Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Paedyn
Adena is going to collapse from shock. Then she’ll squeal, and I’ll cover my ears. I’ve never stolen so many coins from one person. Not that I’ve had the opportunity, seeing that most of us in Loot don’t even have more than a dozen silvers to our name, let alone casually carrying them around.
My mind is reeling as I slowly make my way down Loot, now cast in shadows as the sun sinks behind the crumbling buildings.
I shake my head in astonishment and take my time strolling through the market, allowing myself to admire my accomplishment.
Several merchants are already packing up their stands, closing up shop for the night.
Kids scuttle around the street chasing one another, earning dirty looks and shouts from the shoppers still milling about.
I cut down an alley, close to where I robbed the unsuspecting young man, and start heading back to the Fort.
I can’t wait to see the look on A’s face—
I stop suddenly, eying a small crowd gathered farther down the street.
Must be a Veil.
It’s no surprise that the power of invisibility can inevitably aid someone at sleight of hand, using their ability to make cards disappear at will by simply holding them. I admire their deceitful little shows to earn some shillings.
I’m about to head the other way when I hear gasps coming from the crowd, echoing off the crumbling buildings.
Not the typical oohs and ahs that are present during magic tricks, but scared gasps of shock and surprise.
When my curiosity gets the better of me, I find myself behind the throng of people, wedging between sweaty bodies and pushing my way to the front of the crowd.
When I raise my eyes to the scene before me, I gasp, cupping a hand to my mouth.
It’s him.
I saw him less than ten minutes ago, and yet his shirt now clings to him with sweat as he prepares to strike the man pinned beneath him with a flaming fist. Three other bodies litter the cobblestone behind him, slowly staggering to their feet before stumbling away.
It’s clear what happened here, obvious that these men had the same idea I did upon seeing the pouch hanging from the stranger’s hip. But they chose a much more violent way to get the coins—well, whatever is left of them.
I see the stranger say something to the man before he raises his fiery fist, ready to strike.
And then, something is suddenly, terribly wrong.
He’s clutching his head, and I watch his cocky expression crumple into utter agony when a figure steps out from the shadows. I can only see his back, but he’s tall and lean, raising a thin hand at the stranger gasping in pain on the alley floor.
That’s impossible.
The crowd around me seems just as confused and awed as I am. With his hand still outstretched, the Silencer takes small steps towards the black-haired figure now slumped on the ground.
He’s crippling his power. He’s crippling him .
I can see the stranger still trying to fight, trying to hang on to consciousness. The sight is suddenly so startlingly familiar, so sickening that I nearly stumbling into the man beside me.
This stranger and the man who raised me look nothing alike, and yet, the image of one crippled on the ground seems to bleed into the other. I suddenly feel like that little girl again, standing idly as my father died beneath me.
I look around, eyeing the gawking crowd. No one budges. Even with their fancy powers, no one makes a move to help. Either too afraid to do so or too heartless to help.
I know how this ends. I’ve lived it.
When I look back at the stranger, it’s my father I see.
Taking a deep breath, I take a step forward.
I won’t stand by idly again. I couldn’t save my father, but I’ll honor him now by saving someone from the same suffering he endured.
I’m probably going to regret this.
I creep to the edge of the crowd and begin slinking up behind the Silencer. I can practically feel the audience’s attention shift to me, the throng of people silently watching. Crouching low behind the man, I spot a large, loose rock lying on the cobblestone and snatch it up.
Here goes nothing.
I draw up to my full height right behind him and silently raise the rock, intending to connect it with his skull—
No such luck.
He pivots, his black eyes boring into mine. With his attention on me, his crushing hold on the stranger drops, and I hear him gasping for air on the ground.
The Silencer lifts his slender hand towards me, his shoulder-length hair whipping in the breeze. He’s trying to Silence me.
I almost smile.
No such luck.
Nothing happens, of course, considering I have no power for him to smother. He looks at his hand, then back at me, confused. The sight is almost comical, and that split second of hesitation is all I need.
I grab his wrist, twisting his arm at an odd angle before driving my knee into his stomach. I hear the air whoosh out of his lungs as he clutches his arm to his body. And with that, my adrenaline kicks in, itching for a fight.
It reminds me of all those late nights and early mornings with my father.
Hours of training in the makeshift dirt ring behind our home.
“Both your mind, as well as your body, need to be trained. Conditioned,” he’d say as I dodged his punches, all while answering his dozens of questions that tested my observation.
I wielded any weapon we could get our hands on while my father trained every part of my being—my mind, my body, my Psychic ability.
Until one day he wasn’t there to train me anymore. Wasn’t there to protect me anymore. Wasn’t there to continue teaching me how to protect myself anymore.
The Silencer recovers quickly, throwing a punch with his good arm and jolting me from my thoughts.
I duck under it and aim a right hook at his jaw.
His forearm flashes up to block my blow, forcing my arm down before grabbing it and spinning me so my back is pressed against his chest. And then the crook of his other arm is trapping me in a chokehold.
I gasp for air, trying to remain calm. I fight the urge to claw uselessly at the arm crushing my windpipe and instead whip my head back, connecting my skull with his nose and earning a sickening crack followed by the sound of gurgling blood.
Blood .
There was so much of it coating the floor of our small house resting between Merchant and Elm Street. Coating me, my father. I haven’t been back since that night I ran. That night the king plunged a sword through my father’s chest.
The Silencer’s hold around my neck loosens as he stumbles back, clutching his nose. But I’m not done yet. Not even close.
I slip the ring from my thumb and slide it onto my middle finger before sinking my fist into the Silencer’s cheek, ignoring the sting in my hand. Dropping his hands from his gushing nose, he swings at me again, but I already knew it was coming.
He always takes a step with his left foot before he punches.
I block the blow and grab his shoulders as I bring my knee to his stomach once again. Before he’s even caught his breath, I have his head in my hands, driving his already broken nose down into my awaiting knee.
I channel all my rage into each blow.
My rage at the king who slipped into my father’s study where he sat in his cushioned armchair, reading late into the night.
Another right hook to the Silencer’s jaw.
My rage as I vividly remember the sound of my father’s cry when the sword tore through his chest, tearing me from sleep.
I send a kick to the Silencer’s groin.
My rage as I saw my father sliding out of his beloved armchair and onto the ground, slipping in his blood.
I drop and sweep my leg in a wide arc, knocking the Silencer to the ground.
My rage as I held my father’s hand, screaming and begging him to wake up.
I sat there all night, pants soaked with blood, trying to puzzle out what could possibly justify killing him. But the king doesn’t need a reason to kill, he needs a reason to let people live .
I beat down on the Silencer, barely aware of what I’m doing as my mind reels.
I was numb. My hand clamped around my father’s cold one, holding it while I rocked back and forth, sobs shaking my body. I brushed his brown hair from his eyes, straightened his bloody clothes, whispered about all the memories we shared while begging him to come back to me so we could make more.
I was completely and utterly alone in the world.
And when sunlight poured through the windows, shedding light on the gruesome scene, I couldn’t stand to be in my own home—not that I could afford to keep the house at thirteen years of age.
I tried to bury him. Tried so hard to drag him outside and give him a proper goodbye, give him the honor he deserved.
But I was so small, and he was so large, so heavy, so dead .
I slipped and slid in the pool of my father’s blood, unable to budge his body.
So, I pulled the wedding ring from his finger, pushed it onto my thumb, and ran.
The same ring I’m now using to sink into the Silencer’s cheek.
If Father could see me now…
I hover over him, my rage finally beginning to fade as his black eyes widen. Blood streaks his face, gushing from his mouth, nose, and the other scattered cuts I’ve given him. I slide my dagger from my boot as something flickers in his eyes.
Fear.
He fears what he cannot control.
And in this very moment, that something he cannot control is me .