5. Chapter Five
Chapter five
It's not until hundreds of baskets have been given out and the Queen has gone that I get a minute to stop and breathe. A few people still huddle around the lit braziers, and there's a noticeable chill in the air now the square is almost empty.
Felix ducked out as we were finishing up, babbling about some reflective powder he is in the final stages of testing. I could tell he wanted to get a few more workshop hours in before tonight's festivities, so I told him to go.
Willa meets my eyes and gives me a smug grin as she scrapes a serving dish of baked vegetables in a thick white sauce for the remaining few stragglers. "Should I tell you where I ended up last night or make you wait until the feast?"
I shake my head, returning her grin. "You look exceptionally proud of yourself, so I'm guessing you were doing something—or someone—scandalous."
She pauses for dramatic effect until I look at her again. "Oh, it was both," she replies, her grin even wider than before. "I was with Hendrix."
"No, you were not." Her brows bounce in delight at my reaction. "The off-limits best friend?" I gasp, covering my mouth, pretending to be shocked.
She laughs wickedly. "I know, right? My brother's going to lose it if he finds out I broke his stupid rule."
I join in her laughter, finally sitting down for the first time today. "How did that even finally happen? Aren't they usually inseparable?" Then, I realize. "Oh, Cayzenn went to the Offering this year instead of your father, didn't he? Like Drea did for our family."
"Exactly. And you know I had to make the most of that opportunity.
Who knows when I'll get another one?" She cackles, turning to grab my arm and give me her best puppy eyes.
"Which is also the reason I need to go find him before the debrief is done and get our story straight.
I didn't exactly stick around to talk to him this morning once we... finished."
"As your best friend, I support your need for another conversation before the feast," I tease.
"We're done here anyway. I just need to finish packing up, then I'm leaving too.
The guards are around here somewhere. Go have fun.
" I wave a hand toward her beautiful bay Amplifier horse, Marley, who was brought over from the stables an hour ago.
Willa grins, and in one fluid motion, she's up the saddle. "About time you had some fun too, don't you think?' I scowl in mock annoyance as she laughs and nudges Marley down the wide dirt lane, calling over her shoulder, "I mean it, Aly. Life without orgasms is not worth living."
I roll my eyes, relishing her giggle as she disappears around the corner. The setting sun bathes everything in a golden glow. Despite my exhaustion and frozen, achy feet, I'm happy. It's fulfilling to have something of my own, like everyone else does, even if it isn't magic.
Days like today help quiet the whispering thoughts about there being more to life, something like what I see in Willa after a grueling training camp with the Shields.
She’s bloodied, bruised, and completely spent, but her eyes are always bright with joy as she goes on about nailing some cross body single whip combo thing or surviving one of their crazy treetop rope courses.
And it's the same for Felix when he loses himself in the workshop for days at a time, having surrendered to the satisfaction of unpicking a complex problem and coming up with the perfect solution.
I'm grateful I get to do something meaningful, even if it's only once a quarter.
The thought warms me as I step into the poorly lit storeroom of the Stonewood tavern, sighing at the need to put the ridiculous dress back on before I can head back up to the castle.
I'm untying the strings of my now-dusty tunic when the sound of the door clicking shut behind me prickles the nape of my neck.
Nobody should be back here. When I turn, the breath catches in my throat.
Two men lean against the wall, the top halves of their faces concealed behind crude strips of fabric that do nothing to hide their bloodshot eyes.
Menacing smiles on their intoxicated faces as they leer at me.
There's nothing identifiable about their plain black clothes, and, with hoods on, I can't tell if they have colored streaks in their hair, marking them as attuned with an Amplifier horse.
"Look at that, she's already getting undressed for us. How accommodating," the dark-haired, lanky one says, nudging his friend in the ribs and indicating my gaping top I'm holding closed.
"Told you she wanted us to follow her in here.
Practically begging for it." The blond behemoth of a man next to him grins.
This kind of thing is exactly why we're not meant to come to the Triv.
Not ever, but definitely not alone, and at a time when the pubs and taverns are overflowing and it's getting dark.
I should know better. Why didn't I wait for the guards to come back? Why did they even leave in the first place? This never would have happened if Dexil, our family guard, was with me, like he has been for most other Giving Days. But he's with Bri—or at least he was.
Despite the shiver of fear, it takes all my willpower not to roll my eyes.
"How often do you have to convince yourself of that when it comes to women?
" If they expected meek and compliant, they picked the wrong woman, even though mocking them might not be the best approach—a thought that's confirmed when one of them holds out a palm and conjures a long, cruel-looking blade out of nowhere, curved and glinting with a silvery tendril of Shield magic.
"I'd watch that mouth if I were you," he says gruffly, stepping forward and rotating the weapon from side to side so it catches the light.
As threats go, the sheer size of the man is terrifying enough to intimidate me into compliance, since I know the blade will disintegrate if he turns it on me.
The magic they're gifted has a sentience and was created to heal and restore, rejuvenate and replenish.
It never allows itself to become a tool for violence against another person, choosing instead to temporarily disappear from a Wielder if blood is spilled intentionally.
It’s a secret that's been closely guarded from anyone without magic, since it undermines the power of the Shields and Endurers to be able to conjure weapons but not use them for anything other than hunting and self-defense. Which makes this a scare tactic. An illusion of control I’d wager he's used on others before me.
Why is it that weak men get off on the idea of exerting power over women? They don't even need weapons to do it. So, how the hell am I going to get out of here unscathed?
Since he's bothering with the knife, I have to assume he thinks I'm a Triv and won't know it can't touch me. Guess my mother wasn't entirely wrong about the way these clothes make me look. Any magic wielder would see this as the empty threat it is.
"There's really no need for that," I say, leaning into the shakiness in my voice, since he obviously wants me scared, and I need time to figure out how to get away. "What is it you want?"
"We just want to get to know you better," the taller man replies, moving close enough to wrap a hand tightly around my forearm. "We noticed you outside and thought you looked a little lonely."
Fear and revulsion ripple through me, and I try to pull out of his grip, disliking physical contact of any kind.
"Sorry, but I'm actually already late, so I'll just–" I try for apologetic and polite, my words cutting off when he steps even closer, crowding my space and spinning me around to wrench my arm behind my back.
"Let's move this away from the door," he says, nudging me toward a more spacious area of the cluttered room, where overstuffed sacks and wooden crates lean against the wall.
Well, shit.
"Where are you trying to rush off to?" the dark-haired one asks, swigging from his pewter tankard and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He sways slightly as his eyes drop and he grins at the gaping top of my tunic I'm trying to hold together with my free hand. Fucking gross.
The overpowering stench of his ale-soaked breath mixing with sweat and whatever he last ate curdles my stomach, and I lean sideways to increase the gap between us.
Playing along is not working. Even if they can't hurt me with conjured weapons, there's no way I'm overpowering and outrunning both of them.
Not for the first time, I curse myself for skipping all those self-defense classes I should have gone to as part of basic training. I can't afford to be distracted with regrets right now, though. I need to at least fake strength. Pulling my arm free, I turn, putting my back to the corner.
"Whatever way you thought this would go, I can assure you, it's not happening.
I know just as well as you do, those blades can't touch me.
So, how about you let me leave, and I'll let you get back to your evening?
Or better yet, go home and sleep it off.
I'm sure the rest of the female population would appreciate it.
" I shudder to think how many times they've taken advantage of the women in the Trivialis who know nothing about how magic works. Entitled pricks.
"And just how the fuck would you know what our weapons can and can't do?" the dark-haired man snarls, conjuring a knife, as if to prove his point. I look from it to him and back again, clenching my trembling hands and letting disgust show on my face.
The grate of real steel being dragged from a hidden sheath has me twisting toward the burly, light-haired man, eyes widening in horror as he pulls his Ritual dagger from his hip and aims the sharp point at my neck.
Fuck. Quick escalation. They must be drunker than I realized if they're willing to risk this level of violence and the consequences it will yield.
"Not so feisty all of a sudden, are you, sweetheart?
" he croons, leaning in and lightly dragging the tip down from the base of my throat, using it to push back the fabric of my tunic, exposing the pale skin of my chest and the top of the white bandeau wrapped tightly around my breasts.
The one with soulless dark eyes laughs roughly, gripping my wrists in his free hand, hard enough to bruise when I shift to try and protect myself.
An icy chill of terror shoots down my spine. "Stop. You don't want to do this. I have guards waiting right outside; in fact, they're probably already looking for me."
"What would you need guards for?" The question is a sneer, his blade resting above my heart, my pulse thundering in response.
"I'm a Remedy, you asshole." Not that it should matter.
"So I know what happens if you spill so much as a drop of my blood.
Are you really willing to lose your magic for this?
" I risk using my ring for the second time today, pushing it hard into my finger until a small curl of green mist seeps out around the damp hands still caging mine, emphasizing my claim.
He jerks at my words and the sight of what looks like magic, almost as if the consequences of using that blade in his hand hadn't dawned on him.
The sudden motion causes it to drag across my chest, not quite enough to break the skin, but all it will take is a little added pressure, and the burning scratch will escalate into something worse.
The steel vibrates against me, as if in warning to the man gripping its gem-encrusted handle.
"You could try being a little more friendly. Then, we could put these down, and nobody would have to worry about losing magic or bleeding." I suck in a sharp breath when the taller of the two slides the tip of his dagger, as if to try and cut through the ivory fabric under my tunic.
It's ridiculous, considering what else likely happens if this band of fabric comes off, but all I can think right now is how I can’t let them remove it, or it will reveal there's no trace of the stars that should be covering my heart.
My body starts to shake, panic taking over as an ache shoots up my pinned arms. I try to swallow the terror and figure out my next move. I need to think; there's always a solution.
It's as if the world slows when the stockier of the two men reaches to push his friend's hand away but stumbles, knocking it in the process. A pained cry escapes my lips when the sharp blade skims over the pale cloth, but it doesn’t miss my skin this time.
Golden blood wells from the shallow cut, dripping down the center of my chest.