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PREVIOUSLY...
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In her unconscious state, Azura encountered her deceased brother, reminding her of his harsh teachings and the secrets he kept from her about being part of the Order, also reminding her that he's not her real brother and that's just a title Azura gave him as a child with no family. She awoke to an apologetic Suri who had helped heal her and then revealed they all must attend a ball in the near future, much to Azura's dismay.
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"It's not a debate," Suri says, her hands on her hips as she assesses both Lilja and I.
I glance at Lilja as her head thuds against the desk in our room, her exasperated grunt muffled by the wood.
"I was hoping to get some training in now that I'm healed, so..." I begin, but swallow when Suri turns her green gaze to me, sharp in the flickering lights of the candles.
"We've all been having a rubbish time lately, so this is our one and only chance to have fun and it's not up for argument." She's right. It's been nearly a week since our run in the mud, and what a hectic week it's been.
But a ball isn't my idea of fun.
"I can't believe it's compulsory to go," I grumble once again.
"If you fake sickness then I will too," Lilja says from her defeated place at the desk.
"Stop being so negative," Suri chastises as she turns towards the wardrobe and throws open the doors. "No one is getting sick, I'm damn well not."
"No," is the first word that leaves my lips when Suri starts tossing dresses onto her bed. My skin drains of colour and my feet inch back. I've lived my entire life in pants and shirts and varying degrees of filth. Never have I put on silk or jewellery or anything of the sort.
"Yes," Suri replies over her shoulder.
"She's not going to give up," Lilja sighs, lifting her head to scrutinise the colourful array of dresses. "The more you struggle, the more painful it'll be."
I'd set a dress on fire before I ever wore one.
"Where did you even get all of these?" I ask, certain that it'd be impossible to steal this many dresses.
"These ones we bought," Suri says, wrapping an ivory scarf around her neck, the fabric fluttering from her shoulders in silken waves. "There's a rich old woman in Warroll that very much appreciates my abilities with sygils. I do the odd job for her and she pays me handsomely."
"I need to meet this woman," I mutter, moving forward to poke the thick frills of a lavender dress.
"Well, pick a dress, we haven't got all night."
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."
"Thank you," I murmur.
"Don't worry about it." She straightens and her eyes wrinkle as she flashes me a smile. "Now, about the hair."
She directs me to face the mirror, humming as she digs through the drawers for pins and a comb. As she brushes my hair, she meets my gaze in the mirror, her eyes soft.
"You don't do stuff like this often, do you?"
"I've never done anything like this," I admit, a lump forming in my throat as nerves begin to swirl inside me.
"Lilja and I had never gone to a ball before coming to the Order either." She twirls a strand of my midnight hair around her finger and pins it at the nape of my neck, the brush of her fingers against my bare skin causing bumps to scatter down my back. "We didn't come from much."
"You know you don't have to tell me," I say. "You have no obligation to tell me about your past."
"But you wonder."
I shrug. It's hard not to wonder, but I also know it's hard to talk about the harrowing experiences we've been through. Sometimes it's not worth reliving it.
"You wonder where I got my scar." Her eyes go from her own face before trailing to my throat. "And I wonder where you got yours. But you don't have to speak of your past either."
I lift my gloved fingers to trace the raised scar. It'll be on display tonight and that terrifies me. I'm touchable, I can be hurt, and everyone will know it. "I got it in Warroll."
Suri meets my eye again, her hands halting in my hair, like she didn't expect me to speak. I don't expect it either, but the words tumble from my lips, like they've been begging to be spilt for years.
"Two years ago, near when I first arrived there. I was trying to... protect someone." I close my eyes, seeing Dax offering me the last of his food from whatever place he escaped from, his cheeks tear-stained. He wouldn't survive, not without Jile's help. "I offered myself up for the safety of someone else, but..." But Jile turned on me, cut my throat, and abused Dax anyway. Just because he could. Just because he didn't like someone else controlling things. Just because he saw me as a threat to his fragile power on the streets. "The plan backfired, as it always does. Jile did this and I was lucky to survive."
"Is Jile still out there?"
I open my eyes and look at Suri, the glint of repressed rage in her eyes something I haven't seen before, not from her. "I couldn't kill him, not when he was the only one looking out for the street rats." My teeth grind together as I think about the two years I spent watching him with my hand curled around my blade. "But I aim to change that, and next time I won't fail."
Suri nods, pressing her lips together and focusing again on my hair. "Lilja and I were slaves," she says and my breath catches in my throat. "We worked in a village that supplied the Empire after our parents were killed. We had to escape after..." She clears her throat, her eyes watering. "After one of our foremen hurt me. Lilja killed the man that gave me this." She touches her scar. "Then we came here."
"Gods, Suri, I'm so sorry."
"It's in the past now," she murmurs, but the pain in her gaze is just a reminder that it's difficult to make things stay in the past.
"I'm glad you made it here. And no matter what, I'm going to make sure Palmira doesn't kick you out."
She smiles before stepping back. "Done," she declares and my eyes dart to my reflection. My hair is pinned at the nape of my neck, leaving loose strands to curl around my cheeks. My hair is usually a curtain around my face, a barrier from prying eyes. But as I lift my chin and meet Suri's proud gaze, I find that I no longer mind so much.
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Suri leads us through the halls of the school, her chatter filling the nervous space that surrounds Lilja and I. I clench and unclench my gloved fists at my sides, willing my heart to slow and my breathing to even out.
Being surrounded by people isn't the issue. I grew accustomed to such a thing as a street rat, especially amongst the stifling air of the warehouse where we were all crushed together, desperate for warmth. But amongst the street rats I knew none of them would try to shove a blade into my kidney, they all feared me too much. I'm not so certain in this place.
Suri twirls in her dress, displaying the layers of golden frills and ivory tassells, her cheeks tinged red and her lopsided smile stretching her scar. But I've never seen her look so happy, so fulfilled.
Maybe tonight won't be so bad.
Lilja wears a dark blue dress that falls just above her knees, her dark hair pulled into a neat braid to drape over her shoulder. She doesn't look as happy as Suri, but her gaze is warm as she watches her sister.
"It'll be fun," Suri insists but I have grave concerns about her definition of fun.
I've seen balls and parties, witnessed them from outside crystal windows with the rain sliding down my face. I've listened to the music, admired the dresses and the sly smiles behind embroidered fans as I shivered, knowing that I would never belong to such a society. But I was intrigued, even though I knew my brother would have laughed once again at my childish fantasies to be on the other side of that glass.
I clasp my hands before me, knees trembling as we move towards the ballroom that's usually used for training. The cacophony of chatter and mingling music trickles towards us and I sink my teeth into my lower lip, the pain dragging me from the chaos in my head.
I want to turn around, run wherever my feet decide to take me. But I can't continue to run, especially not in this place, especially not in a dress.
I stick close to Suri as we enter the training room, the weaponry and mats gone from the domed space and replaced with clothed tables and a buffet that has my mouth watering. The window that I shattered with my back is boarded up, the glass cleared, but I know Palmira would be itching to have another depiction of a god back upon the walls. She just can't help herself.
Suri's green eyes glitter in the light from the crystalline chandeliers above and I force myself to swallow my fears and offer her a tentative smile, trusting her not to lead me astray.
"Welcome to one of the levels of Hell," Lilja murmurs at my side and I snort.
Though Lilja has pointed out that there are only seventy-five students in the school right now, the place still feels crowded, especially as some of them swirl on the scuffed marble floor, skirts flaring and laughter rising above the music.
Suri thrusts a glass of something that bubbles and fizzes into my hands, having swiped it from someone passing with a tray of the glasses. I study the rose-gold colour of it as those bubbles swirl. I put my nose to it and sniff, wrinkling my nose at the sharp tang of it.
"Champagne," Lilja says from beside me.
I hold out the slim, delicate glass. "A rich person's medicine," I mutter. I let loose a breath and move further into the room.
"Don't worry," Lilja murmurs. "I'll let you know when it's a suitable time to leave early."
A smile tugs at my lips and her presence seems to keep my fingers from shattering the glass in my hands.