3. Knee-Deep in Deceit #2
Stumbling, adrenaline draining away, I barely made it to the red door labeled Knight Unit. I slipped through the door and collapsed back against it, relieved to be away from so many eyes. Wherever I went, soldiers stared.
Cool air whispered against my feverish flesh in the inner hall, and I welcomed the change.
A pinkish hue that hadn’t been there this morning burned across my arms. The deep bronze of my skin had protected me from the sun for the past few months, but for some reason, I’d recently started getting burned.
It always faded within a few hours, but each time it happened, it hurt worse.
“Squire’s back!” Axel shoved the door open behind me, nearly sending me to the floor.
He’d changed out of his armor, and he sauntered after me as I backed away. Oil lamps swayed from the ceiling, drenching him in long shadows. He smiled wide, flashing two fang-like canines, like those of the fairy-tale vampires.
He’d sharpened them himself.
With a file.
“What—did you think the desert was going to eat him?” I asked as Axel tried to pet Squire, who hid beneath my braid. Apparently he had a natural distrust of men. A spectacular display of advanced owl intelligence.
Axel, realizing he wasn’t making headway with my bird (read: avian genius), gave up with a dramatic sigh and turned to me.
“No,” I said, but he’d already slung an arm over my shoulders.
His posture was casual, but his eyes had a hardened edge to them.
The more time I spent around him, the more of an enigma he became.
He was quick to anger, and even quicker to laugh.
Lazy enjoyment hid simmering indifference, which masked bouts of inflammatory rage.
Axel wasn’t quite what he seemed, and you never knew how he would react.
I tried to yank away from his hold, but Axel flexed and stayed close, glued to my side.
Ella followed through the door, not hitting anyone with it. Unlike her brother, she wore her emotions on her sleeve. I like her best.
She joined us. “How was the parachute practice?”
“Amazing,” I said honestly.
“I hate the heights.” She shuddered. “They make me sick.”
“They make me alive.” I patted down my messy sandy hair while I still tried, unsuccessfully, to get away from Axel. “Your curls look pretty this morning.” I shoved at her brother to no avail, admiring her with the genuine appreciation of someone who had pin-straight locks.
She slapped Axel on the back of the head. “Let her go.”
“No.” Axel pretended to gnash his fangs.
She hit him harder.
I fought free, pushing out from beneath their flailing arms. Siblings. With my newfound space, I leaned against the wall, knees weak from leftover adrenaline.
Ella patted my shoulder and made a soothing noise, apparently done beating her twin. She leaned forward and gave Squire a kiss on his head, and he preened happily. Axel made a noise of jealousy, but I understood Squire. Ella was warm and gentle, just like Aurora.
Grief hit me hardest at the most random times. The world appeared the same on the surface, but the tiniest details tipped the scales, and I remembered it was empty without her in it.
“Soooo,” Axel drawled. “Did you hear the big news? There’s been an . . . addition . . . to your daily training schedule.”
My stomach bottomed out. A part of me had still hoped the Marshal would realize she’d demanded too much of me and would change her mind. That she’d stay up all night tossing and turning, coming up with a new plan.
This can’t be happening right now.
I wrenched my shoulders back, standing straight as I steeled myself.
Axel stepped away at my expression. “You’re getting a new partner . . . sort of.” He grimaced. “Apparently the Marshal’s not happy with your progress and wants to give you more practice in the afternoons . . . with him.”
Everything narrowed to a singular point.
It was happening.
Thoughts static, I backed away.
Axel continued, reciting the planned narrative mercilessly.
“Rumor is, he agreed because of some bargain. A pardon for his crimes.” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it.
Me neither. “The diamonds dampen the strength of his magic, but they don’t nullify it completely.
Ostensibly he can still wield enough magic to . . . train you.”
“But we’ll be around to help,” Ella offered softly. “You’re not just stuck with him.”
“He’s in your room,” Axel said. “Waiting for you.” He pointed at my door.
Time moved like molasses, strange and suffocating, as I turned and walked stiffly down the white hall.
I stared at the door handle. For some reason, I couldn’t lift my arm.
The door swung open from the inside before I could move.
Bright morning light glowed around a towering silhouette. Sharp wind gusted my hair back.
“Hello, brat . . . or should I say . . . partner.” A familiar, bold accent butchered the words.
Aurora’s murderer.
“Oh no, the spider whore,” Squire screeched, hiding behind my braid (accurate).
The object of my demise leaned casually against the doorframe, his wide shoulders almost completely blocking the entrance to my room. The cyan arachnid tattoo spread across his hateful face. He smelled of decaying flesh, bloodletting, and—I inhaled deeper—the complete absence of hope.
Backing away across the hall, holding my breath, I tried to forget his distinctive scent—the reek of a ruined world.
“No,” I whispered, and I wasn’t acting. The panic was real.
“Yes?” Squire hooted.
“Yes—indeed,” Tarantula purred, chains rattling as he raked his cuffed hands through his gold-streaked blond curls.
Morning light reflected off a profile that regularly haunted my nightmares: platinum mask, harsh jawline, malicious maroon lips.
A shock collar with diamonds stretched across a throat that I knew firsthand was covered in gruesome scars. Metal clinked together, a long chain hanging between the cuffs on his wrists and ankles granting him limited mobility.
“I am royal, and thou art a lowly Knight. Bow to me.” His accent distorted each word, the corner of his lips twitching as if trying to fight a smirk.
His use of thou and thee instead of you was just as jarring as the first time I’d heard it.
He spoke with posh consonants and cruel intonations, like he’d learned dialect from archaic poetry.
“What?” I whispered, genuinely confused why he thought I’d obey such a ridiculous request.
He straightened, a muscle ticking in his jaw as surprise flashed across his steely gaze. The delusional megalomaniac apparently assumed I’d be engaging in some bizarre Mage hierarchy.
“On—your—knees, Zora,” Tarantula ordered stiffly as he glared down at my legs as if waiting for me to buckle. “Now.”
I stood taller.
He looked perturbed, like he’d genuinely expected that to work. Is this man for real right now? His audacity was almost inspirational.
“On your knees,” Squire hooted back at him. “Wretched whore.” (Helpful.)
“Silence, dirty bird,” Tarantula said.
“Don’t you dare speak to him like that.”
Squire screeched louder. “Silence, dirty spider!”
“That’s right, dear.” Trying to act unaffected, I stroked his tawny feathered head with one trembling finger.
If an expression could kill, I’d be six feet under.
Tarantula stepped forward, and the tops of his curls brushed against the doorframe. He towered so much taller than I remembered, all lean muscles and jagged striations. Every inch of his flesh radiated deadliness. His heavy-lidded eyes were rimmed with dark circles, magnifying the sense of danger.
He’s not blinking.
“BOW, vassal,” Tarantula said quietly, magic glittering around him in a haze.
“No.”
Vassal. Isn’t it Knight?
“On your knees, hideous whore man,” Squire squawked back, growing more verbose, and agitated, by the second (very helpful).
“You hideous whore man,” I corrected him, forcing my voice to stay strong. “Unlike him, we’re not living in the dark ages.”
“Slut,” Squire hooted.
“Close enough.”
Tarantula’s right eye twitched. “I order thee to bow to your royal liege, serf.” His gaze flicked up and down my figure like he was remembering the patched holes in my well-worn clothes the first time we’d met.
A flush burned across my chest, ribs creaking with rage. “I order you to silence yourself.”
I was done with everyone’s judgment. Tarantula called me a serf because we had a cooperative land-based economy in the Northern Commune and were isolated from trade routes. We made do with apprenticeships, learning to sew our own clothes, growing crops in greenhouses, and, my specialty, hunting.
Tarantula considered all life on Westmere provincial and below him, especially Northern life. The Midlanders called me a peasant for the exact same reason.
“Never,” Tarantula intoned, silver gushing from his pores like storm magic had found an endless source in him. The sharp scent burned my sinuses.
I gestured behind him at my room. “Get out.” Damn the Marshal’s plan. I couldn’t do this.
Tarantula stared at my throat, and I raised my fingers to the tooth ridges on my jugular. His eyes narrowed, lingering, then slowly traveled up to my face.
“Have you not heard the news?” he asked slowly, like he was making a concerted effort not to use archaic language.
“I have agreed to work with the Crimson Army for a full pardon . . . Say hello to your new magic trainer.” He held his cuffed hands wide, chain glinting as his accent lingered, more guttural than I remembered.
I took another step back.
“No.”
“Yes.” Tarantula winked cruelly.
My skull slammed against the wall. Aurora stared up at me with sightless eyes. I choked, lungs spasming in panic as I gasped shallowly, barely staying upright. She’s dead because of him.
If he had any mercy, he would walk away and give me space.
Tarantula stalked across the hall in two big steps and loomed above me. “This is a great honor for thee,” he said coldly. “They are forcing this farce on me.”
“I will kill you,” I whispered. “For Aurora—for Mom.”