Set three years before the events of Powerless, the Kingdom of Ilya is preparing to celebrate Deliverance Day! Read on to reunite with Kai and Paedyn in this exclusive short story from Lauren Roberts.
THREE YEARS AGO
Kai
I curl my hands into fists, so as not to display my bloodied palms to the bustling staff.
Weaving between lavish garlands and the bickering servants who hoist them, I cut through their tangible cheer like the knife still dripping at my side. Every shade of green swims past me in a blur of color, all twining greenery or draping satin.
I usually find the eve of Ilya’s grandest holiday far more enjoyable.
But now it’s been tainted with death.
Candles decorate every windowsill, soft light dancing across the shadowed hall. The sun seemed to cower from me the moment I stepped out of that rickety shop off Loot. All the light had fled before the blood even dried on my palms.
I quicken my pace atop the plush carpet, feeling sluggish in the sea of emerald now flooding the halls. Once a year, the kingdom’s color is flagrantly abused in remembrance of the Plague, though it’s hardly become less jarring since I was a boy. But the tradition has been upheld for decades, so Father demands every surface be draped in emerald while his Enforcer’s hands remain stained scarlet.
I thought he would let me have this one night. One night where my hands are clean.
How naïve of me to think that the Day of Deliverance offered me atonement.
My bloody knuckles meet Father’s study door. Its frame is draped with a simple garland, just as every other entryway in all of Ilya. The origin of this custom lies somewhere within a droning lecture I can’t seem to recall.
Father doesn’t greet me as I step into the balmy room. I hadn’t expected him to.
Instead, I turn my attention to the fire crackling in its stone hearth, where the smoldering wood occasionally pops to pepper Kitt’s booted
feet with sparks. He looks up from his seat beside Father and grins, despite my somber presence. And, just as I have been my whole life, I’m awed by Kitt’s willingness to spend time with the king.
‘You made it.’ His boyish grin warms some numb part of me. ‘We were just discussing tomorrow’s festivities. And don’t worry, Brother, I’ve already signed us up for the three-legged race.’
A smile threatens to tip my lips. ‘Well, we are the reigning champions. We have a reputation to uphold.’
‘Is it done?’
The indifference in Father’s voice has my gaze sliding to where he lounges in that worn, leather chair. The back of his blond head is all he deems me worth seeing. I fight against the anger threatening to flush my cheeks.
‘Yes,’ I bite out. ‘It’s done.’
I hate how easily the lazy flick of his hand summons me to him. Like the yanking of a leash. And I am the obedient beast tethered to
the end of it.
Stepping before the fire, I stare down at the man meant to be my father. Heat licks at my heels and cloaks me in flickering shadows. The king deigns to meet my gaze. ‘You know I like to see proof.’
My stiff fingers drum against the stained knife at my side. I can feel Kitt’s worried gaze wavering between us, and I hate the feel of it. Hate that he has to see me like this—blood on my hands and flames at my back. So, I don’t look at my brother as I present my stained skin to the man who has ordered every one of my sins.
Father inspects the spilled life upon my palms and nods. ‘Good.’
Good.
I don’t even know the meaning of the word.
The Ordinary was someone’s son, father, something. And I am nothing for killing him.
‘I need to borrow Kitt for the evening,’ I blurt. ‘Plague knows he needs some practice before the games tomorrow.’
‘Ouch,’ Kitt muses before standing to his feet, silently aware of the escape I’m grappling for. ‘We will see you in the courtyard for the festivities tomorrow, yes, Father? You’ll be there to watch us win?’
The hope in his voice only emphasizes Father’s dull response. ‘Perhaps.’
With that, I drag Kitt from the study before the king can order another death at my hands. ‘We’re leaving,’ I murmur before setting a swift pace down the hall.
Kitt stumbles behind, likely gawking at my back. ‘Leaving?’
‘Yes, because I would actually like to enjoy this holiday.’ I round a corner. ‘And that certainly isn’t possible inside this castle.’
I need to get out. I need to take a deep breath, one that doesn’t taste of blood. I need to stretch my legs and lift my arms without a sword arcing down with them.
I need to live for something other than death.
‘Kai, you know I’m not allowed outside the castle walls—’
I shove open the dungeon door and happily let its groaning hinges drown out Kitt’s worry. My gaze meets his over a tense shoulder, more earnest and pleading than a future Enforcer should be capable of. ‘Do you want to get out of here or not?’
When he finally nods, I know it’s not for himself.
The damp dungeon blurs past as we stride toward the final cell. Kitt pulls a ring of keys from his pocket as we enter, before sliding a particularly old one into the lock he uncovered. And, when the slab of stone swings open to reveal the swelling blackness beyond, I happily step into it.
I hear the door creak shut. There is nothing at all for a few quiet beats of my heart—only a sea of darkness to rival my own. Then a flame flickers to life inside Kitt’s palm, making my eyes water at the sudden brightness. Blinking, I borrow his power to help illuminate the cramped tunnel further. It’s all crumbling stone, scurrying mice and looming freedom.
‘Need help washing that off?’
Kitt’s staring at the flames licking my bloody palm. ‘Oh, yeah,’ I mutter. ‘There’s no need to wear it anymore.’
Using his free hand, Kitt thoroughly extinguishes my flame with a stream of water. I watch the blood loosen its grip on my skin and swirl in my hands. I’m rubbing my damp palms together when Kitt finally ventures, ‘Does he really make you . . . ?’
‘Wear the blood as proof?’ I glance over at him before continuing stiffly through the tunnel. ‘You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to. Especially when it comes to Father.’
The dancing firelight curls into the creases of worry crowding Kitt’s eyes. But he asks nothing more. He never does.
‘So,’ he manages lightly. ‘Where are we going?’
When the tunnel splits in two, I lead us towards the Bowl.
I flash him a grin. ‘Somewhere with people who actually know how to celebrate the Day of Deliverance.’
By the time we step out into the arena, the black sky is smudged with crisp snow. It falls lazily from above, dusting our hair and clothing. I glance over at my brother, his sweater and pants just as thin as my own. ‘I didn’t expect it to snow.’
‘No, shit,’ Kitt huffs, air billowing from his mouth. He shoves the hand not currently cupping flame into his pocket. ‘It’s freezing out here.’
I hold the warmth in my own palm close. ‘You’re a walking firepit. I think you’ll be fine.’
Snorting at my words, he follows begrudgingly. Wind claws at our clothing, stinging our skin as we hurry from the Bowl. The path to Loot wears a blanket of snow we quickly mar with a trail of footprints. I keep my head down as we shove against the blowing snow, now much heavier than before.
‘W-Why do we need to celebrate on Loot?’ Kitt manages between his chattering teeth.
I glance over at him through the snow sticking to my lashes. Firelight dances over his flushed face. ‘Because you should see what
it looks like to actually live.’
This wouldn’t be the first year I’ve slipped out to watch the people of the slums dance beneath a starry sky. It’s the very embodiment of
freedom—the way in which they move without rehearsed steps or sing without a common note. I ache to sit on that crumbling roof and watch the bodies swirl beneath, so alive because they fight every day to live. But for one night, they let their worries slip away.
I cannot say the same. So, I watch them live for me.
My body aches with cold. Trees loom beside the path, showering us with snow when the wind shakes it from their bare branches. Kitt shivers as his flame flickers weakly in his palm.
‘Kai, maybe we should . . .’
His words are stolen by a gust of wind at the same moment something shifts in the swirling snow. Our numb feet stutter to a stop as we squint into the darkness. I lift the flame in my hand, letting it douse the snowy path in flickering light.
Then I exchange a bewildered look with Kitt.
Two figures swirl like the snow above, arm in arm, atop the slippery path.
It seems we have interrupted a dance.
Paedyn
‘Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four . . .’
Adena’s mumbling has me looking up from my search in the snow. ‘My hands are numb.’
‘Fifty—.’ Her huff cuts through the consistent counting. The purple scarf wrapped around her head and face leave only a sliver for her hazel eyes that catch the moonlight. ‘No, I know your hands aren’t numb, because I made those gloves. They have plenty of lining.’ She digs her own gloved hands back into the snow. ‘Now keep looking! We might not make it back before the dancing begins at midnight.’
‘How much time do we have?’
Adena burrows into her coat as she thinks. ‘When we asked the man on Loot what time it was, his watch said we had forty minutes. And since then, I have counted nearly twenty—’
‘You know,’ I interrupt with a sigh, ‘if you had let me steal his watch, you wouldn’t need to be counting.’
A coil of her crooked bangs peeks out from beneath her scarf. ‘He smiled at us. No one ever does that.’ As if that was reason enough, she returns to her counting with a mumbled ‘Now, where was I?’
Sighing, I begin my rummage through the snow once again. The red scarf hugging my face keeps the whipping wind from stinging my cheeks as I look up at the spindly, bare arms of the trees above. Clawing at the dark sky, they catch most of the falling snow, though we are still dusted in a layer of it.
‘Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen . . .’
Adena has started counting a fresh minute while I absentmindedly search beneath the blanket of snow. ‘There might not be any this year, A.’
‘No, they are here,’ she returns defiantly. ‘Mother and I always made Winter Berry crowns every year on the eve of Plague Day. They are under this snow somewhere.’
I ignore the pang in my chest. If my father were here, we would be continuing our own traditions. I would dance on his feet until the sun rose on a holiday we weren’t sure how to celebrate.
My relationship with the Day of Deliverance, as the lofty Elites like to call it, is a difficult one. It represents everything I despise—the Plague that swept through our kingdom this time a century ago, the people it killed and the powers it failed to grant me. But, it’s the feeling this day brings that I celebrate—happiness.
Tonight, everyone in the slums will pour onto Loot and dance until the sun comes up. Those with a roof to cover their heads drape anything they can find over their doorways—a tradition that welcomes change, like that the Plague brought to Ilya. Scraps of fabric and branches dress every crumbling entryway, scattering the streets in color. And Adena has ensured our alley, and the Fort, are swaddled in scraps of every shade.
No, I’m not sure how to feel about a ‘happy’ holiday that I hate the meaning behind.
‘Found some!’
Adena lifts a tangled vine between us. Even clumped with snow, the color of the purple berries is vivid in the pale moonlight.
I force my numb legs to move beneath me. ‘Great! Now, please tell me we can make the flower crowns back at the Fort.’
But Adena doesn’t hear me. She is already running towards the path beside these woods.
‘A!’ I shout after her, boots shifting in the snow. ‘Adena, what are you—?’
‘We aren’t going to make it,’ she whispers when I slide to a stop beside her. ‘There’s only four minutes until midnight. And we didn’t even make the crowns.’
Her shaky voice tells me there are tears welling in those hazel eyes. Blinking through the billowing snow, I gently turn Adena toward me. ‘So, we will dance here,’ I determine simply. Pulling the vine from her gloved hand, I wrap it in a circle before placing the makeshift crown onto her head. It rests precariously atop her scarf, and when it slips slightly to the side, Adena manages a smile.
‘There.’ I stifle my laugh as I squint at her in the streaming moonlight. ‘Now you have your Winter Berry crown.’
Adena sniffles. ‘Thanks, Pae.’ She toes a clump of snow with her boot. ‘You really want to dance with me, all alone?’
I slip my arm through hers. ‘If we can even call it that.’
We spin in a circle, laughing when I slip in the snow. I twirl Adena; she twirls me. With linked elbows, we skip and slip and squeal beneath the moonlight. Snow swirls around us to join our erratic dance.
A flickering light in the distance has me pausing.
It floats closer still as Adena continues her twirling. I squint through the fluttering snow and find the outline of two figures coming into focus. Reaching out a hand, I still Adena before pulling my dagger from beneath my bulky coat.
Blinking, I can’t quite make out the men’s faces as they slow to a stop before us. I’m about to shoo them on their way when Adena blurts ‘Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty! Happy Plague Day!’ Then she adds, a bit hesitantly, ‘I think. Give or take a few seconds.’
One of the men steps forward to display the flame in his palm.
I tighten my grip on my dagger’s swirling hilt.
Offensive Elite.
‘Are you lost too?’ the man shouts over the wind.
I can just make out the shake of his companion’s head. ‘For the hundredth time, we are not lost.’
‘We can’t see a thing through this snow,’ the first man huffs. ‘I would say that qualifies us as lost.’
‘Loot is that way.’ Adena shoves a finger in the direction of our home. ‘I mean, if that is where you’re headed—which I hope it is because the dancing has probably started and, oh, it is the most wonderful—’
‘No, they aren’t heading to Loot, A.’ I step forward so the strangers can see the dagger clutched between my fingers. ‘These Elites have much better things to be doing than dirtying themselves in the slums.’
Their clothing is far too fine and thin; their abilities too potent and refined. These men have no business in Loot. Or with us.
‘I suggest you turn back now,’ I offer sternly. ‘You two are very far from home.’
The man with the dark hair tilts his head at me. ‘And that was very far from dancing.’
‘Well, I’m quite good with a blade if you care to stick around and find out,’ I return evenly.
That has the blond man clearing his throat. ‘Yes, I think we will be on our way now.’
‘Oh, wait!’ Adena scurries over to them before I have the chance to stop her. Slipping the makeshift crown from her head, she snaps off a piece of Winter Berry vine for each of them. ‘I hope you have a happy Plague Day, wherever you are,’ she says sweetly.
Hesitantly, the men accept Adena’s parting gift. When she returns to my side, I step slightly in front of her as I feel the dark-haired man run his gaze over me. ‘It’s a shame I won’t get to find out if you’re better with that dagger than you are your feet.’
Then he turns, his companion following, and begins to stride away.
Unphased, Adena is quick to loop her arm back through mine and spin us until we are dizzy.
But through our laughter, I can just make out the dark-haired man murmur to the one beside him. ‘This was all I wanted to show you anyway. Someone who is alive.’
