My chest aches, it fights my demand for air, but I force myself to breathe in quickly through my nose and then slowly release it out of my mouth. I do it three more times until I’m once again back inside the simulator, looking into the solemn gaze of Narine Ventis, First Commander of The Horde’s Air Fleet.
She watches my momentary struggle but doesn’t say a word. I clear my throat and fist my hands to cover the unwelcome quake in them as the flash of memory fades as quickly as it came.
Resolve and perseverance harden in my features, and I level Commander Ventis with a fortified gaze that dismisses the pity now floating in her own.
“I don’t deserve your condemnation,” I point out. “Whatever you may think about my father, I didn’t ask to be born. I didn’t ask to survive. And I didn’t ask to be here.”
Silence filters in between us, and we both let it linger. Her light blue gaze roams over my face, and then she surprises me with a firm nod, a simple unadorned gesture of acceptance and understanding. She backs up a few paces, and half of a grief-stricken grin slips across her face.
“Gulappe,” she offers.
Confusion settles across my face.
“The sweet her boys loved,” she tells me. “It was called gulappe. It was made out of fermented molasses and very much an acquired taste.”
I shake my head, a small laugh sneaking out. “See, even the name sounds gross.”
Commander Ventis chuckles, but I can clearly hear the loss and heartache in the gentle sound. She turns to leave, and I wonder if I just made things better or worse, or maybe changed nothing at all. I knew there would be drakes who didn’t understand the choices my father and the other Syphons made, but I always thought their judgment or resentments would be reserved for them, not me.
“He likes to talk while he fights,” Ventis calls over her shoulder. “Commander Noctis. It lets him set the pace and distract his opponent while he sizes them up. Don’t let him set the pace, Ducky.”
And with that, Commander Ventis calmly walks out of the simulator and then leaves the room altogether.
“What was that about?” Aeson asks as he strides over, his questioning gaze bouncing from me to the now empty doorway.
“Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, Spare,” I tease, shaking away my lingering emotions and getting my head back in the game. “Now, are we here to have a tea party or fight? Let’s do this.”
Chapter 25
SONDAR CLAPS HIS HANDS ONCE, and the loud sound reverberates off the clear walls of the simulator. “Okay, what are we fighting until? First blood? Knockout?”
“Submission,” Aeson interjects, not missing a beat, his arrogant grin grating as he turns it on me.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Good luck with that,” I mumble, but don’t outright object.
“Hard limits?” Sondar inquires.
“Biting, hair pulling, and eye gouging,” I briskly list off.
The male nods, tucking a long lock of blue-black hair behind one ear as he keys things into a band on his wrist. He turns to Aeson. “Scion?”
“Her hard limits are fine. I don’t have any to add. I, for one, like a dirty fight.” He glances pointedly over at me, but there’s no playful air or hint of teasing; he looks determined and formidable.
I work not to react, mostly to the annoying heat that starts to pool low in my belly at his words. Something in his tone gives me pause. It’s not the innuendo or even the taunting intonation, it’s the declaration ringing through the statement. It’s as though he’s letting me know that he’s willing to do anything and everything to win, and I don’t think he’s referring to just this fight.
Is he on to me?
Does he know I’m on to him?
“Weapons?” Sondar asks, like he’s reading off a doomsday checklist.
“None,” Aeson declares, a challenging glint in his eyes.
I shrug, feigning indifference. Inside, however, I’m spinning with concern. I was really hoping for a bow-staff or maybe a missile launcher to help me go up against the scion’s strength and size. Looks like speed and smarts are going to have to cut it.
Evenly matched, my ass.
“Any opinions about location, or should I let the simulator randomly choose?” Sondar queries, his dark gaze fixed on the wristband as he continues to program the parameters of this fight into the sim’s systems.
