Day 20 of the War

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Ayla couldn’t convince herself to leave her room the day before, but now her desire to see Loran consumed her. After her maids left for the night, she waited for the sun to dip below the horizon to grab her scythe and sneak into the eastern quarter.

She saw no guards as she moved through the northern quarter’s foyer and into the hall of the eastern quarter. She hurried up the steps with Loran’s voice telling her not to visit ringing in her head.

It had hurt to hear him say that. He couldn’t have meant it.

The therian’s common room invited her with welcomed darkness. She headed to Loran’s stairs when she noticed the dark figure standing in front of the stairwell.

“You’re Ayla Elias, right?” The man stepped forward, a sliver of moonlight falling over his chiseled jaw and thin stubble, his blue eyes narrowed under his flaring eyebrows.

She swallowed, feeling her blood thin. “Are you Loran’s trainer?” she asked in a whisper.

A smirk moved onto his thin lips, the dark patch of hair sitting under his bottom lip moving to the side a fraction. “It’s amusing we’d meet here. It’s a shame it’d have to be under these circumstances.” He sighed and cracked his neck.

She clenched her teeth and fought her urge to run. “Why?” She tightened her hold on her scythe. It’d be the only advantage she’d have over him if he decided to attack her.

“I was Evraz’s best friend,” he said, a dark chuckle rising from his chest. “Before Afrem. Met your father once. Evraz wouldn’t ever let me see him again after that.” His nostrils flared for a moment. “I doubt he imagined I’d ever meet you instead.”

She hoped no one could hear his deep, booming voice. She took a thin breath as she stared into his piercing eyes. “Is… Loran in his room?”

“I don’t think he wants to see you.” Hekar raised a hand to his hair and shuffled through his light brown locks. His hair made him look more like a wolf than the grin stretching over his lips. “You should probably get back to your side of the castle before the guards come back.”

“But I came to see him,” she said. “Did he tell you he didn’t want to see me?” It couldn’t be possible.

“I did,” Loran said, his smaller frame descending the stairs behind his stocky trainer. “Ayla, go back to your room before you get yourself in trouble. Please?”

She shook her head, swallowing her heart. “What about strategizing?” What about everything he said last night? What about when he said he missed her—didn’t he want to spend time with her?

“He needs to beat five other competitors before he can think about whatever little draw he wants to make with you,” Hekar said. “Unless you think you’re up to doing all of that yourself.”

“We can’t do it together?” She took a cautious step forward.

“I…” Loran paused, his face hidden by the shadows. “I’d rather do it myself. Keep you out of it. I’m sure Zalyn’ll make sure you’re not hurt.”

“Stupid,” she growled. “You’re being stupid. I can fight for myself. I’m not going to get hurt.”

“Ashor died, Ayla.” Loran stepped past his trainer and into the dim light the moon offered, his hands clenched at his sides and a hardened expression on his face. “You think this is going to be easy or something? You heard Ereshki—”

“—She’s a liar and you know it.” She stepped to him and grabbed his shirt. “Loran—“

He captured her lips before she could continue, grabbing her upper arms and digging his fingernails into her skin through her fur jacket. His kiss was aggressive, a flash of lightning bolting through her as his tongue caressed hers until he pulled away. His magic seeped into her, slipping across her skin like freezing rain.

He licked his lips. “Will that tie you over?”

She sucked in a breath. What did he just say? Hekar chuckled behind him. He didn’t just say that—he didn’t possibly think she wanted him just for that.

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“I’ll see you at lunch,” Loran said, moving away from her and back up his stairs.

Hekar waved. “Better hurry, little mageian girl. Guards’re coming.”

Ayla tore her feet from the ground as if they’d be set like tree roots. She managed to dash down the stairs and push her way through the door to the northern quarter in time to avoid the restationed guards. Her eyes blurred as she walked across the foyer again.

She hadn’t expected to be making a trip back to her room tonight. Where’d she gone wrong? She didn’t get it. He said he’d loved her. Was that a lie?

Ayla wiped her face clear of tears as she pushed through the door to the western quarter. She climbed the stairs, paying attention to the feeling of her body’s weight on her feet as she ascended. She felt heavy and tired, her chest constricted and her eyelids heavy and slick.

She had to talk to one of them. If not Loran, what about Zalyn? Would he want to see her or had she messed that up, too? She looked at the stairs to his door and clenched her jaw, hurrying up the steps to his room. She’d take a chance.

After knocking, she waited for him and listened for movement. Sheets shifted. Maybe he’d listen to her—talk to her.

“Zalyn,” she said, pressing her fingertips to the cold door. Her heart slumped into her ribs, aching. “I just want to see you…”

He didn’t move or make a single noise. She rested her forehead against the ice, feeling her heart fall like a rock in a landslide. Tears slid down her cheeks until she pulled away from the door and rubbed her fur sleeve over her face. Her eyes burned.

She wanted to blame Ereshkigal for everything, but she couldn’t. It’d be too easy. Zalyn had a right to be angry at her, in some ways. She hadn’t been honest with him, even though he’d trusted her. Her uncle had warned her. That he would hate her like his father hated her dad.

She swallowed, descending the steps with her shoulders hunched. But why was Loran refusing to see her? She’d told him everything. She’d accepted the deal he’d made, even though it was just as bad as the one Zalyn had made. She didn’t know what she could’ve done to anger him.

And that really hurt her.

“You’re up late,” Sabro greeted her at the bottom of the stairs. He leaned against the wall, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Just visiting him or just leaving…?”

She inhaled deeply and shrugged, stepping beside him. Why hadn’t she heard him? “I thought I would visit. He won’t answer.” She swallowed and forced a smile on her face. “Maybe he’s asleep. I can talk to him tomorrow.”

A smile lifted his thin lips. “A million zuzu says he’ll ignore you at lunch.” He moved from the wall and leaned against his spear, the gold glowing in the darkness.

She frowned, watching his eyes glint in the light of the spear. “Did he say something to you?” she asked, tightening her grip on her scythe. Something didn’t feel right.

“No, of course not.” Sabro laughed. “We’re not that close.” He released a sigh, a lazy smirk settling onto his mouth. “I just saw you yesterday out in the arena with Ereshkigal. Heard you, too. Guess you’re friends with a therian? I always knew there was something off about you.”

He lowered the row of spikelets onto her shoulder and rolled it toward her neck. She resisted her urge to flinch and stared at him, slowing her breathing.

“There’s nothing different between them and us,” she said, keeping her voice level. Her magic hummed beneath her skin. Adrenalin laced in her blood. She was ready for him. “There’s nothing off about me at all.”

He sneered and pulled his spear back, thrusting it forward. She jumped back and used the pole of her scythe to deflect the sharp point.

“You’re a traitor,” he growled. “Was your father one, too? Is that why he didn’t live in Esagila with the rest of us mageians?” He spun the spear like a baton until he slid into his fighting stance and lowered the weapon to his hip, the long pole sitting on the pads of his fingers.

“I’m not a traitor,” she said. “Don’t you think it’s stupid we have to fight in this War—that we’re created to die? Everyone else can be reincarnated but us. We’re doomed to spend the rest of our lives in Irkalla like criminals.”

“If you lose.” He lunged forward, driving his spear toward her heart.

She blocked it with the blade of her scythe. “You’re blind. Do you even have something to fight for besides your uncle’s honor—your family’s honor? Do you even care if you die?” She knocked his spear away and charged forward, raising her scythe and slicing downward toward his shoulder.

He lifted his spear above his head and her blade caught on the hard gold as he grunted. “No. If I die, it’s because I was weak and I deserved it.” He kicked her in the stomach and she stumbled back. “And that’s why you are going to die tonight!”

He dived toward her, his spear hurtling toward her heart. She moved her magic to push it away, but it cut through the barrier like air. Ayla turned her body, hoping to dodge it, and winced as the first spikelet pushed into her flesh.

She sucked in a breath and grunted, raising her scythe, but Zalyn raced down the stairs before she could and slammed his poleaxe across Sabro’s shoulders. His head dropped off his body behind him and blood spurted from his neck as Zalyn grabbed the golden spear and yanked it out of her shoulder.

Ayla yelped and grabbed her shoulder, dropping to her knees. He kneeled beside her, pressing a palm over her hand covering her wound.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

His eyes stared into hers, his magic hot against her skin. He paused and squeezed his eyes shut, growling before he heaved himself to his feet. He stomped up his stairs and slammed the door shut.

Her hand trembled against her bleeding wound. Her hand clenched the fabric of her pants as she started crying, hunched over. She tried not to smell the metallic copper of Sabro’s bleeding corpse. Her magic closed her wound without her concentration, sapping whatever energy she had left between her sobs.

Her body ached. Why did it hurt so much?

She picked herself up, holding her scythe close to her chest as tears continued to trail down her face. It was the only thing she had left. Her dad had left her. Loran had left her. Zalyn had left her.

Ayla had no one but herself.