I sit on the floor in my room and scribble. I've been here for hours, seeing the light brown wood beneath me turn from tawny to chocolate. The sun has set. Another day done. The General has left for a trip. Something about personal training sessions with those at the Royal Academy under his branch. Rider said he'd be back the day after.
I wish he'd stay away.
His words muddle and blur and twist in my mind. The anger I've felt for the injustice of this entire sinuous system has created a fog in my brain. The Monarchy, the Captains, the Generals, the Red Guard; they can't be trusted. But neither can anyone in the Underground. It makes it so much harder when you realise how alone you really are.
"So you are alive." Rider's voice booms through the silence of my room. I almost jump from it. I've been in here since last night and even skipped dinner. I'm usually like this when I'm angry. I no longer see the point in anything but taking action.
Rider appears at my side with a cup in his hand, steam billowing out of it in entrancing waves. He sets it down beside my drawing. I look at him, as if asking for an explanation. "So you're alive the next time I see you."
"I didn't know the big grump cared." I reply with less sass than usual. I guess the exhaustion has finally crept up to me.
"I don't. I just have too much on my plate to explain why you died of stubbornness." His face remains the same, his eyes the same stern grey as they always are. Then again, I don't expect anything different from Rider of all people. "Daina has requested you in the ballrooms. Go before she loses her patience."
Then he leaves, but not before he nods to the tea and leaves the door open. I sniff it curiously. There's no way he didn't poison this. But I drink it anyway.
The new warmth in my stomach has given me the strength I needed to face the only person who has ever been able to make me roll my eyes both consciously and subconsciously.
On my way to the ballroom, my eyes flit to the chambers leading to the dungeons. The guards that stand there have their shifts changed within the hour. But Arman isn't here; he's out with the Red Guard members in another part of the city quelling a riot that swelled to uncontrollable masses within the last week. I make a mental note to check when the last shift of the day begins. Lia was moved there this morning, her injuries deemed not suitable for movement but suitable enough to get her out of the medical wing. They had no answers, and therefore couldn't risk it.
All the while, Daina had me weed the gardens today. As if they needed weeding, but I used the excuse to be outside for once. Rider had the day off, so he did in fact do the one thing he always dreaded doing; babysitting. He sits on the benches a couple feet away, a book in his lap but his eyes straying away. I take time to analyse his face. It's the first I've ever seen him so relaxed, so unburdened by his usual lifestyle. Then I cast my eyes to where his lay. Blue is playing in the mud banks the frogs usually live in. She builds a mud hut for them, forcing the poor little creatures to stay inside. She doesn't smile. Doesn't speak. But the light in her eyes is so bright I'm absolutely positive she's happy on the inside.
I glance back to Rider, a shift in his features catching me so off guard I nearly fall into the daytime lilies. He smiled. I have the urge to say something like, "look at that, the devil does smile" but I fear for ruining the moment. It makes me wonder, what, exactly Rider was made of to be so vulnerable when no one is watching. But I should know, I've been there as well.
"I know you're staring." His face stops instantaneously, his eyes glaring at me through their corners.
"When someone does something for the first time I think you'd want to stop and stare also." I remark, resuming my non-existent weeding.
He says nothing at first. I begin to think the conversation would stop at my being caught. But then, "She reminds me of my someone."
This makes me stop completely, my heart skipping beats. I do not like Rider, and that is due to the mask he has on 24/7, the threats, lack of freedom, and overall coldness. But this...this I do not want to break. This spell that has us at an impasse for him to tell me something I'm sure he's mentioned less than he can count on one hand.
"Does she look like Blue?" I ask carefully, cautious not to snap the tie in two.
"She did." My heart stops. I glance over to Blue; her tongue sticking out as she's wholly concentrated on placing mud hats on the frogs.
"What happened, if you don't mind me asking." My words are a mere whisper, but it hasn't snapped yet. He stays quiet for a while, making me think it was a question that would remain unanswered so long as I was around.
He inhales, "She was eight, I, thirteen. She was adopted as a baby, an orphan from Xom. She looked nothing like me; straight jet black hair, almond eyes that turn into moons when she smiled." He too smiles at that, a crease in his cheek appears. One that didn't show itself too often I suppose. Then it sinks back into his cheek, another line showing, this one more prominent. "There was an attack."
His words stopped there, his eyes drifting in thought. He didn't need to finish to know what those words implied.
"I'm sorry."
He glances over to me, darkness and emotion swirling in mixtures so deep I don't think I could bear to stare for long. "I know you didn't want her to live. She tried to kill us. The soldier part of me knew she needed punishment as well. But she is still human. She didn't choose this life. Death as her punishment isn't right."
"She tried to go after the General."
He stares at me, contemplative. Then slowly, he mumbles, "That's the nuance of it, isn't it."
I knew we weren't talking about his sister anymore. We were talking about Lia, and for a strange reason, I felt as if we were talking about me. This silent truce between us forces something from me, something that I couldn't place the reasoning for, but I did it anyway. "I didn't want her to die either. Or be punished. I was...scared. I don't have a choice either." For a greater reason than you will ever know.
Something seems to pass through our gazes, as if he'd known that regardless of if he was angry with me. Mutual understanding of fear, of grief, of the reason we build our walls so high. I smile, if only a tilt of my lips to show him that I understood. He simply closes his eyes for a second, then resumes his place in the book. So I do the same with my plants.
The evening draws closer, and I was done for the day; covered in dirt and sweat and bug liquid I'm not sure from where. I didn't mind though. It reminded me of better days. The house was generally quiet. Rider left me an hour ago to spend his day off catching up on some paperwork, and maybe rest. Daina is busy with Blue, and I had no idea where Poppy was. But Arman and the crew he took returned before I could finish, which gave me an anxious feeling piled low in my gut. I wait by the junction of the hallway leading to the dungeons. The guards hadn't moved. I furrow my eyebrows; they were supposed to leave for the next shift starting in five minutes. No one exits. No one enters. The guards stay that way for another twenty minutes. This hallway is usually empty save for the guards and one or two passing members, so I was safe from being caught. However, tonight felt different. The air felt stiff, and drugged with a poison that reeked of bad omens. Another twenty minutes passed. No one enters. No one exits.
Finally, the guards move for their shift. I hide in an alcove behind an old curtain to allow their passing before darting to the chambers, practically leaping to the landing. I want to speak with Lia. I have no idea what about but bees were buzzing in the center of my head, my skin heating as the seconds drew by and would not stop until I did. A name, a tactic, a rule. Anything that can potentially solve the puzzles that wouldn't dare fit together in my mind.
I approach her cell with caution, the grey walls darker than its usual hue. The light seems dimmer, so I concentrate on my steps. It is only when I look up upon stopping in front of her cell, my stomach plummets. A heavy feeling washes over me, sickness, insanity, immense anxiety—I have not a clue. I've forgotten all the suppressive lessons Kat taught me for my wild emotions. Breathe Skye. Focus. Don't let it get to you. Remember what I taught you. Kat's voice is nothing compared to the sound of my own fear. An emotion I never learned to master. Instead I place my now shaky, cold hands on the cell bars. Lia lays facing the wall, her body limp and still as the heaviness in the room. There is no blood. No signs of a strangle or a fight. No signs of self harm. She was killed. But who would have the nerve to do this? It didn't take much thought for me to gather myself and assign a suspect. And I needed to speak to him now.
Another realisation hits me as I turn for the door, the weight of an anchor falling to the surface of the ocean that is my heart. Then it sinks.
There are only five left.
•••
I walk back to my room with my heart in my throat. Rider has an idea in his head that I wanted her dead. That I was heartless and cold. Maybe I should be, because I have no idea what I was thinking when I thought I could save her. When I thought I could keep her innocence in tact by placing her in a cell for the rest of her life; at least to keep death at bay for as long as I can. The buzzing in my ears grow when I close my door, the reality of this game suddenly becoming realer by the minute. Nothing made sense and I was stuck in a world where the imaginary and the realistic met at a bare thin line in my mind.
One thing my mind is centred on is the fact that this house is as unsafe as being in the darkest parts of the Lyth, unarmed and unaware. I shake the chill from my body, forcing my mind to rear back to the present and the facts at hand. I did this. She was one girl I couldn't save; but did I really stand a chance to begin with?
Arman's face enters my mind, and the thumping behind my head grows wilder. I storm out of my room, trying to stay as quiet and as stealthy as possible while searching for Arman. I needed to confront him, I needed him out of this house and out of my life. I needed him gone.
I approach his door as all of the General's main guards hold small rooms here during their shifts for convenience. I knock twice, then knock again after a second. The door opens and I'm pulled in, my back slamming against the wall.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I whisper loudly and angrily, spitting in his face.
"You're not supposed to be here at night, you'll give away my position. Don't make things obv—"
"Why'd you kill her." My voice is one I don't recognise, the steady timbre of my tone surprising even me. "You didn't have to do that. That isn't your job. So why?"
He pushes away from me, looking at me with disgust on his face, "Who—Lia? I didn't kill her. What're you talking about?"
"Don't play coy with me. Don't pretend as if you're some innocent in this twisted game you run."
In the next second a knife is at my throat, his eyes darken and take on a sinister aura that has every inch of my body burning with anger. "You're going back to your room and you keep your mouth shut, you hear me? It's not your place to question anything I do."
Right then and there, my brain comes to life. A plan unfurls in the depths of my consciousness, a vague scene playing and every piece is suddenly clicking into place. So I no longer question him. I no longer give him the satisfaction of seeing me riled or bothered. My face is a stone of ice, unfeeling and revealing nothing my mind is conjuring.
"It's your funeral anyway." I whisper, my eyes trained on him as I step into the knife albeit not enough for it to hurt me. I know he can't kill me, I know he won't do anything rash so early in the game.
So I turn and I leave, heading back to my room.
•••
I twist and turn for an hour straight, my mind reeling with possibilities of the plan I have laid out. My skin itches to act rather than do something as mediocre as sleeping. The light from my lantern flickers out, the room is basked in a subtle heat, the moon is hidden behind clouds. The darkness feels like a looming storm, a palpable tension fills the air. The hairs on my arms raise and I suddenly want to crawl out of my skin. Something is not right. I reach under my pillow to the knife Ansel's daughter gave to me on the night I delivered her letter. I clutch it tightly; waiting, listening. Not a bird nor a cricket chirps outside. My heart beats to a million drums in my ears. Then I hear the tiniest creak of a floorboard.
I'm up before I even register what's happening. Steps reverberate toward me, my heart stuttering in my throat. It's still hard to see but I can make out a small outline of a human in front of me, one who holds a knife in their hand. I swing first, using the momentum to kick outward. A huff leaves their chest and they plummet to the floor. Not five seconds pass until they're up again, running at me with lightening speed.
My body is slammed against the dresser, the handle of it digging into my ribs and spine. An inhuman sound leaves my throat as I try to push but once I do, a sharp, blinding pain jolts through my arm. I groan, the wet stickiness of my blood leaking into my clothes. Adrenaline kicks in and I push again, this time running into the action. I take my own knife, sliding onto the floor and slashing the flesh on the sides of their calves before throwing myself on top of them, doing the same to the insides of their arms. A howl of pain leaves their throat, their movement stilled for the better half of it. I use the time to kick the knife from their grip, holding the tip of mine against the bottom of their throat.
"Do anything like that again and I'll kill you within seconds."
A whimper leaves their mouth, and I realise with astounding clarity that this person...should be dead. I was hallucinating. My eyes widen at the sight of the ghost, a hammering in my rib cage rendering me unable to speak or breathe.
The door behind us flies open, time slows to an unmoving tilt, dancing to the rhythm of my heartbeat. Hands wrap around my waist, hoisting me up, up, up, and away from my knife and the body. The person holding me tightens their grip, making sure my wrists are secured behind my back. I see the General's face illuminated under candlelight, his features grim and tired as if his days away sucked the life out of him just to return to his own personal hell. My eyes then slowly move to the girl on the floor. The girl who is supposed to be dead because I saw her lying on the cell floor. I saw her, and I knew Arman was the one who killed her. I knew it. That was the fact. This was an illusion, I was sure of it.
But the pain in my arm is deep and blinding, a wave of nausea rolling through my empty stomach.
"What the hell just happened here?"
He looks at me, seeking answers to questions he couldn't ask here.
"I was attacked." I don't know if I said it out loud or within the madness of my mind but when he commands the man behind me —Rider—to release me and tie Lia up, I realise that my muddled mind is playing tricks on me.
The General walks over to me while Rider hoists Lia up by her arm, carrying her out of the room.
"I didn't do it. She attacked me. I didn't do it." My mind is telling me to calm down, to breathe. But my body is on fire. I've been trained for this. Kat has given me thousands of scenarios that could happen that ends with my death. I didn't sense her. Kat always told me I had an issue with panicking. I got nervous faster than I could think. I got fearful quicker than I could analyse. I thought I'd gotten that completely under control. I was too lax in my state, too angry at another to see the danger right in front of me. How could I have let this happen?
I'm still rambling, clearly trying to convince this man in front of me not to throw me in with the sharks. He places a hand on my shoulder, bends a little to meet my eyes. His brown ones stare right back at me, freckles dotting the bridge of his nose. "I believe you."
It was only then I could take a breathe and understand why I was so scared. I could've died tonight. I could've been stabbed, strangled, put to sleep right under the nose of the most authoritative man in the Eastern cities. I did not expect this level of deception.
"I checked on her in her cell. I snuck in—I know I shouldn't have but I wanted to speak with her. She wasn't breathing. She was dead."
He shushes me, rubbing a light hand on the exposed skin on my arm. "I know who the black sheep is." He says suddenly.
My eyes dart up to him, expectant, hopeful. He simply watches me, a silent understanding passes between us before he beckons me out into the hall.
The General leads me into his room, telling Rider to change the guards and check the house once more for any hidden evidence that could possibly be used. He locks it behind him and it is only then I realise the General is in shorts and a silk top. His curls are ruffled and dry from turning in bed, creases line his arm. "Tell me who it is." He says, cutting right to the point.
"Kay. He's a spy." I say simply. He nods as if he knew the culprit all along but I'm yet to know why "How..."
"I told everyone we would be gone, and I set Kay on duty to quell the riots in the city. Well, this is how it looked like to everyone else. In secret, I placed Kay on duty to oversee our new prisoner before her transfer. This was to ensure any other suspects. He appointed two guards to keep watch. He was the only one in that cell for her containment time."
"How did you know it wasn't one of the guards?"
He stumbled over to the bed, plopping down on the edge. "Because those guards are new recruits. They came in last week. They were suspicious the minute they set foot into this house. Then when I appointed Kay as overseer...several of my lilies were taken."
I raise my eyebrow incredulously, kind of shocked as to how he figured it out. "You keep track of how many lilies are in your garden?"
He huffs at that, finding it funny as well. "No I don't. But I have an average on how many I use in a week. The petals are potent, you can't use a whole one unless you wanted to kill someone. Only Daina knows how to make my tea. This morning, I had something to ask her. She told me that three of the flowers had been trampled." He looks up at me as if telling a suspense story, waiting for the ball to drop. "Daina is always meticulous about her work no matter what it is."
"Trust me I've gathered that. But how did you link it?"
"When used correctly, sleeping flowers can slow your heart rate down, enough so that your heart stops beating for a certain amount of time. It's very dangerous and very hard to perfect. Rider was sent to check on her, regardless of my suspicions surrounding Kay. When he checked her pulse, with Kay being the only one allowed in there, it became clear." He looks up at me, moonlight dancing across his sleep work face. "There's a certain plant that balances out that potency. But it leaves a tint on everything. The underneath of Kay's fingernails were red, the colour of this said plant."
I marvel at it all. I missed everything. I even entered his room, and didn't think to search or look for evidence to accuse him with. I had another plan—a stupid one—but a plan nonetheless. The General figured it out before I had the chance to prove it to him.
"Again, I do believe you." He says quietly.
My brain whirrs, eyebrows scrunching together in concentration, "If you knew, why didn't you tell me? I could've gotten killed!"
He actually looks apologetic. He stands, rubbing the back of his neck in unease. "It wasn't enough to accuse him of being a heinous traitor with a death wish. I needed more evidence. Kay was put on duty. He was the only one allowed in there."
"And the girl escaped." I finish for him, piecing the puzzles together.
"Yes. Precisely. I didn't want you to get hurt." He says quietly, staring at the blood on the sleeve of my nightgown. "I thought...You're an excellent fighter."
I puff out my chest, somewhat embarrassed at the way he pities me for having a moment of weakness. "I wasn't fully aware. I should have been, but I wasn't. I could protect myself."
"I know you can."
"You should've told me."
"You're right. And I'm sorry."
I stare at him a little longer, the moonlight accentuating the fullness of his lips, the swell of his still sleepy eyes. He does not show an ounce of concealing the truth. I understood why he did it. If the girl attacked me, it'd be Kay's doing. A deception upon a deception. A keen tactic that'd give solid evidence, even if he had to use me as bait.
"I'm not safe in that room." Is all I say. I can't be mad at him for thinking better of me—of what could've happened. In his head I'd have taken her down the same way I did him. And I did. I still curse my senses for being so blinded in that moment. Or maybe this the way it would be—my actual competition. Other people trained like me, to kill like me. Kat did say the best way to defeat an enemy is to use their own minds and skills against them.
"I know." His eyes carry a different weight. In the light it looks almost like...guilt. As if he truly felt responsible for what happened in that room. He partially was but he wasn't responsible for my injury. That was on me. So why look at me as if he chose to carry that fear for me? "You'll be staying in there."
I turn around to a door that was covered in browns and golds. I'd noticed it upon my first entry but with the way the wallpaper closes around the hinges, I'd thought it unused.
"It's a spare bedroom. You're free to use it if you'd like."
I turn back to look at him as if he'd really expect me to stay in the same (partially) room as him. His lips tilt in amusement, a dimple creasing his left cheek. "There's a double cylinder mechanism on both sides and the only way to enter is through my room. You'll be safer in there."
"Aren't you afraid I'll do something?"
He chuckles, as if suddenly reducing me to no more than a puny child who can't throw a punch. "I'll lock it from my side of course. You are still...something of a threat. It will be unlocked every morning at 6am when I'm not sound asleep for you to slit my throat."
I smirk at that and follow him into the room. It's an exact replica of his own minus the many stacks of paper and books. Much cleaner than the other room as well. The same window, barred as a defense.
He stops at the door, folding his arms and leaning against the frame. "Are you going to tell me his real name?"
"Then you'd figure out who we worked for and I really might have to kill you after that."
He smiles, glancing at the ground. "It's a lot harder to link your names to something if your real name isn't in the system and your fake one is...well fake."
I ponder at that. The General has a hard time lying, that much I've gathered. And it makes sense as well. Anything tied to our real names would've been at a standstill in action the minute we became a part of the Creepers. The Reaper would make sure of it. No loose ends. As for our fake names...it's just a form of identification.
"His real name is Arman. He's not from this kingdom and is using this position as a means to protect his family. But he is still a cheater."
"He's a black sheep, that's all I need to know." The General mutters, eyes going distant with thought.
I turn to prepare for bed when he speaks up again. "And what's yours?"
I genuinely chuckle at that, the feeling lifting my spirits from the events of today. I think of a name to give him rather than him calling me "girl" or "little lynx". I hated that last one. I think back to my mother, the way she would call me different names that would mean sky. She always loved how the blue canvas swirled with the different colours at different times. How they accompanied the stars and allowed them to have their shining moments under a bright white beacon. She loved the sky so much she named me after it. But I don't let these emotions show. My mother once told me there are many languages in which a sky could be called. So I chose my favorite.
"Ciel. You can call me Ciel."
He stares at me for longer than expected, as if reading my mind. Scouring my memories for an answer.
"I'm assuming that's a fake name." He says softly.
"I don't think we should be getting cocky, General."
He scoffs, pushing off the doorframe, "I didn't think so. Goodnight, Ciel." The way the name rolls off his tongue made me shiver, the pronunciation made for the sharp rasp of his timbre.
I shake off the thought, casting it to the depths of my mind, and when he leaves, I scan the room once more, and lock the deadbolt.