Chapter Fourteen
That night, Solana dreamed she was bound in chains, kept deep beneath the castle with only her dagger as a companion. The hilt of it was burned into her flesh, had become one with her palm, so that everything she touched was torn to shreds until she plunged it into her own belly to finally be free.
Even after she woke, she kept a hand pressed against her stomach. She ate slowly, tasting nothing, and jumped when there was a knock at her door. Something had been knocked loose the night before, and now everything felt out of alignment.
A guard greeted her with a slight bow. “Master Solana,” he said, and Solana crossed her arms over her chest. “King Killian has demanded your presence in the training rooms.”
Solana poked her head past the door and glanced down the hall. There was no one else there. No glowering Reyes or optimistic Cora. The guard leaned back to allow her to look but cleared his throat after a moment. “He’s waiting,” he said tersely.
“Do I have time to change, or am I expected to show up in a nightdress?” She smiled when the guard’s pale cheeks flooded with color. “I’ll change, then.”
“I’ll wait here,” the guard reassured her.
Solana rolled her eyes and slammed the door.
Not knowing why she was needed or what to do besides obey, Solana threw on a set of training clothes she found folded at the bottom of the armoire and tied her wild hair back into a braid.
She decided against shoes and padded to the door on bare feet.
The guard was exactly where she had left him, unblinking eyes on her the moment she opened the door. He turned without a word, and Solana, assuming she was meant to follow, swiped her dagger from the bedside table and shoved it into its sheath before jogging to catch up.
On her first day back in the castle, Cora had given her the grand tour, pointing out rooms and pieces of significance, and Solana had followed and nodded appropriately.
Even if the library had been a second home, the training room the perfect hiding place, the kitchens her favorite spot.
Seeing them as an adult had been like seeing them again for the first time.
The magic had been lost, but it was replaced with a deep and mournful nostalgia that she would rather ignore.
The training room, however, could not be ignored.
It was a large, circular space on the ground floor of the castle, with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the cliffs and the wild sea.
The views were spectacular and incredibly familiar, as she had spent many days watching her father spar, but it was the mural painted across the ceiling that had always captivated her.
It was an entire bird’s-eye view of Supay rendered in shades of blue and black and gray, from the smallest detail to the largest building.
All of it like a faded memory, or a forgotten history, where colors bled and meaning was lost.
It was the first thing that caught her eye when she stepped into the room. The second thing was King Killian sitting in an ornate chair, his head resting on his ringed hand.
“She graces us with her presence at last,” he said playfully, but underneath the words was a sliver of irritation.
Beside the king stood an older man in black, one she had seen before but couldn’t name.
His Masters badge matched the silver buttons along his coat, gray hair pulled away from his face and tied at his neck.
He was a pillar of severity in comparison to the king, who looked past Solana to the guard at the entrance of the room and ordered, “Bring them in.”
Solana didn’t dare glance back and take her eyes off the men before her.
When King Killian stood and strode forward, Solana had to tense her muscles to keep herself still.
She knew that if she placed her hand on her dagger like she wanted to, the king would simply remove her hand.
Or her arm. Or her head. She wasn’t keen to find out which.
“I hear you’ve been having some trouble adjusting.” Up close, his eyes were more blue than white but still light enough that they were uncanny, like the imitation of color was only for everyone else’s benefit. “That you have been questioning my methods of containment and your role in all of this.”
Fucking Reyes.
“Your Majesty, I—”
But the king cut her off with a raised hand. “It’s no matter. You have taken an oath, and all there is left to do is make certain you abide by it. I think you just need a small push.”
Behind her, the doors banged open, and this time, Solana whirled around, heart in her throat.
Two guards entered the room with a muki stumbling between them, its head lolling from side to side with every step.
They came to a stop on the far side of the room before the large training mat, where they tossed the muki and backed away.
“The purpose of this training is to ensure that you leave this room without any doubt or questions about your gift and what is expected of you.” He clasped his hands behind his back and strode to his chair.
“Hakun will relieve you of your dagger, and then you will engage in hand-to-hand combat with the demon until you can subdue it easily and without hesitation, or are gravely injured.”
Solana pressed her lips together and glared at the king.
“Have you nothing to say?” he asked.
“Hardly seems like a fair fight if I’m unarmed…” She paused. “Your Majesty.”
Seemingly entertained for now, the king smiled and gestured at Hakun. The pillar of severity finally moved and came for Solana. This time, she didn’t hesitate to palm her dagger, but the man simply held out his hand and waited.
“Go on,” the king said. “He’ll give you his sword to use instead.”
Hakun’s hand covered hers over the dagger and squeezed.
Her palm stung, but it took effort to relinquish her hold.
The man’s brown eyes bored into hers as he pulled the dagger out of its sheath and, with his other hand, extended a larger blade.
Solana had no experience with swords. They were cumbersome to use in the narrow streets of the callejon.
And it was heavier. Solana sighed and shifted the short sword. Hakun returned to his place, and King Killian clapped his hands once, the sound echoing against the rounded walls. “Let us begin,” he cheered.
On cue, the muki, as if coming out of a deep sleep, shook its head and straightened to its full height. It stumbled forward, and then it opened its mouth and screeched. She didn’t cover her ears, the sound like a morning bell in her mind, awakening the parts of her that came alive with every hunt.
Without hesitation, Solana ran for the mat and leapt.
The muki had folded over to drop onto all fours, and its neck was exposed.
Her instincts screamed at her to kill first and ask for forgiveness later.
The blade sang as it barreled down in a perfectly executed arc, thwacking true in the base of the muki’s neck.
Solana had executed many a muki that way, but instead of dropping like she was used to, it flung her across the mat and into the wall as it roared and flailed.
Solana frantically glanced at the blade in her hand, marred black with muki blood, and back to the creature rushing toward her.
“Shit.” She threw herself to the side and rolled out of the way of its talons just in time.
They ripped through the mat where her body would have been, and the muki tipped forward from the absence of her.
Solana was already running to take advantage of the opportunity, grabbing the stationary limb and using it to propel herself up and over and onto its back.
Her legs squeezed around its torso to stay in place, and she raised the blade above her head.
This time, when she brought it down, she did so in a perfectly straight line with two hands wrapped around the hilt.
The muki jerked to the side and Solana slipped, the blade sinking deep into its shoulder.
Its unburdened arm swung wildly and caught a chunk of skin at her hairline.
It gave way with a burst of searing pain, blood pouring into her eyes, until finally, she lost her grip on the sword and was thrown off its back.
The mat was plush, but landing knocked the breath from her all the same.
The ceiling spun distractingly. Solana turned to orient herself, to brace her head and calm her heart, when a hand gripped her leg, claws sinking into her calf and tugging.
She gritted her teeth against the burn and scrambled for purchase on the smooth mat.
Her only weapon was buried in the muki’s shoulder.
There wasn’t ever a time when she had tried to kill a muki without her dagger.
Of course it wouldn’t die so easily. Whatever it was made of, whoever’s gift occupied the himaya, it gave her an advantage she had taken for granted thus far.
Overwhelming anger flooded Solana at the thought of being given this fight without the proper tools.
The king had told her she would have everything she needed at her disposal, and what she needed was her dagger.
Its warmth searing her hand, its presence stroking her mind.
If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine it in her hand, could almost feel its engraved hilt scratching her palm. If she just—
A hand clamped around her throat and effortlessly lifted her off the mat, her feet dangling in the air.
Solana came face-to-face with the undead creature, looked deep into its eyes, and saw every fear reflected.
It was trapped in unending agony, desperate to be free forevermore.
With every breath of hers it stole, it screamed to be seen and heard.