Powerful, page 4
It’s clear that he doesn’t wish to elaborate on his vagueness. We eye each other for a long moment before he begins digging around in a cabinet, pulling an unraveling roll of medical cloth from its depths. Tearing it with the teeth I’ll likely never get to glimpse again, he begins thoroughly wrapping the width of my palm.
‘There,’ he says blandly, stepping back to admire his work. ‘No chance of you bloodying my fabric now.’
‘Might look more realistic that way,’ I offer with a tilt of my head. ‘Have you seen how stained most Imperial uniforms are?’
‘Dammit, Adena,’ he huffs. ‘Maybe mention that before I heroically tend to your wound.’
CHAPTER 5 Makoto
Her head bobs dangerously close to the sharp needle slipping from between her fingers.
She startles, swallowing her gasp as she blinks awake. Tired eyes meet mine from where I’m leaning over my work table, sketching a new knife design.
I turn back to my work, unsurprised by anything she does at this point. ‘You’re going to stab yourself again.’
‘I’ve worked through the night before,’ she says defensively, though actively fighting a yawn. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘This time it’ll be your eye.’ I sigh. ‘Maybe your throat. Definitely a couple fingers.’
‘I’m not going to stab anything, Mak.’ She breathes my name and I’m surprised by the affect it has on me from a person so pretty.
I straighten, striding towards her. ‘No, you will not.’ She sputters when I pluck the needle from her fingers. ‘Because I am taking this for the night.’
‘No, there’s so much left to do,’ she argues, gesturing to the assortment of pinned fabric. ‘I’ve barely begun the stitching, and don’t even get me started on how long the paneling will take on the—’
‘You’ve been working for two full days now.’ I cross my arms over my chest. ‘And I’ve heard enough words for today. I can’t imagine how exhausted you must be after speaking them all.’
Her dull look could rival one of the many in my arsenal. ‘Is this you kicking me out for the night?’
I flash her a mocking smile. ‘Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.’
‘Fine.’ She stands, staring up at me sternly. It’s comically endearing. ‘Hopefully some sleep will make you less grumpy for me tomorrow.’
‘Did that work for me last night?’
‘Clearly not, but I won’t lose hope. Yet.’
‘Whatever helps you sleep better tonight,’ I say pleasantly.
She brushes past me, walking swiftly towards the door. Then, without warning, she spins on her heel. ‘I’ll be here, bright and early.’
‘Oh, you certainly were this morning,’ I mutter.
She turns back to the door.
I sigh when her head whips back around.
‘And I expect to be greeted with a smile and a sticky bun.’ She nods curtly, as though finalizing this demand.
I cross my arms. ‘I thought we were done with the demands, hun?’
‘Get me my sticky bun, and we will be.’
With that, she’s sealed from view when the wooden door swings shut behind her with a squeal.
It’s only then that I take my first deep breath since meeting her.
She is an intoxicating sort of exhausting, like running until you’ve lost your breath but enjoying the feeling all the while. And I feel as though I’ve been sprinting for days.
Even worse, I fear that I am, in fact, beginning to enjoy her.
What a terrifying realization, to admit one’s admiration for another.
I run my hands through the strands of hair falling around my face, sighing as I make my way over to the disheveled bed I so desperately want to fall face-first into. Instead, I sit on the edge of it, lost in thoughts I’d rather not entertain. Thoughts of a girl I’ve only just met, of all things. How very pathetically poetic.
Shaking myself from a stupor of inevitable self-destruction, I stand to begin my nightly routine. This consists of first peeling the coal-stained clothes from my body. Once that task is complete, I slip off the partially leathered pants still hugging my legs. And after rummaging through one of the many crooked cabinets in my boxers alone, I manage to find a thin pair of pants to pull on.
This all happens in a timely manner, as routines typically do. Because next, I’m wetting a cloth to wipe the soot from my skin. In all honesty – a relatively foreign concept – I tend to keel over on my work table at this hour, dead asleep. But tonight, the interruption in my routine has ensured that my mind is plenty awake to actually finish it for once.
Soot clings to the damp cloth I drag across my skin, each swipe revealing the scars beneath.
That is when the pounding at my door begins.
And, Plagues, it doesn’t stop until I swing it open.
It’s her I see standing before me. Though, perhaps a version I never thought I’d witness. Her face is splotchy, striped with tears that leak from the hazel eyes above. Every inch of her is shaking, quaking beneath the fear smothering her frail form.
Panic clogs her throat, leaving only actions to speak on her behalf. She falls into me, wrapping thin arms round my bare waist before pressing a tear-stained face into my skin.
I hesitate, feeling unsurety stiffen my body. It seems to pass at the acknowledgment of it, as though only remaining long enough for me to recognize these newfound emotions she’s instilled in me. Because uncertainty implies that I care enough to question how I should act.
With that horrifying realization, my arms fold round her, pulling her tightly against my chest. She sniffles against me, splattering my skin with an assortment of liquids I’d rather not consider at the moment.
‘I-I’m sorry,’ she whispers, choking on the words. ‘I had nowhere else to go.’
My hand tilts her face up towards mine, allowing me full view of her distraught complexion. ‘What happened? What’s going on?’
Another sniff. ‘I was on my way to the F-Fort, and there was this group of men in the alley.’ My blood begins to boil before she’s even finished her sentence. ‘They started saying… things. And then they were f-following me and—’ Her eyes well with angry tears. ‘I started running. I-I didn’t know what to do—’
‘Shh.’ I run a hand down the length of her curls, feeling a hiccup jostle her body. ‘You did the right thing. Run to me. Always run to me.’
Except that I won’t be here much longer. If everything goes according to plan.
I say none of that, of course, in an effort to conceal my cowardliness. She blinks up at me, tears clinging to her thick lashes. ‘Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I should have—’
‘Kicked their asses?’ I finish with a sigh. ‘Yes, but you don’t know how to do that, do you?’
She shakes her head, sniffling with the movement. ‘Pae was always there to kick… asses for me.’
She hesitates at the profanity, as though considering if this situation warrants it. Her internal dilemma almost makes me smile.
‘Yes, well, she’s not here anymore,’ I say slowly. ‘So, maybe it’s time for you to learn for yourself.’
She steps out of my hold, a look of uncertainty on her face. ‘You see, I’m really more of a lover than a fighter.’
‘Yes, I’ve gathered that.’ My words are much softer than anticipated, as though she’s somehow coaxed the compassion out of me. She turns away, hiding her face in the shadow I’m casting over her. ‘Look at me.’ Again, each word is soft enough to comfort, but stern enough to steal her attention. Her head tilts back towards me. ‘Are you all right?’
She nods vigorously. ‘I am now.’
‘Good.’ I step aside, offering the room to her. ‘Because it looks like you’ll be sleeping here until further notice.’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t—’
‘You can. And you will.’
‘No, really, it’s—’
‘Extremely generous, I’m aware,’ I finish for her.
Wiping a stray tear from her cheek, she straightens with determination. ‘Fine. Only if you promise to spend a night in the Fort.’
I nod curtly. ‘Sure.’
‘Shake on it,’ she insists, shoving her uninjured hand at me.
‘You really think that is what will make me keep my promise?’
She wiggles her fingers despite my words, and I shake her soft hand if only so we can move on from this conversation.
‘Okay. It’s settled, then.’ She sniffs again before thoroughly clearing her face of any fallen tears. Then her gaze lands expectantly on me.
‘Right,’ I say, less than enthusiastically. ‘Take the bed.’
She looks bashfully at the crumpled sheets. ‘Oh, I’m used to sleeping on the ground anyway, so I’ll just—’
‘Accept my continued generosity?’ She opens her mouth, but it’s my voice that fills the room. ‘Great. Take the bed.’
Her hands are suddenly planted firmly on her hips. ‘Could I get a please with that demand?’
‘Aw, look who’s finally standing up for themselves.’ I tap my finger against her nose. ‘But no.’
Huffing bangs out of her eyes, she walks hesitantly towards the bed. After a long moment of contemplation, she sits stiffly on the edge of it.
Standing over her, I begin pulling at one of the wrinkled blankets she’s currently sitting on. She all but tips over, sputtering. In response to her objection, I spread the soft fabric on the floor beside the bed. ‘Surely you can sacrifice a single blanket for me.’
‘Surely you could have asked me to stand up,’ she mumbles with a forced smile.
‘Surely you know there is no fun in that.’
Her gaze prickles my skin as I crumple clothing into a makeshift pillow. I struggle to ignore the feel of it, the look on her face. Even in the midst of crying, she managed to glow, as though each tear was a drop of sunlight.
‘You missed a spot.’
My head lifts at the sound of her voice. I raise my eyebrows in question. ‘The coal dust,’ she clarifies. ‘There’s still some on your elbow.’
‘Do stay away, then.’ I frown. ‘I’d rather not be sneezed on again.’
She smiles, snatching the damp cloth from the counter sitting opposite the bed. ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous.’ Grabbing my arm, she attempts to tug me towards her. And, begrudgingly, I allow it.
She hesitates slightly before swiping the cloth across my arm. The fabric is rough against my skin, though her touch is unsurprisingly gentle. ‘I’m far from fragile.’ I say this in response to each of her tender touches.
‘I know,’ she says softly. ‘There is quite the difference between fragility and delicacy.’
These words are nothing like the hundreds of bubbly ones prior. These words are deliberate, insightful in a way that only she is. ‘So, you think I’m delicate?’
She tilts her head in question. ‘Don’t you want to be handled with care?’
This leaves me speechless.
It’s only when she sets the stained cloth down that I clear my throat, making my first sound in a multitude of moments. I watch her sink back onto the mattress, burrowing into the blankets beneath her.
That is when I begin striding towards the door, shoving daggers into the band of my pants.
I can hear the concern in her voice. ‘Where are you going?’
The door swings open. ‘To find them.’
CHAPTER 6 Adena
I wake to the smell of sticky buns.
Just as I have every morning after Mak went to find the men who chased me into his arms. Though, I’m not entirely sure what came of his hunt – and I’m beginning to fear I may not want to know.
The night still haunts me, as does the look on Mak’s face when he went to look for the vile group. The things they were saying, the sound of their footsteps pounding behind me – I hope to never be so frightened again.
My eyes flutter open in time to watch him plop a plate onto my stomach, occupied by honey-drenched dough that glistens in the dull light. I sit up, stretching with my usual smiling yawn. ‘Day three of breakfast in bed? I’m so spoiled.’
‘Yes, very.’ He says this dryly, as he does most things. ‘Another day, another demand.’
I nod towards the sticky bun awaiting him on the work table. ‘At least this demand benefits the both of us.’
‘Well, it sure as hell doesn’t benefit me financially,’ he grumbles. ‘You’re getting to be expensive.’
Unfolding myself from the cocoon of blankets, I get to my feet with a groan. The blue sweater hanging from my shoulder swaddles me in warmth and, more distractingly, his scent. He smells of something akin to fire – not smoky, per se, but similarly bold and lingering. Like a weapon incarnate, leathery and lethal.
He’d thrown the sweater at my head two nights ago after likening my chattering teeth to the incessant hammering of steel – or something equally as dramatic.
Nevertheless, I burrow my chin into the worn threads, finding comfort in the fraying collar. Or perhaps it’s something far more symbolic that soothes me. Perhaps it’s him.
How odd, considering that he may be the least soothing person I’ve ever encountered. But these past few days have felt particularly peaceful with him by my side.
I talk. He listens. He has somehow managed to keep my worries about Pae at bay.
Well, I can never be entirely sure if he’s listening or not. A common misconception about me is that it’s always easy to talk. But, truly, it depends on who is listening. And though I can never be sure that he’s doing just that, I still find it incredibly easy to spew my thoughts to him.
‘What are you working on?’ I peek over his shoulder, peering down at the scraps of metal littering the table.
He throws me one of those glances, the type that encompasses every dry emotion in his being. ‘Nothing that concerns what you are supposed to be working on.’
‘Oh, come on!’ I take another bite of sticky bun before circling him. ‘Your uniform is coming along just fine.’ He opens his mouth, stretching the scar gracing his lips. I hurry to add, ‘And it will be done in time for us to pay our visit to the castle.’
He pushes a hand through his hair, revealing that streak of silver and reminding me once again of Pae’s absence. ‘So, it will be done in three days, then?’
‘Yes, yes,’ I assure enthusiastically. ‘You have such little faith in me, Mak.’
‘Rightfully so,’ he counters. ‘Need I remind you of the tears that were shed over a button last night?’
‘Buttons are the bane of my existence,’ I say simply. ‘That was the only appropriate response.’
‘Naturally.’ His sarcasm hardly fazes me as I nod towards his work in question. With a sigh, he reluctantly says, ‘I’m testing some knife designs. This one,’ he lifts a thin blade from the table, ‘flips open into two knives.’ He demonstrates, fitting his finger into the metal loop at the top before spinning it into his palm. Sure enough, there’s a soft click before another blade appears on the opposite end.
‘And this one?’ I ask, pointing at one of the several knives lying harmlessly on the wood.
He pushes my hand away, giving me a look. ‘Your limbs are no longer allowed anywhere near my weapons.’
I attempt to hide my smile and nod at the knife instead, urging him to continue.
‘These four actually combine into one.’ With that, he begins assembling the blades, hooking their handles together to create a deadly star of sorts.
My heart stops when he throws the contraption at the far wall, forcing a gasp from my lips. The steel manages to slip between the crumbling bricks, sinking deep into the wall.
I blink in awe as my heart pounds back to life. ‘That was… magnificent.’
He allows himself a dry chuckle. ‘I didn’t think you’d enjoy these sorts of things.’
I cross my arms. ‘Just because I’m a lover, doesn’t mean I can’t admire the fighters.’
He strides over to the wall, pulling the knife out with a grunt. ‘That’s right. I have yet to make a fighter out of you.’
I snort. ‘Trust me, Pae has tried. She used to beg me to carry a knife but…’ I trail off at the sudden lack of space between us. His long strides have led him straight to me, his body so close that I can smell the leather clinging to his clothing.
I open my mouth to spew something that will ease my nerves – as I typically do – but it’s his voice I hear.
‘Now,’ he says slowly, his tone low, ‘what would you do if I held this blade to your stomach?’
I laugh lightly. ‘Well, you would never do that, so I haven’t exactly thought of—’
He grazes the blade against my ribs.
He leans in, whispering in a way that has my face heating. ‘You think too highly of me, hun.’
I swallow. ‘This is absurd. I will never find myself in this situation—’
‘As long as you live in the slums,’ he pauses, his gaze flicking slowly over me, ‘you will most definitely find yourself in this situation.’
‘Now, tell me what you would do.’
I tap a finger against my lips. ‘Well, I would first try to reason with them. Politely, of course.’
‘Plagues.’ Pinching the bridge of his nose between calloused fingers, he shakes his head. ‘You may actually be hopeless.’
He drops the knife, allowing me to finally take a full breath. When he raises his palms in front of me, I raise my eyebrows in question. ‘Come on, show me a punch.’
‘You want me to punch your hands? That seems a little painful.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ he sighs.
‘I meant for you.’
That almost earns me a smile. ‘I think I can handle it.’
I straighten, balling my hands into tight fists. My knuckles meet his palm, and I beam up at him. ‘There. How was that?’
‘As terrible as predicted,’ he says simply. When his hands find my hips, I startle at the firm feel of them. ‘This,’ he twists my hips with little effort, ‘is how it should feel when you throw a punch.’
I almost laugh. At this moment, all I feel is the grip of his hands on my hips. I seem to be numb to everything but the feel of him.
