Day 7 of the War

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Ayla blinked against a dark room, a faint glow at her side. She sat up, silken covers falling from her body. Her hands pressed into a fur blanket. Ten beds lined the wall across from her, all but one empty, and four beds stretched out beside her. A thin sheet covered a door on the wall to her right, candlelight seeping through the cloth.

Zalyn must’ve taken her to the infirmary. She massaged her forehead with her fingertips. No bruise, no pain. She closed her eyes again and let out a long sigh, focusing on her eyes, calling magic into them. They prickled as magic tunneled into their depths, collecting like storage.

“You’re awake.” The familiar voice sounded heavy with fatigue. “Did that asshole hurt you?”

She back straightened, her eyes snapping open to the only occupied bed across the room. “Loran?” She hadn’t expected the lump across the room to be someone she knew.

“Did he hurt you?” he repeated, a harsh edge to his voice.

“No,” she said. “It was my fault.” Ayla let out a breath, reaching up to her hair and letting her bun down. “What’re you doing in here?”

His smooth cheeks and narrow jaw tightened. “Long story. What happened?”

She frowned, fisting the blanket. She didn’t like it when he sidestepped his own problems just to focus on her. “Long story,” she repeated him. Her magic started to leave its chill on her skin, even under her fur cloak. “What happened to you?”

“I didn’t pass out, Ayla.” He folded his arms across his chest. The candlelight colored his messy hair with an orange tint. “Tell me what happened so I know whether or not I need to pay him a little visit.”

She scoffed, feeling irritation curl her toes. “Pay him a visit? You’re not my father.” Her stomach churned at the mention, but she gritted her teeth against it. She felt sick of being the focus of everyone’s attention. “I didn’t miss lunch.”

“Maybe I just didn’t want to eat,” Loran said. His eyes rolled to the ceiling, flashing in the dim and flickering light. “You shouldn’t have even paid attention.”

“How am I not supposed to notice your empty seat—the only empty seat in the room?” Ayla tightened her grip on the sheets, her voice rising. “I was worried about you, and now I’ve got a reason to. You’ve been in the infirmary all day, haven’t you?”

His teeth clicked together, and it set her mind racing about what’d send him here. He raked a hand through his hair, hanging it so she couldn’t see his eyes. “I got into a scuffle, Ayla. It’s not a big deal.”

Her anger rose hot from her stomach to her throat. “A scuffle that landed you in the infirmary all day long isn’t a big deal?” She wanted to know the real reason. Why was he hiding it from her?

Loran never hid things from her like this. Why was everything changing?

His head shot up at her, his eyes staring into hers. “A scuffle with my trainer.”

Ayla released the sheets, her palms laying flat against the bed as she leaned forward. She wanted to slide out of bed and walk to him, hug him, and make sure he wasn’t hurt. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

“Your trainer?” Her whisper sounded inaudible.

“Yes,” he said, tone stiff. His ears picked up her question as if it’d be shouted. “We were training. He taught me a lesson.”

“What kind of lesson was he teaching you—pain?” She sat back in bed, smoothing her hands over her frowning face. Did his trainer know he was in the Illutu like the rest of the competitors? Had his trainer tried to kill him?

“No.” Loran slouched against the headboard. “He wanted me to see how real therians fight. I needed to see.” He looked down at his hands, weaving together on top of his fur blanket. “Like I said, it’s not a big deal. You’re the one who needs to be more careful.”

As his expression softened, Ayla felt a wave of sympathy run over her.

“What happened to you?” His forehead edged into a concerned frown. His voice lowered, whispering in tender tones. “You came in here with no magic, Ayla. That’s dangerous, especially in someplace like this.” His voice softened, a frown crossing his face. “Not only is it too cold for you, but it leaves you vulnerable to a whole lot of people who’d love to count you out of this War.”

“I don’t need your lecture, Loran… I know I messed up.” She sighed, looking down at the dark blanket. “He—”

“You’re awake?” the nurse asked, peeking out from the curtain. Her golden eyes glowed like the flame of a candle from the doorway to her room. “Let me call your trainer to come pick you up.”

“I—I can’t stay here longer?” she asked as the nurse disappeared behind the curtain again. She didn’t know when she’d have another opportunity to talk to Loran. Staring at him during lunch didn’t count for anything.

“No, I’m sorry.” She appeared again, a card in hand. She leaned out of the doorway and dropped it into a chute nearby. “Mister Karam should be here shortly.”

After the nurse vanished again, Ayla groaned. Loran had slipped under the covers and pulled the sheets up over his head, pretending to be asleep.

“Loran,” she whispered. “We were training, I got flustered, and his punch broke my guard. Nothing substantial. Our magic is like hot and cold—it’s hard to keep it under control when he’s around.”

He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound.

“I won’t let it happen again… so don’t worry about me. Please…” She swallowed against his silence as it weighed down the thin air and pressed against her chest.

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She missed how they used to be—how she’d look forward to seeing him every day, how they’d joke and train and laugh and learn together. It used to be so easy. Not only was he on the other side now, he made it feel like he was with them. Not with her as he should be.

Naramsin stormed through the door, a scowl on his face. “You let him punch you in the face?” he asked in a tight whisper as he headed to her door. “Have I taught you nothing?”

Ayla could’ve groaned again. She didn’t need anyone else telling her what an idiot move she’d made. “It was a mistake. Let it go, Naramsin. Please.” She slid out of bed and pulled her boots on with a clenched jaw.

Naramsin sighed, air rasping through his throat. “Fine.” His tone warmed. “You better put him in here next time, then.” He draped an arm around her shoulder. “Your dad would kill me if he knew I’d let Malko’s kid hurt you.”

She said nothing. He led her out of the infirmary and along the candlelight hallway and stairs to the entryway. To be safe, he escorted her past the dining room, through the common room, and up the stairway to her room.

Ayla ignored the tray on her desk. Who cared if she promised to eat? Hunger didn’t matter. She felt defeated. She couldn’t find her dad, something was bothering Ashor, Loran felt more distant than ever, and Zalyn’d knocked her unconscious.

If that’d been a real fight, she’d be dead.

She sank into her bed. What was she going to do? She couldn’t leave the castle. If Nanna could catch her snooping through a kitchen, she didn’t want to imagine what a thousand guards could do on her way out of the castle. What if her dad wasn’t in Dilmun at all? She didn’t know how to get back to Esagila.

She didn’t even know if he was in Esagila.

What if he was gone?

She screamed into her blankets. He couldn’t be gone. Nanna didn’t know what he was talking about. Her dad always kept his promises. Maybe he couldn’t make it to her introduction. Maybe he couldn’t make it into the castle. But he promised to be here for her during the War.

Hadn’t he sacrificed his magic to be?

He couldn’t let her down. She counted on it—on him. If Zalyn could knock her out so easily, what could the rest of the competitors do? She had no idea how good they were. She had no idea how good the therians were.

And Loran. Her heart ached. He was going through a lot—the other therian competitors knowing he was in the Illutu. How many fights had he gotten into because of that? Did he have to watch his back all of the time? Did his trainer do that to him because he knew Loran was in the Illutu, too?

To top it all off: Ashor was definitely not himself. If he kept acting like this, he’d be off his game during his fight. She didn’t want to see him lose. She didn’t want to lose him.

She didn’t want to lose anyone.

Ayla changed into her sleep clothes in the dark. She sunk into her bed and tried to come up with a plan. She had to sneak out, no getting around that. But how? Loran said the guards switched over at sunrise and sunset. She could leave early tomorrow and take Isla and Kaya. Maybe she could find Maron and ask him. He’d know, right?

A knock startled her—a gentle knuckle tap. “Ayla.”

“Ashor.” She jumped from her bed and rushed to the door. She opened it, squinting into candlelight and Ashor’s leafy eyes. “What’re you doing?”

“May I come in?” he asked, reaching forward for her wrist. He blended into the shadows with his black fur cloak. The light glowed against the smooth planes under his cheekbones and along the bridge of his nose.

She gave it to him and watched his hand appear from the darkness. He slid her sleeve up and kissed her family’s mark before stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. He set his candle on her desk, pulled the chair out, and took a seat.

“There’s an Illutu meeting tomorrow,” he said. The candle flickered against his face and the downward curve of his lips. “I’m supposed to relay the message to you.”

“Where’s the meeting?” she asked, her mind racing. Maron would be at the meeting. Her dad would be there, too. She could get the answers she needed.

His face hardened. “We can’t go, Ayla.”

“What do you mean?” She frowned with him and started pacing her room, holding her arms and rubbing her hands against the fur of her sleeping robe.

His dark eyebrows met the shadows of his eyelashes. “We’re not…” he talked slow as if he didn’t think she’d understand, “…allowed out of the castle.”

“So?” She stopped pacing by one of the plush armchairs placed at the foot of her bed against the far wall. “We can sneak out. I want to talk to my uncle. I…” She needed to talk to her dad, but Ashor couldn’t know. “I have to. I’m… I’m nervous, you know?” Again, with the lying. She started heading back toward her desk, her fur slippers tapping against the floor.

“You’re not the only one, Ayla…” He hung his head, slouching and setting his elbows on his knees. “Sorry for earlier. I was a complete asshole during lunch.”

So he’d acted that way because of his anxiety.

She felt bad for snapping back at him and stopped by his chair. “You’re stressed. I understand. You don’t need to apologize.” She set a hand down on his shoulder and squeezed. “You really don’t need to be nervous, though. You’re a great fighter. You’ve got a lot of magic at your disposal. You’ve got the greenest eyes here.”

“That doesn’t mean shit.” He glanced at her under his lashes, head still hung like a broken branch from his neck. “You know that.” The defeat ran in his voice like leaves in the wind.

“It’ll mean a lot when you’re up against a therian, Ashor.” She slid into the space between the chair and the desk. She hopped on the desk by his side. “They don’t tire. You’re going to need all the magic you can get.”

“And I’ll be wasting half of it because my magic doesn’t listen to me.” He unfurled his hands. His eyes ran over them. “I know how therian’s fight. Loran showed me a few days ago. I can’t even begin to describe how inadequate I felt.” His fists clenched before he ran a hand through his hair.

“You’ll be fine.” Her heart thundered in her ears. What could she say to make him feel better? Ayla smoothed down his black locks with careful fingers. “I can tell you how Vejen fights.”

“What?” His head snapped up. His green eyes lit up like grass in the sunlight. “How can you tell me how—no.” Ashor pulled his gaze away from her, up into the shadows of the ceiling. “I don’t want to know. Don’t even tell me.”

“I fought him.” She watched his eyes roam the darkness. “The first day. I followed Loran without thinking and I entered the eastern quarter.”

He clenched his jaw and rubbed a hand over his face.

“He’s rough around the edges,” she continued. “You can beat him if you’re strategic, I promise.”

He groaned, looking at her again, his forehead wrinkled. “That’s the problem.” He held up a hand, one finger rose. “First, I can’t fight against a girl.” He lifted another finger. “Second, I’m not a strategy fighter. I can’t be when my magic doesn’t do half of the things I want it to.”

“We’ll practice.” She closed her hand over his. She wanted him to forget about what he could and couldn’t do. He had to do it. “I’ll help you. Loran’ll help you. We’ve got time, Ashor.”

He pulled his hand away, digging it into his other palm. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Sorry I brought it up.”

“I brought it up,” she said. She eased her fingers through his hair before she slid off of the desk and started to pace again. “Maron and Pejna can give you tips, too. It’ll be refreshing to get out of this castle and step back into the real world, even for just awhile.”

“We’d have to be insane to think we can sneak out of this castle.”

She didn’t look at him, facing the bookcase beside the armchair. “My father did it.” She swallowed, gripping her robe. She’d never told anyone before, not even Loran. “He’d sneak out to see Mom and me. He couldn’t sleep here.”

“Here?” His voice rose in question.

“This was his room, too.” The truth felt good—but left a bitter aftertaste. “I found his initials carved into the wall the other night…” Pressure flooded against her eyes and her nose. Her throat seized up. “I need to see Maron.”

She had to find her dad.

Ashor jumped to his feet and hurried to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as she started to cry. She’d never cried in front of someone other than her dad before. Not Loran, not Maron.

He rubbed her back, pulling her closer as a sob shook through her body. “We’ll go tomorrow.”