18. The Kata
THE KATA
Seraphina
By ‘mostly accurate,’ Az must have meant not at all.
For the week that followed the night of the wake, every corner of Vulcaris had been buzzing with two topics, in equal measure.
The first, nerves over the upcoming game, which given how much death we all witnessed in the first, was expected and warranted.
What had been neither of those two things was the second topic.
Elias and me.
There isn’t even an Elias and me, not anymore. Yet in the sparring yard, training halls, records room—even the latrines, cadets in all three Companies repeated at least one version of Az’s many rumors about us. Each one more ludicrous than the last.
The mess hall was the worst place for it. At breakfast the morning immediately after The Rec, there were whispers of what Az was calling the ‘feathered foreplay fiasco.’
A tale he told about how mine and Elias’s wings once brushed together in a display so shocking that a choir of angelic sopranos had supposedly gasped in unison.
At dinner that same night, I’d been pushing peas around my plate while everyone else muttered about how, allegedly, Elias had once become so flustered by my presence during a prayer circle that his halo had tilted in a most improper way, sparking a minor celestial incident.
Whatever that meant.
The next day, in the records room, I’d tried to focus on a textbook about hellhounds, failing to figure out why Ravi keeps following me around.
Az had sworn to a group from Overlord Zaheer’s Aes Company that Elias and me were once caught in a compromising position in the Virtus archives and upon me crying out in ‘rapturous release,’ I’d accidentally cast a seemingly insignificant illumination spell that set off a chain reaction of heavenly fireworks, narrowly missing a statue of Saint Virtus.
No one had cared when I’d pointed out that Saint Virtus was not a real Saint. Yet they’d been all ears when he told them about how Elias had tried to cover my blush with the tip of his soft feathery wing.
And how could I forget the ‘archangel arousal alarm.’ He’d brought it up in front of Overlord Silver in the sparring yard. The one he claimed had involved a glory hole that left every cherub in Virtus clutching their bows in horror.
I’d pointed out that cherubs don’t even live in Virtus, but he’d just winked. “Maybe not anymore! But who’s fault is that, Scarvo?”
Then Silver snapped, “Enough!” and made us both drop and do fifty dragon squats for no apparent reason.
When I’d confronted Az about the rumors privately, as we’d collected our mats for some early morning kata’s that Silver was back to torture us with relentlessly, the demon was more interested in hearing me repeat back exactly which rumors I’d heard so far.
I’d groaned. “You’re evil.”
He’d bowed. “You’re welcome.”
I’d spent the week shivering with equal parts irritation and mortification.
I paled. Flushed. Wanted to scream.
Wanted to smack him.
But now the rumor mill has finally quieted, I’m starting to think that perhaps Az’s distraction might have been exactly what I needed to get through it.
To deal with the waves of grief and guilt that followed the first game.
Then there was the constant daily war in my mind as the demons forced me to question the world as I know it, then quick as a whip would prove my father is right about them and has been all along.
When the whispers finally stopped, I assumed that was the end of it.
Until now.
The fortress sleeps at last. With the second game just hours away, all the cadets in my Company have called it an early night for a change.
I welcome it, the respite from the dormitory door creaking open every time I close my eyes to attempt sleep. But even without the interruptions, I toss and turn, fully dressed as usual, minus the heavy boots.
All I can think about is what awaits us at sunrise and how my body aches. Front, back, side, no position is comfortable tonight.
Being ready for anything at all times is seriously taking its toll. The dark circles under my eyes make them look an even brighter shade of amber. Polished copper, exactly like my fathers, even without the need for black leather to make them pop.
Tonight, sleep won't come.
Perhaps I need a distraction. To unleash the pent-up nervous energy.
I’m careful not to wake anyone as I creep out of the dorms, not that most of them would offer me the same courtesy. I learned on night one in Vulcaris that for the other cadets, nightfall means gambling or drinking in The Rec.
Never again for me.
I’ll be avoiding Elias like demon pox for the rest of my time here. Smile and be friendly if our paths cross but ideally fade into the back of his mind like I don’t exist. I’m good at that. I’ve been doing it since I was thirteen years old.
Part of me wants to see him, the thought of someone having so much power over me and my fate here… The knowledge that he can tell anyone my real name or who my father is at any moment…
What if I look at him wrong or he’s in a bad mood and my name comes up. It unlocks a fear in me that I never thought I’d have where Elias is concerned.
There were those who liked to drink away their nerves or grief, and then there were those like Lilliana, who sneaked back in later than any. Half of her clothes bundled in her arms, hair mussed, stinking of sweat and something else.
At least she has the courtesy to leave the dorm for her soirées.
Not everyone does.
I stand straighter and roll my shoulders once I’ve made it to the hallway. I need to move, to feel my muscles burn, but first, I need to fill up my canteen.
Even at night, I expect the Iron Isle air is thick, hot and muggy.
I’m creeping along the corridor, heading toward the latrines, when I hear her voice and stop dead.
Lilliana.
Except, she’s in her bed. Everyone was.
Unless…
But why go to the trouble of making her bed in such a way it looks like she’s in it, when she has no shame usually leaving it empty all night long.
I move through the shadows until I reach the closest suit of armor that flanks the doors to The Rec.
The doors are open, just enough for me to look around the metal suit and see them without needing to make my presence known.
Inside, Lilliana sits in front of the glossy red brick fireplace, draped over…
Elias.
She’s all fluttering eyes and calculated curves, grinning like she’s won some invisible war.
Elias has to be drunk. He’s laughing too easily, his hand wavering where it clutches a mug.
My stomach twists and I narrow my eyes.
Elias is handsome enough, but Lilliana isn’t flirting because she likes him. She doesn’t do genuine. She does leverage, advantage and manipulation disguised by a grin sharp enough to cut steel.
She still has my journal for Satan’s sake and hasn’t asked me a thing about it.
Nor have the Overlords or Makina, but something tells me she is only biding her time for now.
Suspicion blooms, twisting through me like a serpent.
Lilliana has always made her distaste for nephilim abundantly clear. Yet now she’s cozying up to Elias? Something doesn’t smell right about any of it.
Besides, no matter how bad things seem to be between Elias and I, I can’t leave him intoxicated and vulnerable. I don’t trust the demoness not to take advantage.
The three unrepentable sins.
Murder, theft and—
I shake my head, unable to even think about the third happening to the boy who was once so kind to me. I need to break this nightmare date up and fast.
I glance around, and when I turn back, I realize the metal already beneath my fingertips is the perfect distraction.
I shove the suit of armor with everything I have.
It comes crashing down, skittering all over the floor in an almighty crash of hard metal meeting even harder stone.
It works.
“What was that?” Liliana jumps to her feet. Her head whips from Elias to the door and back again. “There’s a game tomorrow, I better get back to the dorms and get some sleep. We’ll do this again though.”
Elias leans in for a kiss, and Lilliana steps to the side so the fool doesn’t stumble over his own feet.
That’s your cue to get out of here.
Quickly slipping down the corridor, I race toward the training halls, my mind reeling with even more suspicion, unanswered questions and dislike for that demoness.
What’s her game? And how easily will Elias fall for it?
Had she opened the journal and found a message from my father, or didn’t it work? Does it only work for nephilim? Or is the magic too broken from the water damage? Part of me actually hopes so.
And if she’s found a message, would it have made any sense to her, and had she replied? Was that even possible for someone without angel blood? Where there’s magic, there's usually seraphim or nephilim blood close by.
I gasp.
Perhaps that’s why she needs Elias!
As a nephilim, he’d absolutely be able to use the journal. Added to that, Lilliana will have heard the rumors about our history, no doubt.
She could be poisoning him against me, so he joins in her relentless efforts to find a way to make my life even more of a literal Hell and take me down.
It won’t take much.
Sure, he’d seemed concerned for a beat, the briefest moment when she’d slammed into my back and he’d been reminded of that awful attack.
But the rest of our interaction had been… tense at best. Hateful at worst.
I rub at my temples.
All I wanted to do was gain enough trust around here to get information on the Sisters and get close enough to take them out. An eye for an eye. And a way into my father’s good graces.
But now, my head hurts, and the Sisters suddenly feel like the least of my problems.
The doors to the sparring yard are half-ajar, the iron hinges groaning as I push them the rest of the way open.
I step onto the ash-covered ground, enjoying the night breeze in my hair. It’s unexpectedly cooler than normal. Much more bearable than the intense sun that suffocates us during the day.
The yard stretches out before me, vast and empty, barely lit under the dull flickering torchlights. No shouting cadets. No instructors barking orders. No eyes watching to measure every mistake.