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PREVIOUSLY...
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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.
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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."
With her words, the entourage filters into the room, but it's less than I would have thought. A few guards armoured in vibrant gold plating with billowing white capes alongside the luxuriously dressed members of the Association. There's only about ten of them.
"I thought there'd be more," I mutter.
"Even the powerful and frankly terrifying hierarchy of the Association must think about the dangers of the Midland. Travelling across in large groups is practically begging the demons to eat you."
"Maybe I had hope that someone was smart enough to find a way through the Midland." But I suppose the Midland is the only thing that's protected so many from the full might of the Empire's army. Maybe it's wise that no one figures out how to march an army across it.
At the forefront of the group is a man, swathed in gold and white robes, his chestnut skin leathery from age and lined with wrinkles.
"Head Master Rashida," Lilja informs me, following my gaze. "A man as feared as he is respected. It's rumoured he's been alive for centuries."
"In other words he's a man one doesn't mess with."
Lilja chuckles and nods.
Palmira and Erasmus approach the entourage, greeting them with wide smiles. All I search for as I look at them is the one who's possibly working with the Empire.
Don't trust any of them.
The music begins again as Wymler joins the party, standing out in their glorious colours like beacons of light. I avoid them, keeping in mind Lilja's words, and follow her on the hunt for another drink. Or four.
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I don't remember how we get onto the topic, but I sit with Lilja at a table we managed to steal and I explain to her how to skin a rabbit and how best to prepare it for food. She's captivated, nodding along as I swirl my champagne in its flute.
It's a little easier to laugh after drinking so much of the bitter, bubbly alcohol, my head fuzzy and the masses of colour that twirl in the corners of my vision are dizzying.
My gaze travels around the ballroom, seeking out one particular blond head. Though my thoughts are muddled, still his words continue to plague me. My questions about the potential betrayer in our midst have remained unanswered and such a thing is beginning to itch at me like bugs beneath my skin.
"How can you be good at so many things yet so inept at talking to boys?" Lilja mutters.
I snort and shake my head. "Boys?"
"Yes," she insists, looking over her shoulder and searching the crowd. "There he is." Lilja points to a break in the crowd, revealing the boy with the fitted black suit and easy smile, a glass in his hand. "I think you've drank too much to talk to him though." Lilja looks back to me with a pout.
"Why would I want to talk to him?" I question, trying to drown my nerves with more champagne.
"Well, I just assumed that you two had a thing going ever since you ditched dinner with me to stroll in the garden with him."
"A thing?" I wrinkle my nose.
"Yes, a thing." She waves her hand in the air, her features becoming exasperated.
I know what she's alluding to. I know about princesses eloping with the farm boy. I know about princes stealing kisses from the enemy. But stories are just stories, and my brother made sure I was aware of the harsh reality.
"Why don't you go and talk to him if you're so interested?" I retort.
"Because it's not me he's looking at."
And those words do something to my insides. I don't quite know what, nor do I know if it's a good or bad thing. They buck like a desperate horse, then flutter like butterflies with razors for wings. It's uncomfortable, whatever it is, and I squirm in my seat. I don't lift my gaze though the back of my neck prickles.
"Ari and I formed an alliance," I tell her, plunging myself back into what's familiar. "Nothing more."
"Just like when you formed an alliance with Suri and I when you saved her from exile and let her break your ribs?" Her gaze is sharp as she looks at me. "I don't know if you're aware, Azura, but we're more than allied with you after what you did for us."
"I'm not asking that of you," I argue, my throat beginning to tighten.
"You don't have to. You were willing to stand against Palmira for us." She smiles at me and it brightens her face. She doesn't smile often, but her green eyes sparkle like gems under the sun. "I can only offer you the same courtesy, though I hope it never comes to that."
"I thought you said you owed Palmira some of your loyalty."
Her smile fades and she glances towards where the woman herself converses with those from Wymler. She's resplendent in a silvery dress, a cape of chainmail clinking behind her. "After recent events, I'm not so sure I owe her anything anymore." She sighs and slumps in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "So, Azura, as your friend, I command you go and talk to Ari, maybe win his loyalty. He'd be a powerful friend to have."
"Well, when you put it like that," I mutter. She's trying to appeal to my more rational side, and it's working. Ari is a link I need in the chain of questions and answers I've been developing. He's also not as weak as the voices say he is.
Soft. Not like you. Never like you.
I huff out a breath and get to my feet, straightening my dress with hands that tremble. Damn them for betraying me.
"And if he spills about what he shifts into, be sure to tell me," Lilja says, raising a glass to her lips. "I can't figure it out, and it's starting to annoy me."
I snort and shake my head before moving across the ballroom. I slip through the people, my fists curled in my dress to keep it from catching under anyone's shoes. Though Suri had to take it up because she's taller than me, I still loathe the thought of ruining such rich clothing. It doesn't belong on a body accustomed to rags and filth.
Ari's brown gaze catches on me through the crowd as I make my way towards him. The distance shrinks between us and my breathing quickens. I try to convince myself it's just because of the alcohol humming in my blood. He steps away from the people around him after setting down his glass, meeting me on the marble floor.
"I'm glad to see you've healed," he says, his gaze trailing over my dress. Heat crawls up my neck and I have no idea why. "You look..."
I chew on my lip as he pauses and glance down at myself. "Like a posh tit?" I offer and he chuckles, the sound soft.
He rubs the back of his neck. "I was going to say you look odd without any dirt on you."
I press my lips together, trying to stop the smile from forming, but it's a battle I lose as he shifts, wincing at his own words. I reach up and straighten the bow at his neck. He freezes, his throat bobbing. He tilts his chin up a little to give me better access as I neaten the black fabric. "Poetic," I answer, pulling away and keeping some distance between us.
"I thought you would have left by now."
I shrug, eyes wandering around me until I spot Suri being social with a group of people. "Guess there are some reasons for staying."
"You make that sound like a bad thing." A smile is curving his lips as he studies me, but his eyes shift away from me as there's a change in the music, drawing his attention. His lips press together and my attention is also drawn to the music but I notice nothing wrong with it. There's almost a sadder note to it, a lilting tune like the fall of a petal. "Dance with me?" Ari turns to me and his eyes spark with life.
"Dance?" I ask, the word feeling odd on my lips.
"It's alright if you don't want to..." He steps back, looking almost bashful but there's something tugging me towards him, something that doesn't want him to move further away.
"I'd enjoy that," I blurt before I know what I'm saying. He looks down at me, lips parting. "You'll have to show me how, I've had no practice." None beyond what I've witnessed the rich snobs in Warroll doing as they feasted and drank while the rest of us starved and wallowed.
"Certainly," he says with a short bow before leading me to where other dancers fill the space. We slip into the clusters of people and he turns to me. "This one is simple." He raises a hand, pale and flecked with scars but as I glance around me I notice that no one is touching, that each of them have their hands hovering over the other's while they dance. Simple steps, laughing and talking as they do so.
I take a breath and raise my hand, my fingers tingling with the closeness of Ari's warmth, the scent of pine feathering through me as he steps closer. We begin the dance and my steps are careful, measured, following his lead. I'm fixated on the distance between us, a gap that seems like nothing, a single thread but it's as though an entire void fills it, all my nightmares and fears clustered within the space between us.
We move around each other, eyes clashing, and my breath is shallow in my lungs. I feel the warmth of him, reaching out for me like tendrils of smoke. Warmth, not the icy fingers of Jile gripping my arms. Warm, like a blanket around my shoulders.
"Ari," his name is a whisper on my lips, a trembling noise that leaves me without me truly realising.
There's a question in his eyes as he tilts his head, soft strands of his hair slipping over his forehead. That question sets my heart beating harder in my chest, my breath leaving my lips in a sharp rasp as my eyes trail to his hand hovering in the air before mine. A simple inquiry, there's nothing malicious about it.
The voices in my head are quiet, still, as if they hold their breath, waiting for me to act, to decide what I want to do with myself. Let myself be ruled forever by the malicious voice of my brother, or realise that he's gone and never coming back and it's time to continue onward.
It's a hesitant movement, my gloved fingers curl and my fingertips brush his palm. His hand is still, waiting for me to make the move, to make the decision. My fingers slide along his and I feel the heat of it and the small bumps of his calluses, even through the leather.
Love gets you killed.
The growl in my ear scrapes against my spine, bumping over each vertebrae, making it hard to ignore. But I will ignore it, because my brother told me that one day I would have to move on from just surviving. Maybe this is the start of that.
Our palms rest together in a simple gesture for a long moment. It's another moment, another gulping breath, before I intertwine our fingers, lacing the black leather and the paleness together until he's holding me in a firm grip. It's so unassuming, so small but it's as though the entire world lets out a shuddering breath as I let go of something inside me and hold on to something else.
A ravenous part inside of me wants more, the street rat that's always hungry and desperate. She wants to peel away my gloves and tangle them in the light of his hair, wants to slide them over his strong jaw, to feel the heat on the tips of my fingers and bask in it. Panic grips my throat at such thoughts and I find myself stepping away from him, separating our touch with an ache in my heart.
I swallow and give a clumsy curtsy. "Thank you," I murmur and his features are soft as I look up at him.
"Thank you," he replies with a bow of his head and he understands, he understands that I just gave him a piece of myself, a piece that I never knew needed to be found.