9. TALIESIN
Heinz and Gleb are back on the bleachers, which means Aurora is finally off the hook with the Guild.
Thank fuck.
Watching her endure that humiliation day after day, seeing the leers and hearing the filth they spewed at her, was eating me alive.
A couple of those bastards had even jerked off while she was forced to kneel watching.
They’d kept to the letter of the agreement; their jizz hadn’t touched her skin, but it was a technicality that made my blood boil.
It took everything I had not to storm those bleachers and start breaking heads.
So, if that debt is paid, why is the air in the yard still vibrating like a live wire? The atmosphere feels even more charged today.
What is going on?
Leaning against the rusted supports of the bleachers, I watch the Guild members congregate near the north wall. They’re jumpy, looking over their shoulders.
Nervous.
Usually, the Guild moves with the entitled grace of people who know their place in the world is guaranteed. Sure, they’re in Quo now, but outside they’ll have money, and their magic, and some semblance of power waiting for them.
But today I see shoving and scuffling between the Guild witches.
“Why all the in-fighting?” Clay mutters, stepping up beside me.
My eyes track Dimitry. He’s jabbing a finger at Thad, looking far from the cool-headed King we’re used to seeing.
I think about what Hennessey told us. “The world outside is dead, Clay. If everyone has magic now, being ‘Elite’ is just a word. It doesn’t mean shit if your butler can suddenly turn into a manticore.
Their daddies are probably being hunted through the streets.
Fuck, for all we know, your old man is a cyclops. ”
Clay frowns, then after a moment his face creases into a rare grin.
“My dad a cyclops? A gnome is a shit-ton more likely. What about your mom, I can totally see her as a hydra. That’s probably how she managed to keep all us kids under control.
” Mom’s clinic wasn’t just for health. It was a haven for Ashgrave children with nowhere else to go.
The image of her sprouting multiple heads to scold a room full of rowdy kids is too much.
I can’t help it, I just start laughing. Clay and I meet eyes, and crack up even further. When we get our shit together, half the yard is staring at us like we’ve lost the fucking plot.
Maybe we have.
It doesn’t escape me that Dimitry and Heinz are focused our way, looking furious. Do they think we’re laughing at them?
Maybe. Because their carefully honed self-image is crumbling around them.
“Look at them,” I nod toward the bleachers.
“Their power was built on the promise of a future that doesn’t exist anymore.
” I point to Julian, the sniveling brat who came in with Aurora.
He’s currently being shoved into the dirt by one of his own.
“Now they’re just rats in a cage. And rats start eating each other when they’re threatened. ”
Clay blinks, his grin fading as he watches a Guild member shove a No-man. “They’re going to be looking to raise their status. Picking on the weakest first, overcompensating.”
“Yep. We need to keep things tight, Clay. This place feels like a ticking time bomb.”
My gaze drifts toward the girl sitting on her own, in the mid-section of the Digger bleachers.
If this place is a powder keg, why do I think Aurora could be the spark that’s going to make the whole Godsdamn shit show explode?
Not good.
I need to keep her busy, and outside of the Guild’s spotlight.
She needs a job. After all, nothing in life is free for a Digger. Time for the Princess to understand what working for your living feels like.
“Set her up with laundry duty.”
Clay looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “The Elite? Think she’s washed a sheet in her life?”
I wave away his concerns. “Nope, but she’s going to learn. We all know that Dot takes training very seriously.”
Clay shakes his head. “I almost feel sorry for her.”
“Don’t,” I say, though my chest feels tight as I watch her. “It’ll keep her busy. And hopefully, it’ll keep her out of trouble.”
And alive.
???
The next morning, I escort her down to the laundry rooms. She doesn’t complain. She barely even looks at me, just walks into that steam-filled room like she’s headed for a spa day at the Palace.
When I pick her up eight hours later, the "Princess" is gone. Her face is flushed a deep, feverish red from the heat, and her knuckles are raw, the skin puckered from being submerged in industrial bleach for too long. I’m not going to lie—seeing her worn ragged by actual, back-breaking labor sits a little too well with me.
Then Dot, who usually hates everyone with a pulse, grunts and tells me the girl actually pulled her weight. It’s unsettling how pleased I am to hear it. Is it because I want her to fall from her golden perch and get comfortable in the mud, with the rest of us.
With me.
It’s a dangerous, fucked-up thought, but as the week drags on, it starts to feel like an inevitability. Aurora is shedding that Elite skin revealing something much tougher, much sharper underneath.
She’s making allies among the Diggers faster than I expected, too.
Even Layla, who is about as warm as a penguin’s nutsack, has softened.
I caught them huddled near the steam press yesterday, heads together as they shared a bartered-for square of chocolate.
Their low-voiced conversation died the second I stepped into the room, a secret sisterhood forming right under my nose.
It reminded me of the way Lay and Chloe used to hang out back in Ashgrave—before everything went to hell.
Chloe. I quickly shut down thoughts about my cousin and concentrate again on Aurora’s transformation.
If she can win over a hard-ass like Layla, she might actually have a chance of making it out of here in one piece. She’s sure as fuck not the ice-cold bitch I assumed she was. She’s something else entirely. Something I’m finding it harder and harder to ignore.
I’m sitting on my cot, sharpening a piece of scrap metal against the frame, when she speaks up. “Taliesin?”
I don’t look up, but I slow the rhythmic scritch-scratch of the metal. “Yeah, Princess?”
“What happens to the new arrivals who get taken to the Hole?” She’s sitting on her cot, but the sheet she still uses for privacy is drawn back. “When do they get to the yard?”
My action pauses. “Why? You missing someone?”
“I’m thinking about London,” she says.
“The city?”
She giggles. I hate how much I like the sound.
“No, idiot. London the man. He was on the transport here with me. A total maniac. He took down four guards and bit a man’s ear off before they zapped him, but I haven’t seen him since.”
I set the shiv down. She’s been here nearly three weeks. If this London guy has been in the hole that long, he’s either a vegetable or a godsdamn legend. “Is he a first-timer?”
Aurora looks at me and raises an eyebrow.
“A Quo newbie?” I expand, rubbing the stubble on my jaw.
“He knew about the heating, how hot it is here,” she shrugs, “so I’d guess he’s a repeat customer, right?” She looks down at her hands, her voice softening. “I just want to know he’s alright. I like him. He was the only person who was decent to me on the way here.”
I feel a strange, sharp prick of annoyance flare in my gut. She likes him?
I’m the one who took a beating for her. I’m the one who’s been feeding her and keeping the wolves at bay.
I’m fucking decent.
“I’ll ask around,” I grunt, standing up and testing the edge of the scrap metal with my thumb. The sting of the cut is better than the burn in my gut. “But first, let’s go over your moves. You need to know how to handle yourself if I’m not around.”
I see to your needs.
Not fucking “London”.
I’ve been teaching her self-defense basics—and trying really hard not to enjoy wrapping my arms around her slender, lithe body in the process.
But I’m a nineteen-year-old man, not a monk.
Every time I adjust her stance or move her hips into alignment, I can feel the heat of her radiating through the thin fabric of our jumpsuits. The agonizing temptation is something I’m starting to crave.
She plaits her hair into two messy braids, a gesture that makes my chest tighten in a way I don’t know how to handle, then stands up and faces me.
“What are the four moves of the tiger claw set?” I ask.
“Claw to the eyes,” she growls, making a swiping motion.
I can’t help laughing. Her bottom lip comes out in a pout. A fucking pout. Is she torturing me on purpose?
“And second?”
“Chop to the neck.”
“The side of the neck,” I clarify, stepping into her space until our chests are almost touching. I reach out, my fingers brushing the soft skin of her throat to show her where the carotid is. She shivers, but doesn’t pull away. “Strike here, and you shut them down. Third?”
“Grab him by the collar or whatever, pull down and knee up. Follow that up with an elbow strike between the shoulder blades.”
“Good, let’s go through them.”
We spar, and she gets frustrated when she can’t pull my neck down. “So what the fuck am I going to do against someone even taller than you?”
“Get in close.”
With iron-fucking-will I do not use the instruction to grab her waist and haul her flush against me. “The danger zone,” I rasp, “is when I can reach out and hit you, but you can’t reach to hit me back. Get in real close, then it’s awkward for the bigger guy to fight.”
“And then?”
“And then you ruin him,” I mutter, finally forcing myself to look away. “Punch him in the balls if you have to.”
Her eyes light up with a flash of mischief. “Ooh, can we practice that?”
“No we cannot.”
“Not even if I tell you it’s my birthday today?”
I freeze. “It is?”
“If it’s December 24th, then I just turned seventeen. So come on, Bevan, let me try a smash to your nuts.” She blushes, and I’m willing to bet that’s the first time she’s ever used that word.
“Nope. Not happening.”
She grumbles something about me being a "chicken-shit spoilsport," but she’s smiling. It’s a real, genuine smile that makes her look dangerously beautiful.