His mask clings to his face like a second skin, and when his gaze meets mine, I take a slow breath. He halts, watching me as I watch him.
He’s one of them. And he recognizes me.
The note. The meeting place.
The leather.
Sure enough, each of them is engulfed in leather vests and masks.
Armor. He was making armor for them.
Suddenly, we are standing near a circle of Imperials surrounding something, trying to contain it. Kai pushes through the throng, and I catch Kitt out of the corner of my eye, fighting and thrashing against the guards restraining him.
“I thought I told you to get him out of here.” Kai’s voice is deep, deadly.
“Sir, he wouldn’t—” An Imperial starts before Kitt cuts him off, more aggressive than I’ve ever seen him.
“I’m not hiding from this, Kai. This is my kingdom too.” His voice is stern, on the verge of yelling into his brother’s face.
“Well, there won’t be a kingdom for you to rule if you die, Kitt,” Kai fires back, his tone cool. “You need to lay low until this is cleaned up. This could be an attempt on your life.”
“I’m not leaving this fight!” Kitt roars.
“Then you risk damning us all!” Kai’s cool facade finally cracks, sending shards of white-hot anger rippling through the air. He sighs and steadies his breathing. “We need you alive, Kitt. I need you alive. Just...” He pauses, collecting himself as he pieces his mask back together. “Sit this one out. For the kingdom. For me.”
They eye each other, silently communicating in the way that only brothers as close as they are can. I get the sudden sense that this is a frequent fight between them, a reoccurring battle of wills.
I watch as Kitt’s face crumple, his walls crumble. I watch him give in. “Fine. It seems it’s my fate to always sit these fights out, right?”
Kai doesn’t respond and instead sets me gently on the ground before him. Without a single glance in my direction, he says, “Get them to a safe room with the others.”
And then he’s running back into the thick of the fight, dozens of powers flicking over his skin before he settles on one.
Fire.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Paedyn
Kitt hasn’t stopped pacing since the moment we were shoved into this stuffy safe room. I fight the urge to yank him to the floor, make him explain to me what is going on. Instead, I’ve watched him mumble and circle the room for the past hour. Watched his fingers ignite like flickering candles when his burning fury seeped out of him, displaying that Dual ability of his.
A thin layer of sweat has slicked my body, likely giving me the appearance of a glazed sticky bun. I’m slumped on the floor of the stone-encased safe room, the cold wall against my exposed back the only slight relief from the heat of the room caused by the dozens of bodies crowded together, all wearing heavy gowns and starchy suits.
The safe room is sealed shut by a hefty metal door, guarded on either side, and trapping the suffocating humidity in here with us. Kitt and I were stuffed into the same room that the king and queen occupy, as well as most of the other contestants and whatever other guests made it in here. It’s fairly large, plain, and packed with people.
Out of the large throng, only two Healers are among the crowded room. They buzz about, tending to the wounded and injured after ensuring that the king, queen, and Kitt were taken care of. After a while, a stout lady in a deep, green gown finally waddles over to me, saying nothing as she mends the knife wound on my arm. Her brows knit together in concentration as I feel a wave of warmth seeping into the gash and look down to see the wound nearly gone, leaving only a thin, pink scar remaining.
But it’s my heart that aches more than the wound did, feeling more cut and sliced than my body has ever been. I’d watched my father do that very same thing to so many people. Watched him save lives. Fix wounds. Fix my wounds. I wish he was here to fix the broken, mangled object that is now my heart. The heart that broke when he left me.
When he was murdered by the man sitting in this very room.
My eyes flick to the king and queen, talking in hushed, urgent tones with each other and the few trusted advisers around them. No doubt discussing what the Plague just happened out there and what to do about it. Kitt has been summoned to his father’s side countless times to speak silently with the advisers, but afterward, he always finds his way back to pacing around the room.
I unwedge myself from Jax and Andy who are sticky with sweat on either side of me and step into Kitt’s path.
“Hi,” I say stupidly, unable to think of a better introduction.
He almost smiles before sighing, “Hi.”
If I want him to talk to me, I need to play the part.
I take a deep breath before putting a hand on his exposed arm, his suit coat long forgotten, and the white sleeves of his shirt now rolled up to his elbows. His skin is scolding, and I snatch away my hand with a small hiss as my eyes drop to the faint flames licking over his knuckles.
I blink and the fire is gone, leaving only rough skin behind.
“Did I burn you?” Kitt blurts out, looking alarmed. He reaches for me but thinks better of it, raking his hands through his messy hair instead. “I can’t even keep my damn power in check,” he mutters, turning away from me.
“No...no, I’m fine.” He won’t look at me. His hands are running through his hair, down his face. “Hey,” I say, but my words fall on deaf ears. He’s about to start pacing again.
I need him to focus.
On an impulse, I reach up and cup his face in my hands, feeling only the natural warmth of his skin beneath my palms. I prepare myself to meet those eyes, knowing I need to do this in exchange for an answer. His gaze snaps to mine, green and crisp like dew clinging to freshly cut grass. Like a lucky four-leaf clover, an emerald sparkling in the sunlight.
Like the eyes of a murderer. The eyes of the king.
“Talk to me.” The words tumble out of my mouth, sounding more like an order than I intended. So I quickly add, “Please.”
He sighs and ducks his head before gently grabbing my wrists and lowering them from his face. Then, he guides me towards the least crowded corner in the room, his warm hands pulling me to the floor beside him before resting his arms on his raised knees. “I’m sorry that I’m so...flustered,” Kitt finally says. I’ve never seen him so serious, so stern, so kingly. “I don’t like people fighting my battles.” He bites out the words like he hates the taste of them in his mouth.
“I guess that is something you will have to get used to when you’re king,” I say softly.
He scoffs. “You mean, get used to my brother constantly risking his life while I sit back and watch?” Heat seems to ripple off him, and I suddenly wonder if he is partially to blame for this stifling room.