: Chapter 7

Adena is going to collapse from shock. Then she’ll squeal, and I’ll cover my ears. I’ve never stolen so many coins from one person. Not that I’ve had the opportunity, seeing that most of us in Loot don’t even have more than a dozen silvers to our name, let alone casually carrying them around.

My mind is reeling as I slowly make my way down Loot, now cast in shadows as the sun sinks behind the crumbling buildings.

I shake my head in astonishment and take my time strolling through the market, allowing myself to admire my accomplishment. Several merchants are already packing up their stands, closing up shop for the night. Kids scuttle around the street chasing one another, earning dirty looks and shouts from the shoppers still milling about.

I cut down an alley, close to where I robbed the unsuspecting young man, and start heading back to the Fort.

I can’t wait to see the look on A’s face—

I stop suddenly, eying a small crowd gathered farther down the street.

Must be a Veil.

It’s no surprise that the power of invisibility can inevitably aid someone at sleight of hand, using their ability to make cards disappear at will by simply holding them. I admire their deceitful little shows to earn some shillings.

I’m about to head the other way when I hear gasps coming from the crowd, echoing off the crumbling buildings. Not the typical oohs and ahs that are present during magic tricks, but scared gasps of shock and surprise. When my curiosity gets the better of me, I find myself behind the throng of people, wedging between sweaty bodies and pushing my way to the front of the crowd. When I raise my eyes to the scene before me, I gasp, cupping a hand to my mouth.

It’s him.

I saw him less than ten minutes ago, and yet his shirt now clings to him with sweat as he prepares to strike the man pinned beneath him with a flaming fist. Three other bodies litter the cobblestone behind him, slowly staggering to their feet before stumbling away.

It’s clear what happened here, obvious that these men had the same idea I did upon seeing the pouch hanging from the stranger’s hip. But they chose a much more violent way to get the coins—well, whatever is left of them.

I see the stranger say something to the man before he raises his fiery fist, ready to strike.

And then, something is suddenly, terribly wrong.

He’s clutching his head, and I watch his cocky expression crumple into utter agony when a figure steps out from the shadows. I can only see his back, but he’s tall and lean, raising a thin hand at the stranger gasping in pain on the alley floor.

That’s impossible.

The crowd around me seems just as confused and awed as I am. With his hand still outstretched, the Silencer takes small steps towards the black-haired figure now slumped on the ground.

He’s crippling his power. He’s crippling him.

I can see the stranger still trying to fight, trying to hang on to consciousness. The sight is suddenly so startlingly familiar, so sickening that I nearly stumbling into the man beside me.

This stranger and the man who raised me look nothing alike, and yet, the image of one crippled on the ground seems to bleed into the other. I suddenly feel like that little girl again, standing idly as my father died beneath me.

I look around, eyeing the gawking crowd. No one budges. Even with their fancy powers, no one makes a move to help. Either too afraid to do so or too heartless to help.

I know how this ends. I’ve lived it.

When I look back at the stranger, it’s my father I see.

Taking a deep breath, I take a step forward.

I won’t stand by idly again. I couldn’t save my father, but I’ll honor him now by saving someone from the same suffering he endured.

I’m probably going to regret this.

I creep to the edge of the crowd and begin slinking up behind the Silencer. I can practically feel the audience’s attention shift to me, the throng of people silently watching. Crouching low behind the man, I spot a large, loose rock lying on the cobblestone and snatch it up.

Here goes nothing.

I draw up to my full height right behind him and silently raise the rock, intending to connect it with his skull—

No such luck.

He pivots, his black eyes boring into mine. With his attention on me, his crushing hold on the stranger drops, and I hear him gasping for air on the ground.

The Silencer lifts his slender hand towards me, his shoulder-length hair whipping in the breeze. He’s trying to Silence me.

I almost smile.

No such luck.

Nothing happens, of course, considering I have no power for him to smother. He looks at his hand, then back at me, confused. The sight is almost comical, and that split second of hesitation is all I need.

I grab his wrist, twisting his arm at an odd angle before driving my knee into his stomach. I hear the air whoosh out of his lungs as he clutches his arm to his body. And with that, my adrenaline kicks in, itching for a fight.

It reminds me of all those late nights and early mornings with my father. Hours of training in the makeshift dirt ring behind our home. “Both your mind, as well as your body, need to be trained. Conditioned,” he’d say as I dodged his punches, all while answering his dozens of questions that tested my observation. I wielded any weapon we could get our hands on while my father trained every part of my being—my mind, my body, my Psychic ability.

Until one day he wasn’t there to train me anymore. Wasn’t there to protect me anymore. Wasn’t there to continue teaching me how to protect myself anymore.

The Silencer recovers quickly, throwing a punch with his good arm and jolting me from my thoughts. I duck under it and aim a right hook at his jaw. His forearm flashes up to block my blow, forcing my arm down before grabbing it and spinning me so my back is pressed against his chest. And then the crook of his other arm is trapping me in a chokehold.

I gasp for air, trying to remain calm. I fight the urge to claw uselessly at the arm crushing my windpipe and instead whip my head back, connecting my skull with his nose and earning a sickening crack followed by the sound of gurgling blood.

Blood.

There was so much of it coating the floor of our small house resting between Merchant and Elm Street. Coating me, my father. I haven’t been back since that night I ran. That night the king plunged a sword through my father’s chest.

The Silencer’s hold around my neck loosens as he stumbles back, clutching his nose. But I’m not done yet. Not even close.

I slip the ring from my thumb and slide it onto my middle finger before sinking my fist into the Silencer’s cheek, ignoring the sting in my hand. Dropping his hands from his gushing nose, he swings at me again, but I already knew it was coming.

He always takes a step with his left foot before he punches.

I block the blow and grab his shoulders as I bring my knee to his stomach once again. Before he’s even caught his breath, I have his head in my hands, driving his already broken nose down into my awaiting knee.

I channel all my rage into each blow.

My rage at the king who slipped into my father’s study where he sat in his cushioned armchair, reading late into the night.

Another right hook to the Silencer’s jaw.

My rage as I vividly remember the sound of my father’s cry when the sword tore through his chest, tearing me from sleep.

I send a kick to the Silencer’s groin.

My rage as I saw my father sliding out of his beloved armchair and onto the ground, slipping in his blood.

I drop and sweep my leg in a wide arc, knocking the Silencer to the ground.

My rage as I held my father’s hand, screaming and begging him to wake up.

I sat there all night, pants soaked with blood, trying to puzzle out what could possibly justify killing him. But the king doesn’t need a reason to kill, he needs a reason to let people live.

I beat down on the Silencer, barely aware of what I’m doing as my mind reels.

I was numb. My hand clamped around my father’s cold one, holding it while I rocked back and forth, sobs shaking my body. I brushed his brown hair from his eyes, straightened his bloody clothes, whispered about all the memories we shared while begging him to come back to me so we could make more.

I was completely and utterly alone in the world.

And when sunlight poured through the windows, shedding light on the gruesome scene, I couldn’t stand to be in my own home—not that I could afford to keep the house at thirteen years of age.

I tried to bury him. Tried so hard to drag him outside and give him a proper goodbye, give him the honor he deserved. But I was so small, and he was so large, so heavy, so dead. I slipped and slid in the pool of my father’s blood, unable to budge his body. So, I pulled the wedding ring from his finger, pushed it onto my thumb, and ran.

The same ring I’m now using to sink into the Silencer’s cheek.

If Father could see me now…

I hover over him, my rage finally beginning to fade as his black eyes widen. Blood streaks his face, gushing from his mouth, nose, and the other scattered cuts I’ve given him. I slide my dagger from my boot as something flickers in his eyes.

Fear.

He fears what he cannot control.

And in this very moment, that something he cannot control is me.

I bring the hilt of my dagger down hard against his temple, knocking him out cold. Still crouching over him, my gaze finds the gray one pinned on me. Emotions flash across the stranger’s face as he takes me in, takes in what I’ve done. Shock, awe, confusion, and amusement of all things, flicker across his face. I tear my eyes from him, returning my knife to my boot as astonished murmurs rise from the crowd. I turn, stunned to find a mass of people staring. Merchants, women, and children gawk at the scene, all whispering and pointing. Three Imperials suddenly push through the crowd, hastily throwing people out of their way.

I stiffen, preparing for some sort of punishment. Maybe a few more lashes to decorate my back with.

But they charge right past me, right past the unconscious Silencer, and drop to their knees before the stranger.

That’s…interesting.

And apparently, I’m not the only one who thinks so. The hum of whispers from the crowd grows louder, allowing me to catch bits and pieces of their hushed conversations.

“—Silencer here in Ilya—”

“—it’s Prince Kai who fought off four men—”

“—fought the Silencer without using a power!”

I freeze, heart pounding, barely breathing.

Prince Kai.

I’d never seen the man. Never thought I would.

Never thought I would steal from him either.

But I’ve heard enough about his reputation. How he’s supposedly the strongest Elite in decades. How he’s the future Enforcer, said to be callused and calculating, yet charismatic and charming when he wishes to be—when he chooses to play the part.

I’ve heard how he’s a rare and powerful Wielder, able to sense another’s power and use it himself so long as they are close enough to him.

The Deliverer of Death, they call him.

The prince usually stays in the comfort of his cushy palace, so it’s likely that no one recognized the stranger as anyone of importance. And when he does leave the castle, well, the people he visits don’t typically live to tell the tale.

I slowly turn towards the Imperials huddling around the prince and watch as he shoves past them, irritated by their smothering. He barks an order, telling them to take the Silencer to the dungeons as well as clear the crowd from the street. The prince exudes authority and power with every step, every word. Imperials scurry to obey him as they round up the mob of people and push them back out onto Loot.

His eyes find mine.

Even with his countless injuries, he strides towards me, pushing the limp from his walk. A predator stalking its prey.

And that’s my cue.

I try to slip into the crowd unnoticed, hoping to be washed away in the current of bodies. Hoping he will forget that I saved him and let me leave quietly.

No such luck.

A calloused hand grips my arm before spinning me around to pin me against the alley wall. He presses both my wrists against the brick with strong hands before leaning in towards me.

I writhe in his grip, but he doesn’t budge. I’m not sure what I was expecting him to do, but it certainly was not this. Maybe offer a polite thank you—not an interrogation against a grimy wall.

I would have never saved him if I knew who he was. What he is. What he does.

I huff in irritation, sending silver hair blowing into my eyes and obscuring my view of his piercing gaze. “Is this how you treat all the people who save your life or is this a new thing for you?” I grind out the words through clenched teeth, mocking his first ones to me.

“I wouldn’t know, seeing that no one has ever saved me before.” There’s the ghost of a smirk on his face, offering me a glimpse of that annoying dimple.

“Well, let me enlighten you. When someone saves your life, a polite ‘thank you’ will suffice.”

“Maybe,” he sighs and leans in closer, “but not for those who steal from me.”

I think my heart stops beating. The prince knows I stole from him.

The prince. The future Enforcer. The Deliverer of Death.

I’m dead as the Plague.

But my fear is quickly replaced by a much more welcome emotion—anger. I’m angry with myself for helping the prince who kills like it’s nothing and grants his father’s wishes like he is everything. I’m angry for finding him not repulsive since the very kingdom he’s so loyal to makes me sick with its twisted values and beliefs. He is the future Enforcer, the executioner of innocents, of Ordinaries, of people like me.

Feeling reckless and rather emboldened with death a mere breath away, I say, “So he’s pretty and he has a brain. The ladies must love you.” The smile I give him is anything but sweet. “You know, you might make a good thief if it weren’t for the fact that you were so easily fooled by one.”

He’s smiling. Amused. Arrogant as ever. “You do realize who you’re talking to, right?”

“A cocky bastard?” I say innocently before biting my tongue.

I clearly have a death wish.

But to my surprise, he tips his head back and barks out an authentic laugh, the sound rich like the chocolate I occasionally steal and deep like the Shallows Sea.

“I’ve been called worse,” he murmurs after composing himself, his hands still clamped around my wrists. Then the amusement fades from his eyes, quickly replaced by cool consideration. “Despite you robbing me, I suppose I should thank you for your help.”

I almost laugh at that. Apparently, saving his life is comparable to simply helping.

“Although, I am curious as to why the Silencer couldn’t smother your power. Along with why I can’t seem to sense one from you.” He’s eying me like he did in the alley when I stole from him. Like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to piece together.

I blink up at him as realization rams into me.

He has the rare ability to sense another’s power and use it himself…

He tried to sense my power in the alley.

Only to find that there was none.

I’m dead as the Plague.

I look up at him, filtering the fear from my expression despite my frantic thoughts. I shrug my stiff shoulders, hoping the action looked far more casual than it felt. “I’m a Mundane. A Psychic.”

“A Psychic,” he echoes, disbelief dripping from every word. “Tell me, what is it that you can do?” He pauses. Shrugs. “I’ve never met a Psychic before. Call me curious.”

I swallow the hysterical laugh threatening to bubble out of me. The future Enforcer isn’t curious, he’s calculating. But he must be rather amused by me, otherwise, I’d likely be dead by now.

“My power is a sort of…sense,” I say easily, reciting the rehearsed line. “I can only sense strong emotions from others, getting flashes of information because of it.”

I look into his eyes, willing him to believe me. Hoping he’ll accept the answer and move on with his life. Hoping that he will let me move on with my life.

He looks to be fighting a smile. “Is that right?”

“And why would it be wrong?”

His eyes flick between mine for a long moment. “Why is it I can’t sense or use your power then?”

I swallow, trying to seem as though I’m not struggling to come up with a believable lie. “My ability is unpredictable. Even I can’t control what I see or when I see it. That, combined with the fact that my power has little strength as it is, must be why you and the Silencer can’t pick up on it. It’s a mental ability.” I shrug. “I must be able to guard my head from those trying to get into it.”

I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.

Except that he doesn’t give me one. He simply stands there, staring at me. I huff before blurting, “Go on. Ask anyone in the slums about me and my power. Better yet,” I lean forward slightly, “you can ask your Imperials. I had a lovely conversation with one of them just this morning.”

His eyes narrow slightly before he slowly releases my wrists and takes a step back. “Maybe I will.” Then the bastard smiles. “But I’d still like to witness these Psychic abilities of yours for myself. Prove it.”

If I had a shilling for every time someone said those words to me, I wouldn’t even bother stealing anymore. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, eyebrows raised expectantly as he elaborates, “Read me. Or whatever it is you say you do.” Then he leans in, gaze glittering with amusement. “Impress me, darling.”

“My power isn’t some party trick for your entertainment, but I’ll play along, prince.” I give him a sarcastic smile before my eyes dart over his body. “I’m not even sure I’ll be able to pick up on anything with how unpredictable my ability is.”

“Is that so.”

I ignore his mocking tone of voice and think of the callouses on his palms and the dozens of scars marring his arms.

Well, obviously he’s a fighter. You don’t have to be a Psychic to figure that out.

I know I need to tell him something worthwhile if there is any hope of being believed. Any hope of surviving this conversation. He’ll kill me without a second thought for simply the suspicion of being an Ordinary.

“May I see your hand?” The words are a demand disguised as a question. I hold my palm out expectantly, eyes flicking from his face to the hand at his side. Only the best performance will do for the prince.

His expression is annoyingly neutral, never taking his eyes off mine as he places his hand in my own. “You know, I’ve never met a thief with manners. And it seems you’re most definitely not the exception.”

I huff at that, ducking my head to turn my attention to the large, calloused hand in my own.

“Is there a reason you insist on holding my hand?”

My gaze snaps up to his cool one. “Don’t worry, I’ll try to resist kissing your knuckles, prince.”

At the mention of his knuckles, my eyes sweep over them while his laughter washes over me. They’re red and raw, not only from this fight but also from one prior. Blood trickles down his fingers from the reopened scabs, though he barely seems bothered.

“You were in a fight,” I say. “And—”

His scoff cuts me off. “I told you to impress me, not state the obvious.”

“I’m not talking about this fight,” I sigh, dropping his hand to gesture around us while simultaneously fighting the urge to punch that stupid grin off his face. “I’m talking about the fight before this one.” I watch him closely, noting that nothing about his expression indicates whether I’m right or wrong.

Plagues, he’s not going to make this easy for me.

My gaze drops briefly to his shoes. From this close, they don’t look as shiny as I once thought they were when I spotted him across Loot. In fact, they don’t look shiny at all.

Sand.

His once polished, black shoes are now covered in a thin dusting of sand, barely visible. As though he’s been walking through the…

Scorches.

And there’s only one reason why a prince, specifically the future Enforcer, would step foot in the Scorches at all.

He banished someone. And that same someone put up a fight.

I’m reminded of the two Imperials missing from rotation today, and it all begins to fall into place.

The prince needs guards to drag prisoners to the Scorches.

Triumph begins to bloom in my chest, but I stamp it down.

Something’s not right.

Normally, the town would be gossiping for days about who was banished and why. The criminals would have been paraded through the city, drawing a crowd to watch them walk to their death. But I haven’t heard a single word uttered about this. Odd, considering they usually flaunt the banishes, use them as examples, show them off to warn the kingdom of what happens when you cross the king.

He didn’t want anyone to know about it.

In a matter of seconds, I have all the information I need.

“You were somewhere…hot. Sandy.” I squeeze my eyes shut before adding, “The Scorches.” I peek up at him to find his eyes searching my face. “You banished someone. Or…a group of someones.” At this, he stiffens, ever so slightly. His cool facade cracks. And in that small action alone, he’s just confirmed that I’m correct.

And that I shouldn’t know any of it.

“But…” I pause. “You don’t want anyone to know that do you?” I can’t suppress my small smile as he peers down at me, looking both impressed and confused.

“And what emotion are you sensing all of this from?” he asks quietly.

I blow out a breath before taking a wild guess at what the future Enforcer could be feeling, if the man has emotions at all. “Is it…guilt I’m feeling? Worry?” He seems to still at that, giving me silent conformation that I must be at least partially correct. “Was that proof enough for you, Your Highness?”

I am well aware of the dangerous game I’m playing. And yet, I can’t seem to forfeit my feelings of hatred for him and everything he stands for.

But the smirk that lifts his lips tells me that he likes the game too.

“Plenty. Well,” he exhales, shoving his hands in his pockets, “like you so kindly pointed out earlier, I should thank you, again, for helping me, darling.”

“Paedyn.”

His dark brows raise slightly in question.

“My name is Paedyn, not darling.”

“Paedyn,” he echoes with a small smile, testing out the word. His deep voice makes my name sound so rich, so regal, as if I’m the one with royal blood pumping through my veins.

We stare at each other for a moment, his icy eyes sweeping over my flushed face and doing nothing to cool it. “You know, I can enlighten you on another way to thank someone for saving your life.” I pause, suppressing a smile. “Repaying your debt.”

He tips his head back and laughs darkly. “Did you not get enough silvers when you robbed me the first time?” I shrug as he continues coolly, “Need I remind you that you said a simple ‘thank you’ would suffice?”

“Yes, a thank you would suffice. Not satisfy. And, well, that was also before I knew who you were.”

He begins backing away all while reaching into his pouch to pull out a coin. With a flick, it’s flying towards me. I barely have enough time to throw out my hand and catch it as he says, “Something to remember me by.”

He’s several steps from me now, though his eyes are still locked on mine. “Oh, and darling?”

“Paedyn.”

“You were right.”

He takes another step backward.

I huff out a sigh. “I’m not sure I should even listen to what you’re about to say since you didn’t address me by my name which is—’

“Paedyn,” the sound of my name from his lips cuts me off, “the ladies do love me.”

And with a wink, he turns and strides out of the alley.