Chapter 18
A sharp pounding rattled my door, dragging me from a restless sleep.
I jerked upright, heart hammering, disoriented for half a second. It was still dark outside, I realized, groaning.
Sleep had evaded me most of the night. I tossed and turned over my fight with Edith, worrying over her—over my selfishness. She wasn’t wrong; I wasn’t prepared for this. But I was desperate for those memories, more than I think she’d realized before last night.
The pounding came again.
“Rubi,” a voice barked. The Ambush Master himself.
Training. Right.
I exhaled through my nose and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Barefoot, I padded across the floor and wrenched the door open. “It’s too early for this.”
Blake stood in the doorway, shoulders squared like he was bracing for a fight. Shadows were smudged beneath his eyes, and I delighted slightly in the fact he hadn’t slept well either.
He was dressed in a training uniform of black and silver that molded to his broad frame, the tunic made of soft, reinforced black fabric, designed for movement but tough enough to withstand strikes.
Over that, he wore a leather jacket with silver embroidery tracing the seams, forming the crest of the dominion’s tyger on his sleeves.
A tyger fang was pinned to the front—the symbol of his authority.
The Ambush Master.
His black leather training trousers were tucked into knee-high boots, their sturdy soles silent on the stone floor as he tapped a foot impatiently.
I met his gaze and crossed my arms as I stood in the doorway. Blake’s eyes flicked over me, then lingered, taking in the line of my throat, the dip of my collarbone, before his expression shuttered.
I was barely dressed in the worn tunic I’d slept in. It left far too much of my legs bare.
A tinge of pink etched across his cheeks as he cleared his throat.
His voice was gruff. “You cannot answer the door dressed like that. It could have been one of the guards. You need a maid. And a nightgown that goes to your ankles instead of a tunic the size of a handkerchief that barely covers your—”
“What do you want?” I cut him off.
His nostrils flared. “I swear I—”
Cutting himself off, he exhaled hard and rubbed his temples.
“I’m not doing this,” he muttered, before shoving a pile of cloth and leather into my arms. “Get dressed.”
“But I—”
“Now,” he snapped. “I’ll be waiting.”
Stepping back inside, I slammed my door with more force than necessary. I washed quickly, the water doing little to chase away the simmering frustration coiling in my chest. I pulled on the training uniform, before a familiar weight draped itself across my feet, followed by purring.
“Couscous,” I sighed, glancing down. She rubbed her orange-and-cream fur against me while her striped tail twitched against the floor.
Smiling, I bent to pet her, taking comfort in the silkiness beneath my fingers.
Then I crossed to the window and unlatched it.
Couscous leapt onto the ledge, then sprang onto the trellis outside.
Claws catching the wooden lattice, she descended in swift movements, disappearing into the garden below to hunt.
Stepping to the mirror, I regarded myself. The black tunic was too wide and long for me. I noticed the glyph on the sleeve and pressed, the fabric adjusting to fit me perfectly.
It was smooth and expertly woven, with just the right amount of give.
The collar framed my neck while the sleeves were fitted to my arms. When I was finished, the supple leather trousers hugged my legs, tailored for movement without restriction, tucked into lightweight yet durable boots.
I shrugged on the soft leather jacket, and the silver-embroidered tygers glimmered like moonlight.
Lastly, I put on a finely worked leather belt, with holsters expertly placed for ribbons.
As I slid my ribbons into place, I found myself wondering about Blake. He was such a contradiction.
I had never possessed such fine clothing. It was another reminder that I didn’t belong. But now I didn’t care. I would win a spot in the Culling. I would carve out a place for myself, no matter who thought I didn’t deserve it.
Good. Or else I’d need to do some biting, and I hate that before breakfast. Flame’s warm voice curled through my mind.
A breath of laughter escaped me. My kind of girl.
Hurry.
I twisted my damp hair into a long, precise blue braid, Blake’s strands catching the light. Then, after a moment, I tucked Blake’s heat glyph into my pocket.
He was still fuming outside my door, only this time with a companion.
Thyme, I realized, in his Ambush Cub uniform.
“This is Thyme,” Blake said, arms crossing over his chest as he ran his eyes appreciatively over my fitted uniform. “Though I believe you’re already acquainted.”
Thyme looked pale, like he’d been caught doing something bad.
I jumped to defend him. “He didn’t—”
Blake cut off my defense of the boy with one outstretched hand.
“I’ve assigned him as your squire, through training. He can help you.” With permission now was left unsaid. “See her to the training ground,” Blake ordered Thyme, before turning on his heel and stalking away.
Thyme and I exchanged quick smiles before he led the way down the hallway. I followed behind, not sure what to do with the gratitude I felt toward the Ambush Master for assigning Thyme to me, knowing how much it would mean to have a familiar face nearby.
The palace was still quiet at this hour, the corridors bathed in the dim glow of the early morning light.
I’d memorized the basic layout yesterday, at least where I had been led through.
I knew where the main halls were, the staircases that twisted between floors, the small passages servants used to move unseen.
It was easy enough to tell we were close to the kitchens, with the warm, rich scent of baking bread curling through the air.
It was too early for the kitchen staff to be serving food, but I wondered if I might scrounge up a custard-filled bun, maybe even a cup of jasmine tea.
I needed to put on weight and muscle if I was to have any hope of surviving against the huge warriors of this dominion.
As we neared the heavy wooden doors, a sharp voice cut through the quiet. “You noisy little fool! How many times do I have to tell you to be quiet while your betters—”
I paused in the shadow of the doorway.
Thyme didn’t notice me not behind him any longer, continuing on without glancing back. I turned in to the kitchen light.
A tall thin woman stood with her back to me, long arms folded, fingers wet with spilled broth. A pot lay on its side on the counter, its contents dripping onto the floor. The kitchen smelled sharply of herbs and something burning while a few kitchen maids worked at the counters.
And Nelly stood there like a trapped hamster, her hands wringing in her apron. “I didn’t mean to distract you, Head Cook, even though you do tend to be ill-tempered and just the slightest bit clumsy in the morning.”
The cook turned on her; her bony hand swung through the air.
It never landed.
My fingers clamped down on her wrist. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the clatter of pots and the murmurs of the kitchen staff, who had frozen in place.
“By the bloody anvil, who are you?” The cook sneered, trying to jerk free, but I held firm.
Then she took me in. The black and silver of my uniform.
The expertly tailored fit. And most important, the embroidered tygers on my sleeves.
Recognition flashed in her gaze. “My apologies, Tygress Rider,” she murmured, the hostility melting from her face quickly.
Something old and deep within me came to the fore. “Transfer Nelly to me as my maid permanently, effective immediately.” The words rang out. I didn’t know where that authority in my voice came from. It was as if someone else were speaking for me.
“Are you certain?” Head Cook asked, lifting an eyebrow. “We shall be glad to be rid of her. This one is a trial.”
“Not to me,” I said.
Nelly’s eyes shone. She fumbled to take off her apron.
I gave her a nod as I left the kitchen, swiping a warm bun from the cooling rack.
I followed the hallway to its end, finding a large wooden door.
I took a deep breath as I stepped outside.
The air was cold, carrying the damp scent of stone and snow.
Despite my clothing, I was glad for the warmth glyph.
The first light of dawn crept over the high palace eaves, casting a soft glow on the large courtyard.
It was paved with smooth flagstones cleared of snow, its surface worn from years of footsteps.
A massive stone basin stood at the center, its water flowing in steady streams, the sound a quiet backdrop to the morning stillness.
I wondered if glyphs kept it from freezing.
Manicured hedges bordered the walkways, and rows of ginkgo trees lined the covered galleries, where lanterns burned low, their flames flickering in the breeze.
Though most of the palace still slept, the courtyard was already stirring.
Guards in polished armor stood at their posts.
A few sentries patrolled along the high walls.
Servants moved briskly, carrying bamboo baskets of laundry or hauling buckets of water from the wells.
A stable hand led a pair of horses across the yard, their hooves clopping against the stone.
Across the courtyard, the wide archway leading to the warrior training grounds loomed tall, its iron gates open. Beyond it, the grounds stretched into the distance, the dirt-packed arenas and sparring rings still quiet except for the distant clang of a blacksmith already at work.
The scent of burning coal and hot metal carried faintly on the wind.
A quick patter of footsteps approached. Thyme sprinted toward me.
“Where did you go?” he panted, eyes wide. “They’ve already started!”
He didn’t wait for an answer before turning and heading toward the training grounds. I exhaled, squared my shoulders, and followed.
Thyme wove through the courtyard at a quick pace, slipping between servants. I kept close behind, my boots tapping against the stone as we passed beneath the archway.
The scent of sweat, earth, and faint traces of metal filled the air as we stepped onto the packed-dirt field. It was enormous, stretching far beyond the walls of the courtyard, with multiple sparring rings, wooden dummies scored with blade marks, and racks of weapons lining the perimeter.
A few warriors stood near the edges, oiling armor or sharpening blades, but my attention was immediately drawn to the wide track at the center of the grounds.
The Tyger Warriors were already moving. More than a dozen figures ran in tight formation, their movements precise, power in each stride.
All Silvers, of course. All yangs, except I spotted the gleam of Malissa’s long light hair.
Beside them, tygers thundered across the dirt, muscles rippling beneath their thick coats. The ground shook beneath their combined force, dust kicking up around them as their breath came in powerful puffs of steam against the morning chill. I didn’t see my Flame.
No one spoke as they ran. The Bond between warrior and beast seemed silent but absolute.
Each tyger matched the stride of its human partner, their paces synchronized like two parts of the same body.
It wasn’t just running. It seemed to be a test of endurance that set them apart from ordinary soldiers.
Thyme shot me a quick look over his shoulder. “Hurry,” he said between breaths. “You’re going to have to make up what you missed.”
I nodded, watching as a familiar figure among the runners came into view.
Blake. His bronze hair was damp with sweat, his expression focused as he kept pace with Kingsolver, whose massive paws barely seemed to touch the ground before launching forward again. Even in the brutal efficiency of training, there was something effortless about the way they moved together.
Thyme tugged at my sleeve. “Come on.”
Only we didn’t make it. Blake eyed me, turning and stepping out of the moving circle, Kingsolver leaping majestically into place behind him. At his break, the others slowed. Jace and his tyger were the first to join Blake.
Jace approached me with a smile. “Good to see you, Rubi.”
I didn’t miss the quiet glare Blake threw toward the Captain of the Guard.
“Everyone, fall in line,” Blake shouted, eyes piercing. “Let us begin properly, now that our newest warrior has decided to show.”