That seems to do it, lift the weight that’s settled between us. The corner of his mouth tugs up, but the full smile doesn’t reveal itself,and I realize that I like that it’s hard to earn. That he won’t allow just anyone to see it.
“And the tattoo?” I ask next, worried it might be too personal, but he said he would let meknow him,and I need to know if he meant it.
He clenches his jaw, and for a long while, he does only that, until finally, he releases a sigh and opens his mouth to speak, “I have a difficult time,” he begins, his words slow and aching, “letting people in, and I suppose, in a way, at least for me, the tattoo represents that.”
Thorns.
Long, sharp thorns, and if they were real—truly existing on the surface of his skin—every touch, every moment too close, would hurt. But they wouldn’t only hurt those who touched him, they would hurthimas well. And I wonder if that’s the way he wants it, the way hemeantit to be.
Part of me wants to reach out and touch him, show him that letting people in doesn’t always lead to pain, but who am I to be the one to show him such a thing?
I decide to ask another question instead.
“How often do you train?” My mind flashes back to him in that room, wielding his sword like it truly was an extension of himself.
“Often.”
“But why? When you can command the shadows, guide the light, why bother practicing with a sword?” It’s a genuine question, one I truly want to know the answer to.
He drops his head.
“It helps calm me,” he finally says. “Focus me. I would have come to you sooner when I returned this morning.” His admission causes my eyes to widen, but he’s still looking at the ground between us, so he doesn’t see it. “But first, I…I needed to release some…tension. Some frustration. And for me, the best way to do that is through using my hands, wielding a sword. Not the elements. It’s almost like I need to prove to myself that I’d still be strong, still be dangerous, even if I wasn’t an Essentari.”
I blink. From what I saw, he’s more than dangerous. He’s downrightlethal.
I can understand him wanting that,needingthat. And now…I want it, too.
“Could you teach me?” I ask, my pulse skyrocketing because I want to hear him sayyesso badly.“How to use a sword?”
He looks at me then. It’s a look I could drown in. A look that tells me helikesthat I asked.
“I can.”
I swallow, nodding at him, trying not to appear overly eager, overly pleased, although inside, my heart is humming at the mere thought alone.
“And the decorations?” I ask before I forget. “I saw them being put up. What are they for?”
His face scrunches, and I know that whatever it is, I won’t like his answer.
“The ball,” he says, his hand finding its way to his hair. “There’s going to be a ball to commemorate the beginning of the third trials. The final trial for those living in Village 1 will occur the next day.”
And the final trial for my village, Village 28, will happen exactly four weeks after that. It’s how it’s always been. I knew that, but I’m once again sickened by the thought that those living in the Imperial City celebrate such a thing.
In Village 28, parents go hungry so their children can eat. Teenagers spill blood in the streets. And when the drought gets so bad and fresh water seems like it’ll never come again, no one leaves their homes, and everything is quiet.
Deathly quiet.
But it’s the trials that are the worst of it. The most dreaded and the feared. Life would be difficult enough without them looming over us.
And they celebrate our pain.Our suffering. Our despair.
Sickened isn’t a good enough word to describe what I feel.
Repulsed?
Horrified?
Or maybe I’ll settle on bloodthirsty. They wouldn’t survive even atasteof what we’re forced to endure.
