Ultimately, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t even a question I really cared to know the answer to. But I still wondered.
I found a blanket and stopped looking. The exhaustion that I hadn’t been allowing myself to feel had crept in with the tears, sapping the last of my energy. I had just enough left to strip down, and then I found a small spot of open mattress not lined with boxes, made a pillow out of my arm, and curled up.
It didn’t take long for sleep to find me.
9
A hard rap on the door startled me from my sleep, and I sat up so quickly that one of the stuffed cartons fell off the end of my bed, landing with a hard crash and scattering objects all over the floor. I clutched the blanket to my chest and looked around, my heart pounding hard in my chest. It took me a second to even remember where I was—and what had happened over the last two days.
“Liana, Knight Elite Ambrose Klein is here to collect you for duty,” my mother’s voice said through the door separating us. I detected an uncertainty there, but ignored it, focusing only on the name. I couldn’t recall for the life of me who Knight Elite Klein was supposed to be.
And then I remembered Lacey mentioning it in passing before we left to drop everyone off at their new quarters (or old, in the cases of Zoe and Eric). He was the man we were supposed to protect—Lacey and Strum’s legacy candidate, whom they had chosen to fill the position of Champion.
I stretched out my arms with a groan, my muscles now stiff from having fought with Devon and then sleeping for so long. Because according to my watch, I had been asleep since eleven a.m. yesterday.
Crap. I checked my indicator and noticed two things immediately. First, that it was eight a.m., which meant I was running late. Secondly, I had missed two net transmissions from Alex. I needed to talk to him and ask him to look into Jasper and Paragon. I also needed him to reach out to Mercury and…
My skull started to ache, my stomach protesting the lack of food. My last meal had been hours before we even went into the Medica, so I was beyond hungry. In fact, I was prepared to burn through a day’s worth of rations just to appease myself right now.
My mother rapped on the door again. “Liana? Are you… okay?”
My brows came together, and I quickly slid out from between the boxes I had slept behind and got up. The floor was chilly, but not too cold under my bare feet, and I padded to the door and opened it.
My mother took a step back, alarm and discomfort fluttering over her features, and I stared at her, the ire from yesterday returning. “Excuse me,” I said, nodding to the bathroom just behind her.
She moved back a few more feet, and I grabbed the uniform Lacey had provided from where I had left it crumpled on the floor yesterday. My mother stared at me the entire time, seemingly transfixed, but I ignored it. I knew she was already disapproving of the fact that my bed wasn’t made, that I was going to wear a crinkled uniform, and that I wasn’t even ready on time. I also knew that it shouldn’t bother me—not after my declaration to her last night. But in truth, it did.
Uniform in hand, I turned, ready to ignore the familiar look, and then paused. My mother’s eyes weren’t even on my room or uniform. They were on me, and as I followed her line of sight, I realized she was staring at all the bruises on my arms and legs. The shift I wore under my uniform was white, so the ones on my torso shone brightly through the partially sheer material, bright red fading into purple. Her eyes moved up over my arms, and then to my neck, where they paused, sliding over the distinct marks left by Devon’s fingers when they had dug into my flesh, trying to choke the life out of me.
I stood there for a long moment, confused by the look on her face. There was a hardness there, and a horror, and I didn’t understand it. She’d never looked at me like that before, and I had no idea how to interpret it. Was it concern? Anger at the man who would leave such marks on her daughter?
Or approval that I had taken so many hits and kept fighting?
She finally met my eyes, and I waited, uncertain what was going to happen. But to my surprise, she didn’t say anything. Just nodded and disappeared into the front room. I frowned, wondering if my words last night had affected her more than I thought possible, and then shrugged and continued my journey to the bathroom, deciding that it didn’t matter.
One self-indulgent shower later, with extra hot water and about half the soap in the Tower, I began to feel more like myself. I knew Ambrose was waiting, but after the past seventy-two hours, he could stand to wait a few minutes more, couldn’t he? I actually had no idea, but he was going to.
I was in the process of toweling off when my mother knocked on the bathroom door. I exhaled in frustration and checked my indicator for the time, swiping through the water droplets that had accrued there while I was bathing. It was 8:09.
“I’m almost ready,” I announced.
Then there was a beep, and the door slid open. A check of the screen next to it showed me that my mother had overridden the lock, and I took a step back and pulled the towel around my nude body, allowing her entry.
“Mom, what are you—”
My mother moved into the room and stared at me, then took a step forward and placed something down on the metal sink. It was a small green tube.
“I got banged up a while ago, and still have some of the cream the Medica gave me for my bruises and aching muscles. I thought…” She trailed off, and then shook her head. “Anyway, if those are causing you pain, you should use it.”
I blinked in surprise and looked at the tube. “Um, thanks,” I finally supplied. There was so much more that I wanted to ask, to say, but after years of her treating me like an unfortunate accident, the rift between us was so wide that it seemed impossible to bridge.
She nodded stiffly and then left, closing the door behind her. I locked it again, even though she could override it, and stared at the tube. Everything about it left me feeling uncertain, like maybe I had spoken out of turn last night. Maybe my mother wasn’t as bad as I had always made her out to be. Maybe my talk with her last night had forced her to reconsider?
Or maybe she just wanted to make sure that I was going to be at my best for the Tower. Either way, using the cream didn’t cost me a thing, and I began putting it on. It tingled slightly, but greatly reduced the pain and soreness. From there, I got dressed, ran a brush through my hair, and then took a moment to braid it and pin it up and out of the way. Knight School 101: long hair could get caught on objects or be a liability in a fight, so tying it up was just prudent.
I checked my reflection in the mirror, and paused when I saw the circles under my eyes and the paleness of my skin. My oddly amber-colored eyes seemed dull next to the dark shadows, giving me a tired and almost glazed look, but after a moment, I decided it didn’t matter. I didn’t have to look good for anyone anyway, and everyone else could go to hell with the way I was feeling.
Suddenly I thought of Grey, and wondered what it was like for him right now. Did he know what was happening, or was it just like he was asleep? Did he dream? Was he able to hear us, hear me?
I leaned forward onto the sink and sucked in a deep breath, reminding myself that Leo was going to do everything he could to save Grey. Which meant I needed to do everything I could to make sure I secured Leo a new home. If it was even possible.
A scary thought occurred to me on the heels of that one: what if I couldn’t find a place to put Leo? What happened to him then? Would we have to pass him to someone else and just hope they didn’t kill him?
Or what happened if Leo couldn’t recover the other fragments? Would he just… come with us when we escaped? Could he come with us?
I sighed. The problem with Leo was going to be a daunting task in its own right. I wasn’t sure what the status of his terminal was, but if we didn’t find a place to put him once he was finished healing Grey, he’d be trapped inside him forever. The net he was in was fine for now, powered through Grey’s body temperature for as long as he was alive. But once we pulled him out, he was on
the clock—the net’s tiny battery source only capable of keeping him alive for a little over twenty hours. If it went out while he was inside, then he’d be lost forever.
Yet none of that scared him. All he wanted to do was stay and save the Tower. A noble pursuit, to be certain, but how far would he take it? I trusted that he would keep Grey safe while he pursued his goals, but there were a thousand things he didn’t know about current Tower life—things that could get him hurt, or worse. I would have to keep a careful eye on him, and keep him informed of my concerns. Talking to him about it was the best way to assuage any fears I had, while simultaneously being a friend and giving him any support and help he needed.
I added that to my already daunting list, although to be honest, I had probably included it yesterday at some point. I just couldn’t remember. It would come back to me either way, and it was ultimately not important to the task at hand.
It was time to meet Ambrose, and get a feel for whatever his plan was to win the Tourney.
I opened the door and stepped out, looking down the hall toward the door. A handsome man with dark skin and blue eyes gazed back, hands clasped behind his back. I walked toward him.
“You must be Knight Elite Klein,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”
Ambrose raked his eyes over me, a small frown on his face. “You’re in the incorrect uniform,” he informed me. He had a deep, rich voice that would’ve been beautiful, were there not a wall of ice behind it.
I glanced down at my uniform and then back up to him. “I take it I’m no longer a Squire?” I asked, and he nodded once, curtly.
“You’ll receive your new uniforms and insignia in Armament, along with your lashes and baton. As a Knight Elite, you will also be issued a light shield.”
I registered my new rank, but it didn’t fill me with pride or joy. If anything, I was a little disappointed that I didn’t have the clout of a Knight Commander—but considering Ambrose was supposed to act as my supervisor, Lacey had probably done something to intercede, and blocked the larger promotion. Which was too bad, really, because I would’ve taken some petty pleasure in the rank, if only to rub my parents’ noses in it.
No, it was Ambrose’s speech that caught my attention. It was laced with arrogance and disdain. On top of that, he had known that I didn’t have my new uniform assigned yet, so his comment about me being in the wrong uniform was petty, and honestly didn’t bode well for our future relationship.
I couldn’t help but feel that he thought he was better than me in some way. I looked him over closely. Everything about him screamed regulation. His uniform was pressed, and fitted him well. His insignia gleamed brightly, like it had just been polished, matching the gleam on his black boots. He was well groomed, with clean fingernails, and smelled vaguely of lemon.
Of course, none of that made him better than me—just neater. I looked back up at him and found him watching, one dark eyebrow raised.
“Do I pass your inspection?” he asked curtly.
I cocked my head at him and raised an eyebrow of my own. “That depends. Is being a jackass your normal setting, or am I just meeting you on a bad day?”
There was a flash of something in his blue eyes, but it disappeared before I could really recognize what it was. He exhaled once, sharply, and then turned. “We should go. We’re late as it is.”
I heard the blame in his voice, condemning me for being late, and rolled my eyes behind his back. So far, my impression of Ambrose Klein was not favorable. He reminded me of the many instructors from the Academy: smug, arrogant, and prone to making an example of the first Squire who made a mistake. I’d been made an example of a time or two before, so I was intimately familiar with the behavior.
And I hated it.
The door slid open, and he stepped out first, followed by me. Once the door was closed, I expected we would proceed forward, but we didn’t. Instead, he looked down the hallway in both directions, to check to see if the coast was clear. Once he had confirmed that it was, he rounded on me, raising up to his impressive height—at minimum, six feet.
“Lacey has faith in your skills. I, however, do not. I also do not believe that I need a babysitter, especially one who is actually a criminal.”
A surge of anger flashed through me, and I bit back a caustic response, struggling to remember that Lacey had demanded that I do this, not Ambrose. But reminding him of that wouldn’t necessarily help us get along. If anything, I risked creating more disdain in him, which would make my job even harder.
No, I needed to react differently than that, and spell things out for him in a way that he would listen to. Hopefully force him to respect me a little more.
“Well, that is too bad, Ambrose,” I replied, folding my arms across my chest. “Because I’m here, and I have a deal with Lacey to keep you alive. I might be a criminal, but I always try to keep my word whenever I give it, and that means that when it comes to your life, I am in charge. Now, how is this going to work? I assume that I’m going to be entered into the Tourney as one of your teammates?”
He frowned as I spoke, a small furrow forming over his nose, his brows drawing even closer together. “Yes. You are also responsible for finding me the other two members to round out the team. I have some personnel files for you here…” He began to pull out a pad, but I held up a hand, forestalling him.
“No. If we need more people on the team, I want those people to be mine.”
“You mean the other criminals?” he fired back bitterly.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response, but nodded, my face serious. “Yes. I trust their loyalty, because their loyalty is to me. Everyone else in the Tower is a potential threat.”
“Says the criminal,” he retorted.
I let out an irritated sound as I struggled to keep a lid on my temper. I wasn’t sure where Lacey and Strum had dug this guy up, but he was really beginning to grate on my nerves. Also, how unoriginal was it to just call someone a criminal repeatedly? The guy needed a damn thesaurus.
“Yes, I am a criminal! Can you please get over it and get with the program? We don’t have to like each other, but you do need to let this go so we can move on.”
“I don’t need to do anything,” he retorted. “I’m the one actually trying to become Champion, and that means that during the Tourney, you have to follow my orders. It seems to me you’re unable to do so.”
He had a point, at least about the Tourney, which was designed to test intelligence, intuition, cunning, improvisation, and physical prowess. But ultimately, it was about leadership, which was why at the start of the Tourney, qualified candidates were put into groups to see who among them would emerge as the leader. Typically, groups were already formed beforehand, but if you applied alone, you’d get lumped in with strangers. Regardless, those who didn’t emerge as leadership material were eliminated, until only the best remained. If I got into the arena and began shouting orders, and my friends followed them without hesitating, his chances of winning would disintegrate.
“I follow orders that make sense, are safe, and don’t get my people hurt—or worse,” I said. “But in the Tourney, you’re in charge. Outside, you have to follow my rules to the letter. All right?”
Ambrose laughed, a full, rich sound that came off as genuine, and I bit my lip, shifting uncomfortably. There hadn’t been anything funny about what I’d just said, so his response was alarming.
“Why are you laughing?” I demanded.
“Because you’re only here as a security precaution! Lacey and Strum are just being paranoid. I can take care of myself, and… now that you’ve eliminated Devon, any threat within the Knights has died with him. Even if he had recruits, they wouldn’t know what to do with their leader gone. So really, you’re unnecessary.” He paused and took a minute to smooth down the already impeccable lines of his uniform. “Now, we’re running drastically late, so, if you don’t mind?”
He didn’t wait for a response, just turned around and began moving away, toward th
e elevator. I watched him go, trying to decide if I should yell at him, strangle him, or not even bother, and decided on the latter. He had deemed me unnecessary, had even laughed at me for taking all of it seriously, but the truth was, I didn’t work for him. I was working for Lacey, and that meant I was going to do my job.
Getting down to Armament and then to the training floor was bound to be more productive than that conversation could ever be. I just had to hope that he would remain blissfully quiet on the way down. Otherwise, I would be the one he’d need saving from.
10
The Salles—a large, open space that took up three whole floors—sat in the uppermost levels of the Citadel. Normally, it would have been filled with squads of Squires and Knights training in the various weapons available to the Knights. Now, however, it was a hubbub of a whole different sort of activity, most of it in preparation for the Tourney.
Half of the room had been completely blocked off by tall walls that descended from the ceiling, preventing anyone from seeing what was happening on the other side. Just outside of this barrier, several Knight Commanders stood watch, making sure that no one tried to sneak a peek inside at the challenges being constructed behind the veil. No one was allowed in—not until the Tourney started.
To the right, I saw several rings set up for sparring practice, some of which had thicker groups of people standing around, watching whatever fight was happening inside. On the left, there was a throng of people, all lined up to register. My eyes widened when I saw the line.
“Looks like registering is going to be a hassle,” I commented to Ambrose.
He glanced over at me as we exited the elevator. “We won’t be registering until the last day,” he said. “Lacey wants me to keep the fact that I intend to compete a secret for as long as possible. Which is a waste of time, if you ask me, but hopefully by that time, all of this will have died off. Speaking of which, your team who came with you. Aren’t they Squires?”