“Let go of her.”
The voice brought my eyes into focus, back to the second ball and the archery fields.No fire.No scarred man.No screams.The knife.The knife in my glove.I lifted my arm, prepared to strike the ambassador, but his grip on my arm disappeared and was replaced with a reassuring but firm hand on my other shoulder.I blinked, finding Desmond standing beside me.He glared at the man, murder glinting in his eyes.Two soldiers approached, each grabbing the ambassador by the arms.
“Ambassador Fletcher is guilty of improper conduct,” Desmond said.“Take him away and I won’t press charges.”
The ambassador’s face deepened into a dark purple, and he flailed his arms to escape his captor’s grip.
“She— This is an insult!Release me at once!”he demanded.
The soldiers ignored his request, dragging him away as he raved and struggled against them.
I took in the scene around me.
Eyes.
Eyes watched from everywhere.Anyone within hearing distance had turned to stare at us, and competitions had stopped as onlookers sought the source of commotion.Attention was the last thing we wanted.
A kind-faced woman approached me.“Are you all right, miss?”
I stared at her, trying to gather my senses.Trying to remember myself.
I nodded.
Desmond wrapped an arm around my shoulders and led me away.Away from the scene.Away from the eyes.He leaned in close to whisper, “Stop shaking.”
His words made me aware of my trembling limbs.Cold sweat pebbled on my skin, my tight bodice digging into my expanding ribs as I gulped down air.Desmond took me to the edge of the crowd and glanced around for listening ears.
“You had another episode,” he said.“Didn’t you.”
I drew in a shuddering breath, listening to the pounding of my racing heart and not wanting to answer him.
“We can’t continue with this mission if you’re haunted by this, Analleia,” he said.“We can’t risk a repeat of what happened six months ago.It’s going to cost one of us our lives.If you had released that dagger in your glove, it would have blown our cover.”
Why was this happening to me?For two years the attacks had left me.I thought I had shed them for good, but then I had relapsed during the mission when I saw the scarred man’s face.And just now...
I shoved a hand through my hair and took a step away from my brother, trying to pull myself back together.My heart slowed.A whistle blew, and I caught sight of the archers lining up for the next round.
I could do this.
I could.
I had to.
Succeeding at our mission was the only hope of leaving these nightmares behind.
“I’m fine,” I said, filling my voice with confidence to both assuage him and reassure myself.“It won’t be a problem.”
Disbelief rolled off him, but he didn’t follow me as I turned and walked back to the lineup.I brought my shoulders back in an attempt to appear confident, but my hands shook as I lifted the bow and drew another arrow from the quiver.Most of the crowd had returned to their previous conversations, but a few stared.The heat of their gazes bored into me.Waiting for me to react.To break down.To fail.
“One hundred paces!”
I could do this.
I took a deep breath, clearing my mind.The river beside the tower flowed through my thoughts, the multitudes of flowers blooming along the banks in spring like a rainbow.The serenity of it all.My eyelids slid shut, blocking out the world around me and centering my focus.No more flames.No more scarred men.No more screams.Only the wind and the feel of the smooth wood of the bow in my hands.
“Archers at the ready!”
I let out a slow breath, nocking the arrow.
