Her breathing is melodic.
Hypnotizing in a way I hate admitting.
She’s pressed so close, so slumped against my chest that I can feel her rib cage expanding with each breath.
I doubt she’s slept so soundly in days.
Another deep breath. Another jab of her ribs into my stomach.
… or eaten much, for that matter.
By the look and feel of her, she’s likely survived off stale bread the entirety of her stay in Dor, all while fighting daily in the ring.
I should really make her eat more.
I shake my head at the thought, at the reflex that is caring about her. Because she is not my responsibility. She is my prisoner. My mission. My father’s murderer.
A soft, sleepy noise slips past her lips, and I still at the sound. She’s held between my hands, solid against my chest, head on the pounding heart of her captor. I’ve never seen such peace held so gently in the arms of Death.
I glance up at the sky, a blanket of blackness covered in constellations. The men riding beside me are nothing more than shifting shadows, silently treading through the sand. Heads bob around me, fighting against the sleep weighing heavy on their eyelids.
“Stop,” I call hoarsely. “We’ll camp here for the rest of the night.”
I’m met with grunts of gratitude, followed by frantic fumbling and clumsy dismounts. I pull my horse to a halt, hesitating before resting heavy hands atop her thighs. I allow myself one moment. One selfish moment of my miserable existence committed to her. To a girl in the arms of a boy. To a facade.
And then the moment is over, shattering as I shake her awake.
Well, try to.
She grunts, unamused by my attempt to wake her. I try again, grabbing her waist this time to thoroughly jostle her. She protests, as per usual, throwing an elbow into my stomach with surprising strength for someone still half-asleep. I hiss between my teeth before pinning her arms to her sides. “Easy,” I breathe. “Would you rather I have you spend the rest of the night on this horse?”
She sighs, her voice softened with sleep. “If it means I can ride it far away from you, then yes, I would love to.”
“You wound me,” I say dryly, easily swinging from the horse. She’s eying me expectantly, looking down her nose to where I stand beneath. I smile pleasantly in return. “Is there something you need?”
Her nose scrunches, visible representation of the frustration finding its way onto her face. “No. I’m perfectly fine.” And with that, she’s gripping the horn of the saddle and attempting to swing a leg over.
“Is that so?” I’m smiling now. “Nothing you want to ask me?”
“I am not asking for your help,” she huffs, teetering in the saddle. “Better yet, what is stopping me from turning this horse around and bolting?”
“Ability. Knowledge. Fear,” I state flatly. “Would you like me to keep going?”
“I’d like to knock your teeth in.”
“Oh, but then I wouldn’t be able smile in that way I know you like.”
Scowling, she states, “Smile all you want. I don’t like anything about you.”
My rebuttal is quiet, ragged, as though it’s been ripped from the depths of my mind. “I recall you liking the one that was meant only for you.”
She stiffens at my words but doesn’t deem them worth a response. Ignoring me, she instead turns her attention back to the task at hand. For someone so typically coordinated, watching her attempt to dismount a horse is comical. She all but throws herself from the animal, eager to finally be on solid ground.
“Where am I sleeping?” she asks, eying the many bedrolls now littering the sand.
“Beside me.”
Her eyes fly to mine. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?” I ask innocently. “It’s not anything we haven’t done before.”
“And it’s not anything I plan on ever doing again,” she challenges.
“And why is that, Gray?” I sigh. “Worried you’ll like it too much?”
The sound she makes is a cross between a scoff and disgust. “You’re the one who should be worried. I just might strangle you in your sleep.” With that, she plops down on the closest bedroll, watching an Imperial use his Blazer ability to light a fire.
I let my eyes wander over her, wander over the tan skin, the fingers fidgeting with the ring on her thumb, the silver hair mirroring the moon above. Everything about her is so very familiar, so very deceiving. No power runs through the veins beneath that tan skin. No abilities guided by those fidgeting fingers. No Elite likeness in the silver strands of her hair.
And yet, she feels anything but Ordinary. I’ve been taught my whole life that the likes of her would be the ruin of Elites, but I’ve never felt anything stronger.
I move to sit beside her, combing a hand through my sandy hair. “Careful,” she mocks, “any closer and I’ll start weakening your powers.”
I throw her a glance. “That’s not how it works, and you know it.”
She laughs, harsh and hateful. “Please, enlighten me, then. I would love to hear how you think the Ordinaries will be the doom of all Elites.”
“If you’d continued to live in Ilya,” I sigh, “you would be. For more than one reason.” I turn to take her in, eyes skimming over the obvious disbelief in the crease between her brows. “Do you not know our history? Where we came from and why it is so important we remain Elite?”
I catch the quick roll of her eyes in the flickering firelight. “Of course I know Ilya’s history. I may not have gone to school, but my father made sure I wasn’t completely incompetent.”
“All right, then,” I say casually. “Tell me.”
She gives me a halfhearted scoff. “What, you want me to teach you of Ilya’s history?”
“I want to make sure you know what you’re talking about. So”—I gesture for her to proceed—“go on.”
“This is ridiculous,” she huffs, fidgeting with the bedroll beneath her.
“It’s beginning to sound as though you don’t know—”
“Ilya was a weak kingdom,” she cuts in, annoyed to be entertaining me. “We always have been, even before the Plague swept through. Being conquered was a constant fear for past kings, and when the Plague killed nearly half the population, the kingdom was quarantined, isolated, and more vulnerable than ever.” She recites the information with her eyes trained on the sky above. “So, when the Elites were born from the Plague, the kingdom rejoiced at the power they suddenly had over everyone else.” She glances back at me. “Satisfied?”
“Hardly.” I smile. “Continue.”
A huff. Then a heavy sigh. “Ilya has remained isolated ever since, in order to ensure we are the only kingdom with Elites. And then, after seventy years, your father decided to banish all the Ordinaries so he could have his Elite society.”
“You are missing some very key points, Gray,” I interject.
“Right,” she sighs. “The disease that Healers discovered we Ordinaries possess. The one that will eventually weaken the Elites’ powers.”
“And?” I prod.
“And the fact that Ordinaries and Elites procreating will eventually cause the Elite race to go extinct. That,” she adds with a pointed look, “I do believe.” With a sigh, she wistfully continues. “Only Elites can make Elites. Though, one’s abilities are not depicted by their parents. Some believe the level of power pertains to the very strength of the person.”
“So you do understand why Ilya must remain the way it is.”
“Yes,” she says softly. “Greed.”
I study her for a long moment, letting her words sink in. Hearing her perspective of Ilya is both jarring and intriguing. Having grown up as an Ordinary in the slums, she sees the kingdom vastly different than any upper-class Elite. And, unfortunately, I’m intrigued.
“Are you done quizzing me, or can I go to sleep now?” she asks, leaning back on her elbows.
I ignore her question to risk asking one of my own. “So what do you suggest, then?”
“Suggest for what?”
“Ilya,” I say simply. “What other option is there but to carry on as we have for the past thirty years?”
She sits up slightly, seemingly surprised by my question. “I suggest we carry on with what we were doing for seventy years prior to the Purging. Back when Ordinaries and Elites lived side by side—”
“And the weakening of our powers? The disease?”
She sighs. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Elites weren’t meant to be? That what the Plague gifted Ilya with is unnatural?” I stiffen at her words, but she pushes on. “Humans aren’t meant to play God. And the Elites have played that part long enough. If their powers being weakened means no more isolation and killing of Ordinaries, then so be it.”
I look away, shaking my head at the stars. “Ilya will be weak without its Elites. We could be easily conquered and—”
Her laugh cuts me off. “You think we aren’t weak now? We are so isolated that there isn’t enough food to feed those of us in the slums, let alone hold everyone, when there is no more land to expand into.” Her voice is stern, but her eyes are pleading. “Without a single ally or kingdom that doesn’t hate us, are we not weaker than ever? And we will only continue to crumble unless something, or someone, changes.”
Someone.
She’s thinking of Kitt. She’s probably always thought of Kitt as that someone who could change Ilya for her. Someone with potential to be persuaded into seeing things differently.
I almost laugh at the thought.
The Kitt I left is devoid of any potential that wasn’t a part of Father’s plan. He’ll do nothing but what the king wanted and wished for. Even dead he’s controlling Kitt, ruling Ilya from the grave.
“Good to finally hear how you really feel,” I say with a scoff.
“Well, there’s no point in hiding it now. Treason is the least of my worries at the moment.” Stretching, she scans the stars before curling onto her side. “Do you believe I’m diseased?”
I’m startled at how earnestly she asks the question. “I believe the Healers. And thirty years ago, they found something undetectable. Something that will deteriorate the Elites’ powers over time.” She’s quiet, so I take advantage of it. “Do you believe you’re diseased?”
“I’m biased, but no, I don’t think so. My father was a Healer, and he didn’t think so either. Maybe there is no way to know for sure,” she says softly. “But I do know I deserve to live either way.”
She quiets, favoring sleep over finishing this conversation. After a long moment, I feel her shiver before hearing the complaint slip past her lips. “Please tell me I wasn’t kidnapped only to freeze in the desert?”
“You are a pain in the ass.” I wave a hand at an Imperial as I lie down beside her. “Get me an extra blanket.”
She doesn’t bother rolling over to mock me to my face. “And I thought chivalry was dead.”
When the Imperial throws me a blanket, I don’t hesitate before tossing it over her head. “Oh, it is, darling.”
With a huff, her head peeks over the folds of fabric, sending silver hair sliding across her face. The look she gives me promises a death I know she can deliver. Then she’s turning her back to me once again, content to ignore my existence until sleep claims her.
No, she’s likely plotting something. I suspect she rarely isn’t. She makes for a difficult captive, needing to be watched even when there is nowhere to go. Because if anyone can find a way to—
“Shit, Gray!” I jump away from her, cursing colorfully.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Wrong with me?” I’m exasperated. “Your feet are freezing.”
She glances over her shoulder, clearly failing to conceal her smirk. “Well, I can’t sleep with shoes on. Never been able to.”
“Seems like you can’t sleep with socks on either,” I grit out.
She shrugs. “It’s a curse, really.”
“Well, keep the curse on your side.”
Her face falls. “But you’re warm.” Before I can respond, she’s nodding across the fire. “Me and my cold feet could always just sleep over there. Alone.”
“Like hell I’m letting you sleep alone,” I mutter.
And then I’m shaking my head, wrapping an arm around her legs, and pulling them against me.
She looks at me, shocked. And then she smiles, bright and big like the night sky hanging above us.
I fear she could rival the stars.
An arrow sinks into the sand beside my head.
I hear it land before I’ve even opened my eyes.
I roll, staying low to the ground as I scan the darkness for the source of this ambush. Arrows are pelting our camp, burying themselves into the flesh of my groggy men. Their screams fill my ears as I feel their powers flicker out from under my skin.
Blinking away sleep and the blackness blocking my view, I can just barely make out the figures stalking toward us in the sand. I shift onto my side, preparing to stand and use one of the few powers left at my disposal to—
Something cool and sharp meets the skin of my neck.
The feeling is all too familiar.
And so is her voice.
“One more move, and I won’t hesitate again.”
