CHAPTER 8 #3
I hated that kind of elitist thinking. It was the same mindset that thought those of us who were lucky enough to be inked were better than the many, many people who couldn’t sustain or afford the ink.
Idiots, all of them.
Because of people like them, though, the not-spoken rule had been in place for decades back home: never ask about someone’s abilities.
But maybe things were different in Kobra, and considering the four of us were about to spend who knew how long together, collaborating, I supposed it made sense for everyone to be aware of each other’s abilities.
I forced myself to push past the unease, meeting Armand’s alarmed gaze and offering a small nod. His shoulders relaxed.
“I usually wait until the third date to brag,” he said, reaching for the first button of his shirt. Then he beamed, a radiant smile that had broken more than a few hearts in Widesight, including mine. “But I like you.”
A loud, sharp laugh escaped Kwabena’s chest.
Charming to the core, the idiot.
In mere seconds, Armand was shrugging his shirt off, baring smooth golden skin and lean, defined muscles.
He gave us his back, giving us a perfect view of the long, straight spikes inked in sap over his spine.
“Metallokinesis.” He turned back forward, waving over the large spiral on his upper abs. “And shielding.”
Kwabena dipped his chin in appreciation. “Interesting combination.”
His dark eyes travelled towards my bare forearms. When I turned to the captain, I found him staring too, eyes slightly narrowed. “None of you are able to handle transport.” Once again, there was judgment in his voice.
It needled me, digging under my skin. “That’s probably why we’re centurions and not manners.”
Green eyes bore down on me. “It’s a critical ability for a soldier.”
Oh, boy. Not one of those.
“The Republic of Widesight employs countless manners,” I countered, not bothering to correct his terminology. “And it’s their job to handle transport.”
Zephyr Kentar crossed thick arms over his chest. “So you’re dependent on them.”
“We complement each other.”
He couldn’t look more unimpressed if he tried. “What are your abilities, then?”
And there it was. The one benefit of my pale skin. The inked swirls on my fingers were nearly invisible. The ones on my collarbones were completely hidden beneath my shirt.
“Vibrokinesis,” I said, lifting my right hand to show the faint markings.
I hesitated for a breath, debating whether to stop there. Sharing my second ability would only complicate things, but the Kobrants were still watching me, expecting.
It’s like they already know I have a second one.
Stretching the neck of my top to bare the corner of my right collarbone, I said, “And intangibility.”
Zephyr’s eyes flickered. A subtle shift, but the implications of what I’d just said hit him like a seismic wave.
Someone who could phase through walls came with . . . complications.
Sergeant Kwabena chuckled, neatly slicing through the tension strangling the room. “By the Old Gods, Centurion Lachlan. You’re a dangerous one.”
I didn’t tear my gaze from the captain, though, awaiting his verdict like the condemned waited for the swing of the axe.
The corner of his jaw ticked, nostrils flaring, and I braced myself for the worst. For him to refuse to work with me, to request a different emissary to be assigned to the mission.
But what he said was, “Each of you will have to travel with one of us, then.”
For a heartbeat, I was so stunned that I almost nodded and readied to follow, not even caring that I’d have to ride with one of the Kobrants.
Then I remembered the disadvantage I was in and reeled myself in.
“And your abilities?”
I already knew both of them were at least psychokinetics, the white swirls visible on the darker skin of their forearms. And maybe it was presumptuous of me to assume they had more than one, but if we were forced to reveal ours, so were they.
Kwabena’s lips twitched in barely concealed amusement. He passed his baton to the other hand before lifting his left forearm. “Just the one.”
There was a note in his voice that said that his high rank within the King’s Army wasn’t due to the sap on his skin, but on talents laid elsewhere. I made a note to keep my guard up, and to not be fooled by his amiable speeches.
“And you?” I asked, looking at the captain.
His jaw feathered, betraying how much he didn’t want to divulge his second skill. “Psychokinesis and camouflage,” he gritted out. “Can we go now?”
It wasn’t lost on me how he was the only one to not showcase the sap tattoo to back up his statement. His forearm was on display for anyone to see, but the rare ability of camouflaging was inked along the thigh if I recalled correctly.
I had no desire to see the captain’s bare legs, so I posed no protests.
I need to be careful, though.
Him being able to camouflage—to become practically invisible at any time—would be almost as problematic as me being able to phase. I would need to be on my toes every second of every day in order to keep him out of my plans.