Chapter 3
Thou Shalt Not Trip Over Politics (or hems)
Arwen
It’s silent.
The only sound I hear is the soft hum of the machines churning in the background. I giggle out loud. Why am I giggling? I don’t giggle. Wraths don’t giggle. Wraths who are getting power tested with no manifested sin power… definitely don’t giggle. I am officially losing it.
I hear the familiar clacking of Dean Bellow’s heels slowly moving my way.
“Well, well...” she says, looking at the machine’s screen. “An 80 and a 100, what in the world are they feeding you Wraths in this city?”
Her eyes are sharp, piercing as she meticulously looks over my tattered shorts and t-shirt, but her face gives nothing away.
She doesn’t look surprised, and she doesn’t look angry.
She just looks... assessing. Like if she looks hard enough at this vessel in front of her, she’ll be able to see the power swirling in my veins.
“And what, pray tell, is your sin power, dear?” She snaps her fingers at the lead proctor, motioning him to the machine. He promptly runs over and starts switching the machines out to test me again, like they did with Brixton.
“She said she doesn’t have one,” the asswipe proctor in front of me scoffs.
“Was I speaking to you?” she replies in a scathing manner. “Leave us.”
He skulks away, clearly bemused to be missing more gossip on his shift. I think I may like this lady.
“You have not manifested a sin power… how interesting.” She looks over me with intrigue and not the disgust or skepticism that I am used to.
Oh yes. I think I may like this lady a lot.
“That’s correct, Dean Bellows,” I reply. “I have never manifested a sin power from any faction. I lack even simple enhancements of Wrath, and frankly, exile appeared likely today.”
If respect and innocence get me closer to any answers, all the better.
“Everyone out,” the Dean quips, and immediately the room clears.
A boy still attached to his machine walks out slowly with his proctor wheeling the large metal monstrosity behind him.
The last of the people in the room exits, and the door closes.
Dean Bellows hasn’t taken her eyes off my face. I still can’t get a read on her.
“Stay here,” she says, spinning on her heel.
She walks into the small office attached to the locker room.
Once I’m alone, the gravity of the situation finally hits me.
A 100% power level? It’s not possible. There’s no recording in history that I have heard of, in my feeble excuse of an education, that has anyone at a 100% power level.
Something must be wrong. The machine should say 0.
Maybe it’s confused because it has never encountered a sinless like me.
What will happen to me now? I laugh internally as I remember I was ready to meet death just a few minutes ago. Now I’m left with more questions.
Cruel, cruel universe. I take back my thanks for the entertainment and drool-worthy specimen, Brixton.
The door clicks open. “Well, Arwen…”
How does she know my name? Then I see it.
She has my file from the nurse assistant.
The same file that says I don’t know how many sexual partners I have had in the past year.
That fucking nurse. Now Dean Bellows is going to think I’m a slut and a sinless.
So much for my respectful and innocent tone earlier.
Thankfully, she spares me the embarrassment.
“We seem to be at an impasse. We have not experienced a situation like this in our prior years of testing.” That’s putting it mildly.
“Although I am the Dean of SinVail Academy and your power level qualifies, I do not have the authority to allow you to attend without a sin manifestation. That in itself is extremely rare. However, your power level is at a rate we haven’t seen in many centuries, and your faction leader, Councilor Drow, agrees with me it would be a waste to not see how your power unfolds. ”
She must see the hope on my face because she cuts in to curb my enthusiasm. “However, Councilor Drow cannot authorize that decision alone. Because of the... unusual circumstances... you will appear before the Leadership Council in Pride Territory, where they will decide your fate.”
“The Leadership Counsel?” I ask. She must mistake the confusion on my face for fear because she continues to rain on those tiny embers of hope that had formed deep in my soul moments ago that I might live through this day.
“Of course, I will test you myself before we leave today to ensure that no one made any mistakes. You understand.” She motions to the new machine that the Lead Proctor brought over before he left.
Ahhh, yes, that makes sense. She thinks someone has tampered with the results or with the machine itself. That’s more likely. There’s no way a sinless would get a 100% power rating.
“Sure, I understand. Let’s do this.” I sit and give her my arm.
Maybe if I play respectful and nice about this whole situation, she can have some sway over my exile.
I know she has status. Perhaps I might receive some supplies as a reward for assisting.
I’m sure by this time tomorrow, I’ll be heading out across the border of Wrath and into the barren deathtrap that is the beyond.
That is if they choose not to execute me.
A girl can dream. I close my eyes and sit back.
***
This is not a dream. This is a nightmare. A beautiful, lavish but scary nightmare.
I sit on the velvet bench in the waiting room of the western wing of the Pride Council offices.
The floor is pearly marble, the walls are crisp and white, and I’m pretty sure I am the dirtiest thing in this place.
Once Dean Bellows confirmed that my results were a 100% power rating, they immediately swept me into a transport van, drove me to the nearest airbase, and I suffered the terrifying helicopter ride to Pride Territory.
We arrived in the middle of the night, and today my nerves are shot.
They didn’t allow me to say goodbye or grab any belongings, not that I had many to grab.
My room last night was larger than Sadie’s entire house, and despite the bed being the softest surface I have ever laid on, I was too nervous to sleep.
Thankfully, I was allowed to shower and given some clean clothes. Clean, albeit strange, clothes.
I am out of my element in a skirt.
I’ve never worn a skirt or a dress. They weren’t practical in Wrath when you could be called on to fight at any time. Anyone wearing clothes that weren’t filthy and torn just stuck out like a sore thumb. The type of sign that advertises, “I can’t fight.”
Wraths wear torn clothes like a badge of honor. This tight skirt is just ridiculous. It stops right above the knees and limits my movements considerably. Why would anyone wear this, even in Pride? What if you need to kick someone?
I’m too lost in my head, picturing how I would hike the skirt up fast enough to roundhouse kick an oncoming attacker, to notice I have company.
Hearing a cough, I look up, locking eyes with the most beautiful and put-together man that I’ve ever seen in my life.
I glance to my lap before my cheeks can flush, only to realize I have my skirt hiked up and scrunched in my hands halfway up my thighs.
.. apparently I wasn’t just ‘mentally’ preparing myself for a roundhouse kick.
Oh, universe. Just end it now.
I’ve been ready. Why torment me? I clear my throat and pull my skirt down, brushing the wrinkles out of the black material.
“Everything okay?” he asks in an amused voice, and I slowly look back up at him.
“Oh, no, I’m f…freight. I mean fine, but also tried to say great. I’m great actually....” What the hell am I saying? Get it together, Arwen.
He raises a brow at me and laughs a little. Not like he’s making fun of me, but like he finds me amusing. “Are you here to meet with someone on the council?” he asks.
“Yeah, I guess I am nervous.” I look up and let out a deep breath.
“That’s understandable,” he says. “It can be intimidating being around such powerful people.” He stands up and moves to the bench across from mine.
“I experience this all the time, yet I still get anxious. The secret is to fake it, even if you’re a mess inside. Just imagine you are sitting down to talk with your best friend. They’ll admire your confidence.”
I shake my head in a slow nod. Now that he is sitting across from me and speaking to me, I can admire his godly appearance without looking like a complete psychopath.
He’s in a crisp navy-blue suit and tie, which…
while I disagree with its functionality, is doing everything to hug and highlight his lean muscular body.
His dark blonde hair is long enough for him to style it artfully without it being shaggy.
His dark sea-blue eyes almost look like they are churning in intensity under his heavy brows, and the perfect amount of stubble highlights his firm jawline.
I feel like I could study this man up close with a magnifying glass and not find a single hair out of place.
“So, who are you meeting with?” he asks, leaning back and resting his ankle on his knee in a clear power pose.
“Umm, I guess all of them?” I reply, a little unsure.
While we attend school in Wrath to learn about our powers and responsibilities to our territory and society, the school doesn’t exactly provide us with detailed information on the other territories.
Why would we need it? Very few ever leave their own territory unless it’s to fight, in which case, we just need to know our commanding officer's name. Truly, I’m clueless regarding where I’m headed, though I won’t confess that to him.
He looks at me with a little shock on his face. “All of them? As in the entire council? I didn’t even know they were all here.”
He looks me up and down, clearly awed. It’s been a long time since anyone has looked at me with that kind of awe, with anything other than disdain, honestly. It lights me up a bit. I can just imagine him looking at me with that awe and hunger in his eyes as I stand naked in front of him and…nope!
No.
Bad Arwen.
We are here to determine the fate of your existence, not walk into the council of the most powerful people in the world with wet panties. Focus!
“Yeah, I guess.” I say, shaking my head and snapping myself out of it.
A gold-framed painting depicting an apple hangs on the wall, to his left. I will just focus on that. Yes, Arwen. Focus on the beautiful, admittedly boring, painting of an apple instead of staring into the eyes of the gorgeous specimen in front of you. Your self-control is phenomenal. Keep going.
“Wow, that’s... that’s really impressive. Sorry, I hope I didn’t offend you… you just look younger, you know?”
“Younger?” I say, confused but still determined to stare at my apple. I probably look cultured and studious. Cultured and studious people like art, right? Even if it is fruit art?
“Yeah… I thought maybe you were my age and doing something for the academy, or an internship. Sometimes we have exchange students come through here, or academy journalists looking for a quote from… I’m sorry, I’m babbling.
I don’t mean young in a bad way. It’s really a compliment.
To be so powerful and successful, to meet with the entire council at your age, I mean, you can’t be that far out of the academy, right? ”
I’m working through his words in my brain, but it’s taking a large amount of mental effort to stay focused on this hideous apple. It’s not even a pretty red. It looks like someone picked it… wait. Hold on. Did he say powerful and successful?
I take a chance and glance over at him, and he’s… blushing. Why is this Adonis of a man blushing? And his words finally click.
Oh. Ohhhh… He thinks I’m somebody important.
He thinks I’m so important that the entire leadership council is going to speak with me. And now he is blushing because he is impressed and shy and babbling.
I should correct him.
I should definitely explain that I am a nobody. I’m less than nobody, because I don’t even have a sin... and really that this is more of a trial than a big fancy important meeting.
“Oh, don’t worry, it happens all the time,” I laugh and wave my hand like it’s no big deal that he didn’t realize how important I was. I’m guessing this kind of stuff is why the universe doesn’t like me.
“So, what are you doing here? Meeting with one of the council members?” I draw out the word “one,” and now I know I’m pushing it. He looks down at his fancy, expensive watch and laughs softly to himself.
“Yeah, something like that. Nothing as cool as your meeting though. I’m actually stopping by before I leave for SinVail Academy. I’ll be starting my sophomore term this year.”
“Wow! Congratulations, that’s really an accomplishment,” I rush with all sincerity.
He looks at me with skeptic eyebrows, thrown off by my response.
Shit! That’s right. Super important and successful people like us are expected to go to SinVail.
It’s not exactly an accomplishment in our ranks, especially in Pride of all places.
“Thanks,” he says. “So, do you have any tips for me?”
“Tips?”
“Yeah, for the academy. You made a name for yourself. I… have a lot riding on my success at SinVail, and I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“Ms. Davies?” comes a voice from the hall.
“Yes?” I croak out, turning.
“The council will see you now.”
Oh, thank you, universe. I take back any nasty things I have ever said about you. You are a great and merciful universe.
“I’m sorry, I wish we had more time for me to share my academy knowledge.” I stand up and turn to go.
“Wait,” he says, “I didn’t catch your name?”
I turn around and see that he is holding out his hand. What a respectable gentleman!
“Arwen,” I say. “Arwen Davies.” No use lying now. I’ll never see this man again, and by the time he discovers Arwen Davies is nothing more than an 20-year-old sinless, I’ll be long gone.
“Atticus,” he responds, taking my hand and shaking it, and holy hell! When did handshakes get so hot?! I snap around to leave before I can do something to his hand that would definitely give away my non-important status. Like lick it.
OK, time to stop thinking about licking hands, Arwen. Focus. I turn down the hall, following the assistant that called me, and leave Atticus and his delicious hand behind forever.