20. Jia
Jia rubbed her thumb over the burn that ran down the length of her knuckles and grimaced. It had blistered painfully the night before, and Jia couldn’t keep from touching it, mulling over what she needed to do to be successful in her task today.
She admitted to herself the cook had caught her red-handed. She was a small Fire-Born woman hired by the Guardian to run the kitchen during the Choosing. She was also an admirable opponent and ran a tight and efficient kitchen. So tight that the cook noticed Jia stealing bottles of wine from her rack after only the third bottle and had tried to burn her with a hot poker to force her away.
Jia had been waiting for nearly twenty minutes, crouched in the kitchen broom closet, watching for when the cook turned her back, a familiar thrum in her veins as she waited like a cat for her chance to pounce.
The woman finally disappeared into her freezer, the witch runes on the outside glimmering blue as the door swung open. As quick as a cat Jia reached around the corner and snatched a bottle of wine from the cook’s wine rack.
“Blimey!” One of the cook’s apprentices yelped, dancing out of the way as he heaved a pot of hot soup away from Jia, trying not to burn her. “How long ‘ve been creepin in there for?” He was small, barely reaching her chin, but gods, how had she not even noticed him?
“A bit. Excuse me.” She didn’t wait for him to reply, or for him to rat her out to the cook. She darted around him and out of the kitchen as fast as she could, gripping the bottle tightly around the neck as she ran.
Jia didn’t slow down until she in the hallway and almost to her room. She dug around in her pocket for a corkscrew, pulled the cork free with a soft grunt, and held the bottle out in victory for a split second before taking a deep, long pull of wine, straight from the bottle. She kept drinking until the contents were almost gone.
“That’s better,” she murmured. The liquid seemed to warm her from the inside out and dull the edges of the anxiety and grief plaguing her since she’d spoken to Isgra today. Jia had never seen Rorax so angry before and had never seen someone willfully accept so much pain as Rorax had taken on her behalf today. The wound had smelled awful and had burned Rorax down to the muscles and tendons in her arm. Rorax had always seemed more like Volla’s friend than her own, but . . . after what Rorax did today, Jia felt differently towards her. Like their friendship had grown somehow.
The hallways of the castle all faced the inside, toward the two baileys of the castle. Jia took another long drink as she looked out through the windows, she could still see the scorch marks on the stone where Isgra had burned them. Physically, Isgra was so much like her sister, and yet so different.
The wine started seeping quickly into Jia’s limbs, and she stumbled to the side, cursing. The bottle slipped from her fingers, crashed on the floor, and glass shattered everywhere.
The remaining wine spread across the ground like a bleeding wound, and as Jia knelt to pick up the glass a shard nicked her skin, causing real blood to mix into the dark purple puddle.
“Gods!”
Jia looked up to see a woman standing above her. Silvery white, waist long braids framed a beautiful face, and creamy dark brown skin covered high cheekbones and full lips. The woman’s chocolate-colored eyes were rounded with concern as she took in the blood and the wine now running everywhere through the lines of the tiled floor.
In a flash so fast, Jia didn’t have any time to react, the woman reached down and snatched her wrist, yanking her up to her feet. She was strong and Jia had to look up into the woman’s face, even standing on her own feet.
“You cut yourself.” The woman’s eyes searched her own, looking for answers. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Jia shrugged. “I dropped it.”
“You’re bleeding.”
Jia looked down and saw that blood was running down her legs, pooling at her feet. It didn’t hurt, she could barely feel it through the wine hazing her mind, so she shrugged again. “It’s only blood.”
The woman blinked several times before jerking her wrist sharply. “Come on.”
The woman dragged Jia out of the room and behind her up the stairs to the Healer’s Hall. Jia had just been there a few hours ago with Rorax.
A different healer dropped in front of Jia’s knees and pressed her fingertips to the skin. Instantly the cut stopped throbbing, but some of the giddy drunkenness dissipated, and the same heavy grief filled its place. She had the urge to pull away, to tell the healer to stop, but instead bit her lip and forced herself to let the healer continue.
“Thank you for bringing me here.” Jia looked up at the woman who was standing next to her, watching the healer pick glass from her shins. She tried to sound sincere, even if she wasn’t.
The woman’s warm eyes flicked to hers, and the corners of her mouth pulled up. “You’re welcome. The Tournament of Houses hasn’t even started. You don’t want to drink the whole castle dry before it starts.”
Jia snorted, and turned her attention to the healer who was sitting on a low stool in front of her. The healer pulled the last piece of glass free, healed the last cut, and ran her hand over Jia’s newly smooth skin.
“All patched up.” The healer pushed up from her stool. “You’re free to leave.”
“Thanks,” Jia mumbled.
Jia walked out with the tall woman to the corridor outside the Healer’s Hall. She turned—on her way to steal a new bottle of wine—when the woman grabbed Jia’s wrist again and forced her around. “Wait. What’s your name?”
Jia looked at the woman’s face, over the near perfect skin and the faint freckles on her nose and ran her tongue over her teeth. Her instincts told her to lie but . . . she shrugged.
“My name is Jia; I’m Ice-Born.”
The woman stiffened and dropped Jia’s wrist like it had burned her. It was only then that Jia really noticed the woman. She wore leather armor that was dyed black and had silversteel trim dyed red. A goddess was stitched to the front of the leather plate in silver thread, and Jia’s chest tightened at the sight. It was the House of Death sigil.
The woman’s eyes were no longer warm; they were cold and distant, and the woman’s mouth had pressed together into a grim line.
“Have a nice day.” The woman nodded her head briskly and turned away, and this time Jia grabbed her arm to get her to stop moving.
“I’m sorry, for what happened to your people.” Jia swallowed. “What’s your name?”
The woman yanked her arm out of Jia’s hold, her eyes remaining cold. “My name is Kaiya Thorn, but you’ll hear my people call me call me Kaiya Whitethorn.”
“Why?”
“Because on the day your house led an army into Death, I was the only survivor of a platoon of soldiers defending the Whitewood Forest.”
Jia’s mouth went dry, and her eyes fell to her feet. “I’m sorry.”
Kaiya said nothing.
“If it’s any consolation, I am Jia Frostguard. My mother is leading the House of Ice reparations. She is currently in Skavetsia, training your soldiers.”
Kaiya said nothing, but the grim set of her mouth softened a fraction.
“Have a nice night. It was good to meet you, Kaiya Whitethorn.” Jia turned away to go find more wine.