Malum’s muscles tensed, and I did nothing but lie paralyzed under him.
I’d experienced too much violence and was at my breaking point. And by “point,” I meant fully on the other side of sanity.
I waited for the blow.
He leaned forward, and I instinctively flinched away, cowering into the carpet.
He stilled like a predator and didn’t move closer.
I waited for his anger. His punishment. After spending weeks with him, I knew he was a singular creature of flames and violence. In other words, a dumb bitch.
“Don’t punch yourself,” he said softly.
“What?”
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
I whimpered.
“What the fuck?” Malum scowled.
“Ungodly. It’s an ungodly!” I yelled to alert the others. “It’s taken over Malum’s body and is spouting nonsense. Someone kill it, quick!”
Malum tipped his head back and pinched his nose. “Sun god, fucking save me from idiots.”
“What’s going on?” John must have fallen asleep, because he sat up and asked tiredly, “Who do I need to kill? I’m ready.”
“No one needs to kill anyone!” Malum barked. “I was just making sure Aran was okay.”
I pointed at him accusingly. “He told me not to hurt myself. An ungodly has taken over his body.”
John’s panicked eyes met mine.
“For fuck’s sake! I was just being nice,” Malum growled.
“Well, don’t be,” I snapped back. “It’s creepy.”
“Fine,” Malum snarled and lightly kicked me as he walked away.
“Ow, that hurt, you bastard!”
“You asked for it.”
“Are you okay, Aran?” Orion asked softly from his bed.
His gentle, lyrical voice washed over me like a warm fae day. He hardly ever spoke, so when he did, it felt like I’d won a prize.
I smiled shyly at him. He looked like a painting of a stunning god as he lounged in his bed.
“For fuck’s sake. Fuck you, Aran.” Malum kicked his bed and muttered unkind things under his breath.
Scorpius sauntered out of the bathroom and went up to Malum.
Holy sun god.
The towels around his waist highlighted a prominent V line that framed a trail of dark hair. His tattoos seemed to glow on his pale skin.
My back burned and stomach pinched as I admired the layers of abdominal muscles that seemed painted onto his lean frame.
Scorpius wrapped his arms around Malum and pulled him down so they were cuddling on the bed. Then he sneered, “Ignore the small, pathetic weakling.”
It took me a moment to realize he was talking about me. From the floor, I flipped him off.
Scorpius returned the gesture.
I glanced over at Orion nervously, but the gentle fae was smiling and didn’t seem to mind the fact that his lovers were my archenemies.
“So I’m not killing anyone?” John mumbled as he yawned and started to fall asleep.
“Maybe,” I said at the same time Malum shouted, “No!”
Whatever.
I rolled over and resumed my panic attack.
Before I could fully sink into the swing of things, long, sooty lashes blinked curiously down at me. Orion’s lush lips hovered close as he lowered his large body onto the floor.
He pointed to my arms and mouthed, “You should cross your arms over your chest.”
I stared at him in shock.
White-blond hair shone like spun silk as Orion mouthed, “The ground is centering. Especially when you cross your arms over your chest. It will help your anxiety.”
Two warm, callused fingers grabbed my wrists and gently crossed them over my chest.
I jumped at the contact but let him position me.
Everything was a hazy blur.
Dark chocolate and sweet raspberries filled the air around him and burned the space between my nose and my sinuses.
“This always helps me.” In the screaming firelight, his almond eyes were a soft, honey brown.
I could get lost in them.
How is he so stunning?
Orion gave me a soft smile and a gentle peck on the cheek, then he climbed off the ground and walked over to the kings.
I went into shock.
Malum growled like an animal as he grabbed Orion and gently pulled him down so he lay between him and Scorpius.
They looked ridiculous and barely fit on the bed.
I was too busy getting absolutely eviscerated by pain because the wound on my back was splicing me with paralyzing waves of agony.
But my heart fluttered.
Warm and light in my chest.
I smiled as the enchanted wound on my back punished me for my infatuation.
I was never going to wash my cheek.
Orion had kissed me.
I could die happy.
