15. Haze
Haze
I felt her before I heard the whispers of Ivar’s return.
I wash my hands with methodical ease, surprised at my own calm.
Today, I will likely die.
The screaming inside is incessant. I will fail her again.
There is no logic or reason. Only a powerful emotion that overcomes all other senses. There is no solution to this predicament, only a sliver of a chance at something other than death.
So, why would I entertain the thought? Why would I risk everything for a girl who doesn’t even know me?
I am afflicted. I am sick. And it is too late to save me.
I follow the screaming boy in my mind, feet moving down the winding path to reach the priestess. I never willingly approach the priestesses or their sanctum. I don’t desire their blessings, or worse, their praise.
So, I am unsurprised when her eyebrows rise at my arrival. Carefully, I align my mask so that I am the utter picture of a heartless warrior. Powerful. Purposeful. Undefeatable.
Ivar is stronger than me. He has more magic from the shadow-well. More blood to fuel him. More training, more confidence. He deprives himself of nothing.
I am shorter by nearly three inches. My magic is shallow and unrefined. My frame is thinner than most other warriors.
He grins when I step forward to claim the only thing that has ever mattered to me in this life.
She might be the real reason I am broken. The reason this life can never satisfy me.
She is my curse.
So, if I die fighting for her, that is the only blessing I’ll ever need.
“My delicate Haze,” the priestess croons. “This is a first.”
The girl cowers at her feet, eyes wide and bloodshot. I give no indication of my emotional state. Or that I intend to kill or be killed, all for a woman I shouldn’t know, let alone care for so deeply.
They will think I desire her body. Or perhaps that I have finally found my thirst for power and pride enough to fight for the right to lead.
Priestess Blythe’s eyes shine, and I know what she is thinking.
Today, I will either die or I will become what they’ve always hoped I would.
This is a show I must perform.
They cannot know she is my weakness.
They cannot know that I would burn this very community to the ground to protect her, or they would use her against me in the worst possible ways. Even Mavros couldn’t protect me from that horrible fate.
“Coward. ” The hushed word floats through the room like a whisper on the wind.
“ Betrayer.”
The priestess ignores the whispers rising up from the waiting crowd and watches my slow approach. The men are openly eager, praying for my blood to spill. I am not a favorite among our men. Though Maddox and Ronan have learned to appreciate me, they are the minority.
“You cannot defeat me, Haze. Don’t give up your lifeblood for pride.”
He puffs his chest out and smiles with a sense of joy that crawls under my skin. I’ve never been strong enough to defeat him before. Why would today be any different?
But for her, I must try.
“You challenge him?” the younger priestess asks. For the first time, concern drips into her tone. “You are willing to challenge your own squad leader, a Nihilian Drak: Ivar of the Island of Venine, son of the Rifelin?”
I too have an impressive bloodline. My father was powerful. I should be too. Yet, I have always lived as a disappointment to him, my potential, and even the Drak’yn in general.
Ivar is eager for blood, as all warriors must be. He tests my resolve at every possible turn.
I am technically not even a warrior.
“Yes,” I say, voice emotionless, my eyes steady on his.
The Nihil priestess steps forward slowly with unnaturally smooth movements.
Her eyes shine as she peers into mine. “I have long waited for you to rise, Haze, son of the great Monteran. You, who was chosen by Mavros, our eldest fighting drakai. Your potential has been theorized but has never come into fruition. I did not expect a half-dead human girl to be what raises your fighting spirit.” She flicks a brow. Is that annoyance or curiosity?
Ivar grins. “This is how the legend’s line will die.”
The crowd of warriors chuckles behind me. They will cheer for Ivar. They will pray for my downfall.
A challenge does not need to end in death, but if given the chance, Ivar will ensure I do not walk out of here today.
“A line may die,” the younger priestess says softly. “Or a mighty shift in power may shake these halls.”
“Doubtful,” Blythe says, voice dim. “If Haze loses… I do not like the presumption that we could lose such a promising young warrior. Will Mavros even take another companion? We could lose him too.”
She is right. It’s unlikely my drakai will accept another rider. He spent a decade alone before he chose me at my culling. He could just as easily waste another decade refusing all of his options.
“He has challenged me,” Ivar spits. “I will not back down.”
She sighs but finally laments. “The choice is yours, then, Haze. Do you truly intend to enter in a battle you cannot win?”
“I will not lose.” Even I don’t believe my lie.
“You challenge your own commander. Should you win, you will take his place. Are you ready for that responsibility?”
“I will not back down.”
“Then, today, you die.” Ivar bows low and dramatic before black claws fly at my face.