Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Morgan
Kieran’s face is bloody.
I see his phantom in front of me, his eyes widening as I thrust the sword into his gut. This is what he gets for his special treatment. Better yet, this is how I justify the use of his private gym.
By maiming him in my mind repeatedly.
Or perhaps I need someone else to be angry with instead of the constant berating I’ve done of myself. I lay awake in my bunk last night staring at the sagging rungs of the mattress overhead and wondering how much lower I will have to sink before I get it.
Before the reality of the situation really sinks in with such irreversible persistence I can’t pretend anymore.
My sapphire is gone.
And Druella, the cow, is sleeping soundly across the room.
Milkin even moved her and Daisy to bunks closer to the bathroom like they get some kind of special treat for being forced to put up with me.
Tonight, instead of pretending to sleep, I’d gone to work out. It helps exhaust me until even worrying is too difficult. Until I’m not myself but I’m a different creature, one made up of flesh and spite.
I hate this gym, though.
Falling asleep in the attached locker room only deepens the feeling. The fragments of my heart are all in agreement. The decadence of the private space grates on my nerves even though it serves a purpose.
Why does Kieran get the special treatment?
Because of his father? Because of the blood running in his veins?
His status shouldn’t make him any better or worse than anyone else.
Nobility have gotten away with literal murder for far too long because their coins and their reputations do the talking for them instead of their character.
The system is backwards and warped.
The King, rather than standing up for the people who need him the most, is a silent supporter of the General.
Why else would Lochlain stay silent in the face of so many atrocities?
Kieran and his basilisk slime cousin should only be granted special accommodations if they earn them. If they distinguish themselves through their intelligence, or their strength of character, then by all means.
Let them have the amenities.
I stretch out my legs and my balance evens out.
If they treat others with extraordinary kindness, then they deserve it. But the last time I checked, they were both super stinky piles of basilisk poop. Especially Kieran.
With shoulders that could bear a crown and a stride that commands attention.
I grit my teeth. None of that matters when he’s still the enemy. I shove the thought aside, then swipe the staff through the air, imagining the sharpened steel of a sword instead of wood.
I’ve decided that Kieran is a spoiled little brat and his daddy’s name buys an easy way through life. Kieran won’t use the gym anyway. I’ve never seen him around. He might take advantage of the steamy showers of his lux private bath, but not the exercise space.
Someone might as well use it, give it a reason to be cleaned by the maids working tirelessly to keep this palace running without so much as a nod of appreciation.
Besides, Mrs. Milkin is aching for a reason to send me to the mines, so why wait? What’s the point, if I’m going to end up there anyway? She’ll catch me eventually.
At least this way I’m giving myself a fighting chance at survival. I’m not going to wait for her to find some other insult, real or imaginary, and use it as the tipping point to boot me out.
“Eat this.”
I thrust the sword into Kieran’s invisible face this time. The tip pierces his eye sockets and he finally stops looking at me with the smirk on his face. Void, I could kiss that smirk.
The thought sends me off kilter and I falter forward, swinging my arms to overcompensate, and landing hard on my knees anyway. My breath shoves my chest forward and my ribs go tight.
Those are definitely not the kind of thoughts to get me where I need to go. Those are the kind I need to not exist, and somehow have, since I caught him in the shower.
I didn’t see anything. Much.
Through the steam and the nerves I can’t even be sure of the glimpse I did get. When I shouldn’t have been spying.
Voyeur.
I slap my palms against the mat and force myself up despite the swell of lightheadedness. This sparring session is more like therapy.
“And I need all the help I can get,” I mutter out loud. “What do they know?”
Any of them.
Everyone in this palace has an opinion and a means of ensuring their cruelty. My body begs me to stop and give it the necessary break. But I’m never going to be able to challenge Milkin or Kieran if I rest. They’re the same as any of the other beasts out there ready to bite me in half.
I swipe my hand up along the side of my head to the juncture of my ponytail and tighten the ribbon. Ether take me, I’m losing myself.
The thread holding me together seems so pitiful. Have I always been this way?
Maybe I’m as bad as the rest of them because before this, I thought I had myself figured out. I thought life had meaning and purpose and direction. I thought I was strong but really, I’ve lost any understanding of the word.
Now, it only takes one thought of Kieran, colored by hatred, for me to lose my cool. Whether I want to kiss that infuriating smirk off his face or slice it away with steel. Both options feel equally violent.
This isn’t like me.
I glance out the mullioned windows on the south wall and the silent stars outside watching me push through my misery. The stones are equally hushed… there’s too much quiet in my life. Sneaking around this way only forces me to turn inward.
I’ve never lived my life that way.
Getting my breath back, I consider the wall of weapons and shake my head. Tonight, the best thing to do is to sleep and plan. I’ve already run through my repertoire of Elspeth’s balance postures with the staff.
My plans won’t form themselves unless I’m rested and I’ve been outrunning sleep and its demons for too long, trying to stay awake like I’m one step ahead of my feelings.
“I’m done,” I mutter.
A few hours of sleep will do me a world of good. Sniffing, I cross to the door, checking left and right, but the hallway is empty. The smart ones have found their beds already.
There’s only me.
Blood pulses in my ears. I snuff out the candle I’d chanced and head into the hall. Then stop short at the scraping echo of voices from nearby.
No, I’m not alone.
There are others awake and they’re close.
I press my spine against the wall to keep to the shadows.
My heart jackhammers into my throat and my fingers tighten on stone like I’ll somehow melt into it. There are people awake and close to the gym. Have they seen me?
Of all the cursed nights to light a candle—
And for some reason, it pisses me off.
What are they doing out of their beds?
Sneaking around looking for booze, I’m willing to bet.
The desire for drunkenness inspires even the smartest person to play the fool.
I’d seen it too many times in the village, where the boys made a ruckus in the streets in the middle of the night after getting into Brian’s grain alcohol distillery.
Straining, I wait for the belch of drunken laughter to give them away.
But it never comes.
Only the scrape of a foot against stone and a hissed whisper like a remote drone of a wasp.
Instead of running in the opposite direction the way I should, I creep to the corner and pause. Darting my head out to catch a glimpse of whoever is stupid enough to join me in the wee hours of morning, I see nothing. Then—
A flash of silver. The tail end of a long set of braids. And a familiar dark-haired man.
Kieran and his buddy. What’s her face? Ass-something.
I stop in my tracks and an invisible fist clenches around my neck.
I’ve never spoken to her but she’s always staring, and she carries herself like she’s swallowed a sword and an air of superiority. What in the blazing Ether are they doing out past midnight, sneaking around?
Go back.
My entire body tenses when Astrid and Kieran head to the glass door leading outside. Only an idiot would go into the forest at night with all the hunting predators.
Yet they do, the door swinging shut behind them.
And I deserve the title, too, because I dart after them.
My chest goes tight and my hand freezes on the black iron latch.
Outside, the moon’s crescent isn’t enough of a glow for me to see past the first few feet of the terrace. I push the door open to hear Astrid hiss out, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Kieran’s back is to me and if he responds, I can’t hear it. I duck low on the ground in case they happen to glance in my direction. Then a slight scuffle from the other side of the terrace drags my attention there and two more people sidle into view.
I stare, my hands curling into claws at my side, suspicion overwhelming as everything inside of me goes taut.
There are only two reasons to be out this late, skulking around corners and clinging to dark spaces. Outside of drunken revelry. And those four? They’re as sober as they come.
So, they’re either up to no good, or they are meeting as lovers.
Since one of those things is clearly not happening unless Kieran likes to screw with an audience, then it’s definitely the first one. My brows narrow down until a slight pinching pain extends across my forehead.
What’s he doing? And where are they going?
The four of them bend their heads together, turning into a single black mass, before Astrid breaks away and strides to the stone border marking the patio’s end. Kieran maneuvers to the end of their merry band with the two young men between them.
Turn around and go to bed.
It’s the prudent thing. Isn’t it? To just leave them to do whatever they want to do and stay far away from any more trouble. Surely that’s what Kieran is getting into. Trouble.
Prudence leaves the room entirely when I hear Kieran growl. The sound urges the others to get into line. Before they disappear off the stone patio, I stumble out the door and leave the glass swinging open behind me.
Crouching, I trot after them, staying far enough behind to keep them in view without getting too close.