❝ Pain was my fuel, until the fire began bleeding from my veins. ❞
The girl without a name.
The black-haired fiend devoid of fear.
The sharp-tongued scoundrel always ready with a trick up her sleeve.
Thief and street rat Azura knows how to hustle a...
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◢✥◣ PREVIOUSLY... ◥✥◤
Azura opened up about her harrowing experiences in Warroll to Suri, telling her of Jile's abuse and how he nearly killed her by trying to cut her throat, and that she failed to protect Dax from the same abuse. Suri then revealed that before the Order, she and Lilja were once slaves. They then proceeded to go to a ball that Azura dreaded attending.
༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛
I stand towards the edge of the room, Lilja at my side, her gaze following Suri as she socialises and darts from person to person, in her element with a spark of happiness in her eyes.
"She's loved this sort of stuff ever since we came here," Lilja says, sipping from her glass of champagne. "She never was able to keep her head down, even... before."
I glance at Lilja as pain trickles into her tone. "Suri told me," I say, my mouth suddenly dry. "She said you were slaves before the Order."
Lilja nods then lifts her chin, like she's pushing back against the weight that settles on her. "We hardly remember our lives before becoming indentured on the farm, so I suppose we were used to the world we lived in."
"Until Suri got hurt?"
"No," Lilja replies, her lips twisting. "Until Suri realised she could use magic. That was our key to freedom." She lets out a dry laugh. "But I guess that's not even enough, not to someone like Palmira."
"Fuck Palmira," I mutter.
"I agree. But that doesn't mean the woman hasn't offered us a new life here, so I guess we owe her some sort of loyalty." Lilja tosses the rest of her drink to the back of her throat and purses her lips. "Look who just arrived."
I follow her gaze to the wide doors as a dark blond head enters, taller than most, and looking regal in his black suit, his coattails fluttering as he strides into the ballroom with all the composure of a prince. Ari's hair is slicked back from his forehead, displaying his sharp cheekbones and warm brown eyes. His full lips curl into a smile as he greets other students and his fame is on perfect display as he's doted on.
I can't imagine dealing with such attention without wanting to vomit.
It's because he's soft.
Across the ballroom, across the sea of faces and blur of colours, his eyes find mine and his chin dips in greeting. I lift my glass towards him before taking a much needed gulp.
But as I drink, the ballroom seems to hush. I quirk a brow as Lilja sighs.
"Here comes Wymler. Something to keep in mind; don't talk to any of them unless you want to be dragged into a discussion about magic and meditation for two hours."
