20. Chapter Twenty
Sonder, a Water Sprite, tosses a ball of water at my face. I deflect it with a shield of fire. Steam hisses, its furious tendrils whipping into the air.
“Close one,” I taunt Sonder, grinning. Dirt cakes our sweat-covered bodies. She’s about my height and build; this is a friendly game where both of us are unlikely to get hurt. Her skin is extremely resistant to fire, even without a shield.
My left fist hooks into her cheek; spit flies out of her mouth. My teeth almost crack from her right fist colliding upward to the bottom of my jaw. The mouth guard barely protects me from her vicious punches.
Lighting my fists on fire, I parry her hits with volleys of my own.
Bruises bloom and sweat flings across the space.
On the outskirts of the arena, Coach watches, arms crossed.
His nondescript features show no emotion.
After thirteen years together, he’s still hard to read, unless he’s screaming at you.
With a swift kick to her gut, Sonder stumbles backward. Just as I bend my knees, preparing for a launch, Coach says, “Enough.”
Instantly, we’re done, bumping fists with bloody grins.
We’ll grab drinks later and give one another critiques.
Coach is adamant that while we might often fight each other in the arena, we aren’t competitors.
It’s for show. Period. It's why we’re never given awards — it’s about learning, every step of the way.
“Sonder, your left jab needs work. You don’t pivot enough on the back heel. Go shadow box. Kyrielle, your right hook needs more follow-through. Hit the bag for twenty minutes.”
“Yes, Coach,” we say in unison, knowing it’s fruitless to argue. With one last shared smile, we split up. Sauntering toward a punching bag, I get to work.
Thirty minutes later, I’m gathering my things and checking my phone. Twenty missed calls. Half are from Talia; the other half is Orliana.
Immediately, adrenaline races through my veins, and my heart gallops like I’m still in the arena.
I call Orliana first. No answer.
I call Talia. No answer.
Whatever it is, it’s bad. Alternating between the two, I’m sprinting out of the battle gym, almost running into a blue Dragon. I don’t even look at his face, filled with panic.
“Sorry,” I mutter. He says something, but the buzzing in my ears makes it hard to focus. Rushing away, I press Orliana’s number again. “Pick up, pick up!”
When I’m at the edge of the battle gym’s cliff, I leap off, holding the phone tight to my ear.
It’s the longest flight of my life, getting to Orliana’s.
Officials invade every part of her yard, coming in and out of the house.
It’s a horrifying moment to see a black body bag carted out the front door.
Is it a woman in there? It’s impossible to tell.
Tears pour down my cheeks as I land, scanning the crowd for the one face I’m desperate to see. “Orliana!”
A dozen faces turn my way, but not a single one is hers. Pushing through the bodies, I call her name again and again. One official tries to stop me from going in, but immediately backs off when I snarl with flames in my hands. No one is going to prevent me from finding my best friend.
“Orliana!” I scream again, growing desperate.
“Kyrielle!” she cries out, sobs following the sound of my name.
“Get the fuck out of my way!” I shove two male Orcs aside. They both yell out in alarm, probably because a Fire Sprite normally can’t do that. But nothing will keep me from her.
She’s sitting at the table, hair stringy. When she looks in my direction, I let out a small cry of devastation at the bruises. A few feet away is a massive pool of blood. She’s covered in it.
The moment we lock eyes, she crumples. Ignoring someone commanding me to stop, I rush over, wrapping her in my arms. Relief washes over me to see and feel her safe. Her scent’s coated in fear and copper. Whose body bag was that?
“Where’s Joulian?” I run my hands over her body to check for injuries. She winces too many times to count.
“Mom has him.”
Another wave of relief has me exhaling sharply. One less thing to worry about. “Where’s Mikan?”
Orliana’s silence says enough. Sitting on my knees, I lift her trembling hands. They’re coated in blood. Brushing her hair back, I inspect the black eye and bruises around her neck.
“Did this all happen today?” I rasp, trying not to sob. She needs me to be strong; I can be her strength.
Looking at me with the most forlorn doe eyes, Orliana shakes her head. A bruise peeks out from under the top of her camisole. Each revelation is an ice pick to my heart, jabbing at it mercilessly.
“Miss, you can’t be in here. We need to interview her.”
I glare over my shoulder at an Orc, one of the ones I shoved. “I’m staying. You can interview her, but I’m staying.”
“Miss, that’s—”
I stand up, letting my old, ever-festering rage surface to my skin. It lights up my flesh, inside my eyes, and turns into roiling balls in my palms. “I’m. Staying.”
The detective shifts nervously. One of the other officials walks in behind him, wide-eyed. “Aren’t you the Firecracker?”
Through the haze of flames in my eyes, I aim my glower at him. “Yeah. What of it?”
“Chief, we should let her stay,” he says nervously to the detective. “She isn’t fucking around.”
“What the fuck is a firecracker?” the detective scoffs.
I arc my hand until a half circle of flame explodes, forcing them to jump back. It doesn’t touch the crime scene — it’s not even hot. A simple party trick. But it makes my point.
The detective relents. “Fine. Stay. But no interrupting. Got it?”
“Whatever,” I mutter, sitting down again, holding Orliana’s blood-encrusted hand. On the floor is a bloody butcher's knife. An official comes in wearing gloves and bags it. Did Orliana stab Mikan?
The detective pulls up a chair and begins the interview.
At times, I wish I’d left, because each admission, each secret, rots a little more of my desiccated heart.
So much was missed. She never trusted me enough with this horrific truth.
Probably because she knows without a doubt, I would’ve burned him alive and drank wine while doing it.
That day, I swore to spend the rest of my life atoning for my mistake. Never again would Orliana suffer at the hands of anyone else.