“He’s powerfully built,” Ronin said. “Looks like he knows his way around a fight.”
Mireille narrowed her eyes. “He’s survived Harvest Night five times.”
“Fuck,” Ronin breathed out, brows raised.
“We’d have to tell him the truth about what I was,” Cassandra said. “What I am. Do you trust him?”
“I do.” Mireille nodded, without a moment’s hesitation.
“Then it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“I’ll talk to him tonight.”
“Why are you seeing him tonight?” Ronin asked, his clenched fist betraying his nonchalant tone.
“We’re on rotation at the Kennel,” Mireille answered, oblivious. “I’ve got a fresh batch of healing tonic to deliver.”
“I’ll go,” Cassandra offered. “I can deliver the tonics and meet Silas there. I’d like to ask him myself.”
Not to mention she couldn’t stop thinking about the words that old woman had thrown at her.
Acting like you’re better than the ones who did this to us.
“Sure, if you’d prefer.” Mireille bent down to pick up Cassandra’s sword. “No more stalling. Here’s what I want you to do for the rest of the day.” She kicked Cassandra’s feet to shoulder-width apart, right below her hips. “Plant yourself. Firmly. Grip the ground with your toes. That’s it. Now, raise and spread your wings.”
Cassandra did as she was told, her back muscles protesting fiercely.
Mireille flipped the sword, then thrust the handle toward Cassandra. “Grip it. I want you to hold your arms up, at shoulder height, and keep them there for an entire minute. Once the minute is up, do that arc Ronin showed you thirty times on the left, then thirty times on the right. Keep your hips forward and only turn your torso. Once you’ve done the sixty arcs, pause for a minute and repeat.”
“How many times?” Cassandra asked, panicky.
“Until you can do it ten times in a row without failure or without slamming your wings into your back,” Mireille said with not a hint of sympathy. Fuckingruthless. “And don’t think Silas is going to go any easier on you if he agrees to help.”
Cassandra wanted to cry. Wanted to curl up on the dusty floor and lay there for eternity.
But then she thought of those humans in the Kennel with no light and barely any food or water.
Thought of the humans in the colonies, especially the obliviates who’d had their minds and memories stolen by the Empire.
Thought of the mixed-heritage Fae here in Tartarus, torn away from their loved ones for centuries.
Thought of Borea and her Sisters, bruised and bloodied on that platform outside the Vicereine’s palace, Imperial broadswords shining at their necks.
Thought of Tristan’s terrified, tear-stricken face as Eamon had pronounced Cassandra a traitor to the Empire.
Thought of Ione claiming Tristan’s lips.
She’d use it. All of it. Every dark emotion that clouded her mind. Grief. Anger. Jealousy. Desire, even. Tristan may have thrust her aside, but she couldn’t deny her heart still pleaded for him.
She’d catalyze the feelings into the fuel she’d use to power this step in her journey.
She gripped the sword tighter, brought her arms to shoulder level and began to count.
“Good,” Mireille said, nodding. “Good.”
Ronin pushed off the wall and ambled over to Mireille. “Can I speak with you privately?”
Cassandra’s arms dipped slightly as she lost her concentration, wishing they’d stay in here so she could eavesdrop.
