Using his weight against him, I bring one of my long, muscular legs up to hook around his body. The motion sends him toppling over and situates me above him. It always feels so good to pin one of these assholes.
They may serve the queen I love, and they do allow me to spar with them, but they’re all still dirtbags who only think with their cocks and stomachs.
“That’s what you get for being a pig,” I hiss.
I hold the blade tight to his throat, and he lets out a nervous chuckle.
“You know I was only baiting you.” He looks around, and the relief is clear on his face when he finds there is a crowd watching us. Witnesses. “The only way to get you to really fight back is if I ruffle your feathers a little.”
Laughter rings out from the other soldiers, and I carefully consider my options.
While it would bring a bit of satisfaction to draw even just a pinprick of blood from this arrogant piece of work, I snarland jump to my feet instead, re-sheathing my dagger. Hurting Eryk would only make things difficult for me, and I don’t need a horde of Lukasian soldiers up my ass while I’m vying to join the Queen’s Guard. I have to play nice, but there’s a fine line between nice and being a kiss ass.
Besides, I’m grateful they even allow me—a female healer—to spar with them at all.
“Come on.” Eryk swings his arm around me, reaching over with his other hand to tilt my chin up so he can see my eyes. He studies me for one long moment, as if he’s rummaging through my soul, searching for something he’ll never find.
“Drinks on me!” he shouts, causing me to flinch. Eryk grins and shakes his golden hair, sending rainwater into my face. The sudden urge to stomp on his big, stupid foot overtakes me, but I fight it off.
The unit cheers as they slosh through puddles toward the exit of the training grounds and into the street.
I shrug out from under his arm and stomp after them. The sun is starting to set, though it’s hard to differentiate night from day with the Smog as thick as it is, darkening the world in shades of grays and browns, and I’m not so proud I can’t admit I don’t wish to brave the streets alone at night. Especially not right now.
I was born after the Smog came. It’s all I’ve ever known.
Those who have been around longer have had it so much worse. They remember what the world was before, and I know they must long for it. They each had to endure their powers being stripped from them day by day, like a candle being snuffed out beneath a glass.
The rest of us were lucky if we showed even a hint of any gift the gods had blessed our people with before.
Mother told me when I was first showing signs of coming into what measly powers I’d been blessed with that the healing ability passed down through our bloodline has always been strong.I often wonder if the Smog hadn’t deprived me of my true birthright, if maybe she would have loved me more.
The only way to the tavern is through the town square, and they haven’t taken the bodies down yet. The mutilated corpses had been hung from the window of the lookout tower. The putrid scent of decay lingers heavy in the air even still. The thought makes my stomach tie in knots.
The Rhiza are getting bolder. Or maybe it’s recklessness. Regardless, there have been seven slaughters in as many days. A visiting duke was the newest addition. Just days ago, he’d been paraded through the streets on his way to visit the queen.
Now, he’s nothing but a message from the rebels.
The whispers reached me first, but witnessing the sight was jarring, even for someone used to seeing all different kinds of gore.
There was no way around seeing his body strung in the square next to the others on my way in. The words “rise up” written with blood on the bricks above him, painted so thick the rain couldn’t wash it away.
I avoid the gruesome scene now, keeping my eyes glued to the cobblestone path in front of me and listening to the soft fall of Eryk’s footsteps behind me. An odd sort of comfort coming from a lesser predator than the unknown lurking in the shadows.
The only sounds are the cadence of our feet and the fading noise of the water in the fountain at the center of the square overflowing from the rain as we get further and further away.
Someone must stop them. They can’t just torture and murder our people. There is plenty of suffering as it is. I kick a small stone into a puddle.
I hunger, deep in my core, to be the one to solve all our problems. The Rhiza, the Smog, the death.
I break the silence, hoping to dig a little information out of the captain. “Do you think I’ve got a chance?”
“At joining the ranks? I don’t see how you could fail. You’re an excellent fighter. Deadly, even. But …” his voice fades, and I can tell he’s trying to devise a way to convince me not to participate in the Tournament of the Guard.
“If you’re about to tell me not to do it, just don’t. Okay?” I warn. “I came here for encouragement, not a lecture.”
He stops in the street before Phil’s tavern, putting a hand out to force me to stop, too.
“You’re a gifted healer, Arina. One of very few true healers left in the kingdom.”
