Flame in the Veins | Book 1 | Complete

XIX | A Thief And A Slave

Lilja trudges forward. "I feel like you could have given us more warning than just an hour before we have to be there."

"I've been telling you about this all week," Suri says, unwinding the scarf to slip it over Lilja and drag the girl closer to her. "And you've been brushing me off about it all week, so who's fault is it that they're not prepared? At least Azura has an excuse. She was busy getting beat up."

I grunt.

"Fine," Lilja sighs, brushing her fingers against Suri's cheek, touching the scar that twists into her short hair. "But I'm not dancing."

Suri pouts but doesn't argue the point.

I pick up a dress, the material light and blessedly black. The sleeves of it are long and the skirt drapes to the floor.

"That one suits you," Suri says, standing beside me and smiling.

"Why? Because it's plain and black?"

"Because it's elegant and seductive, but modest."

"It's a dress," I correct her, seeing nothing seductive about it.

"Here, let's get you into it." She reaches for the dress but I shake my head and step away.

"I'll put it on myself, thanks." And with that, I retreat into the bathroom where I lock the repaired door and expel a breath.

I've been given the brief synopses by Suri of what this ball is in the past day, something to do with the anniversary of the alliance forged between the Order and Wymler. Apparently people from Wymler have travelled all the way here to celebrate, which makes this ball compulsory and makes my night very bleak.

I push off the door and get changed into the dress. The fabric is soft against my skin and the material hides my scars. All except one.

I turn to the mirror and run my gloved fingers over the jagged scar at my throat, the memory of Jile's blade slicing through my neck something that will always haunt me. I wasn't afraid to die, not then, but I was afraid of leaving Dax alone to face such a monster.

My brother would call such a fear weakness.

I drop my hand and focus on the dress, dashing away such thoughts as though they're a mere fly. The dress doesn't look horrid and the black is comforting. It hugs my waist, snug and comfortable, before the glossy material flows to the floor. I admire the fine embroidery around the collar that dips at the hollow of my throat to end in a sharp V.

My skin isn't so tight over my cheekbones anymore, my cheeks aren't as hollow and there's only a dusting of darkness beneath my eyes. I look stronger. But I also look softer, not as hardened by the streets, by the cold, and by the brutality of those around me. I look like my brother taught me nothing.

I nearly tear the dress off. Nearly throw it back onto Suri's bed. Nearly run back to Warroll to bury myself in the shit and mud where I belong because this isn't me and this is dulling my sharp edges.

"Azura?"

My gaze darts to the door as Suri knocks, my heart pounding against my ribs.

"Would you like me to do your hair?" Her voice is soft, calming, like she knows she's talking to a wild animal. It was only me who forgot that fact.

I open the door and give her a tight smile.

"Wow," she breathes, taking in my attire. "It looks much better on you. Though it's a little long." She bends to touch the hem of the dress that drags on the ground. "I can take that up. We still have a little time."