It wasn’t hard to get under the Imperial’s skin, and I knew once I had, he’d slap me silly and let me scurry away. This wouldn’t have been the first time I’ve let that happen. And proving my Psychic abilities was hardly difficult considering that the evidence was written all over him.
The thin tan line on his now empty ring finger was my first clue that he was formally married. Then, there’s the fact that he moved his wedding band to his other hand rather than pawning it off for money, telling me that he still cares for his ex-wife and is probably still pining over her. The disheveled hair, crumpled uniform, and smell of whiskey on his breath further prove that he is obviously a single man who no longer has a wife to make him look presentable.
Men would likely go extinct without women to coddle them.
As for the part where he cheated on his wife, well, that was more so an educated guess based off the way he looked at me along with the stellar reputation the Imperials have made for themselves. Clearly, the assumption hit a nerve before he hit me.
The midday sun beats down on me as I make my way back to the Fort to meet Adena for lunch just like always. I take my time meandering down Loot, gnawing on an apple while hunger gnaws at me.
The salty smell of fish basting in the sun atop merchant carts hangs in the air. Children scuttle in front of my path, laughing as they chase each other down the street. The sound of voices haggling and cursing is like a chorus to me, a tune I’m all too familiar with.
A large, colored banner catches my eye as it begins to rise above the crowded alley, strung between two shops by a Crawler. He scurries up the wall as though there’s glue on his palms and feet, allowing him to climb up the smooth shop with ease. As he secures the rope connecting the banner to the wall, I turn my attention to the words scrawled on the green tapestry in large, black lettering:
The sixth Purging Trials is about to begin
Remember the purging. Thank the plague.
Honor to your kingdom, your family, and yourself.
You could be the next victorious elite.
I snort loudly, nearly choking on a chunk of my apple. Although the Purging Trials are nothing to laugh about, I can’t help but find it comical that they are meant to be a celebration. In honor of the Great Purging over three decades ago, the Trials were created to showcase the peoples’ supernatural abilities and bring honor to the only Elite kingdom.
I wouldn’t say murdering innocent people brings honor to me, my kingdom, or my family—not that I have any left to bring honor to. And yet, every five years, young Elites are chosen to compete in these games for both the glory and enough shillings to build your own comfy castle while you try to escape the trauma the Trials caused you.
But the part that has me shaking with both laughter and rage is that the lesser Elites, those with Defensive and Mundane abilities, are made to believe that they have a chance of winning these twisted Trials. I feel suddenly numb as I look at the excited faces surrounding me, all crowding under the sign, grinning and pointing.
We are the first to die.
The Elites who compete aren’t chosen, but rather, born into their fate. It’s always those of royal blood or of higher status on the Elite’s tier of power. I scan the crowd, eyes skipping over the smiling faces of Mundanes who are only thrown into the Trials for entertainment after the king allows us to pick who we wish to represent us.
Despite the king insisting that the killing of fellow Elites in the arena is frowned upon, it’s no secret that Death itself is a contestant in the Trials. Dying teenagers apparently make things exceptionally more entertaining, and if the Elites won’t do the killing, the king will pull the strings in the arena.
I push through the throng of people gathered under the sign, all talking over one other about who will represent Loot and what they would do with the prize money.
There have been very few times in my life when I haven’t envied the Elites. But at the thought of competing in the Purging Trials, I’ve never been more thankful to be nothing and no one of importance.
Completely Ordinary.
Chapter Four
Paedyn
“Are you gonna eat that?” Adena is eying the half-eaten orange on my lap while I sit leaning against the alley wall behind the Fort.
“Have at it.” The words have barely slipped past my lips before she leans over, her curly hair blowing in the soft breeze as she snatches the fruit and pops a slice into her mouth.
The Imperial with the impressive backhand left me the lovely gift of a split bottom lip, making it difficult to choke down food. “How’d you do today?” I ask while mindlessly spinning the thick, silver wedding band on my thumb.
The cold steel of my father’s ring bites into my skin, comforting me like it always has. I suppose I’d have my mother’s too if it weren’t buried with her when I was a baby. Illness, Father had said. She was an Ordinary, after all, and the lot of us are apparently weaker, diseased humans.
But he married her anyway. Loved her despite it. Protected her. Kept her secret just as he did mine.
Adena sighs, and I’m brought back to the present when she says between bites of orange, “Can’t complain. Oh, I sold that top I had been working on for ages! For three whole shillings, too! You know, the green one with the deep neckline and scalloped hem?” I give her the same confused look I always do when she starts speaking in her sewing language. “Ugh, you’re hopeless when it comes to clothes, Pae.”
I glance down at my battered tank beneath the olive-green vest atop it. Everything changed the day Adena made me the pocketed vest, knowing that it would serve me well as a thief. That was the day an uneasy alliance began to blossom into an easy friendship.
Adena taps a finger against her lips, considering something. “I bet if you had on the right outfit, everyone would be too busy staring at you to even notice you’re robbing them.”
I snort. “I’d rather not have people staring while I’m committing crimes. That seems a bit counterproductive.”
I snatch up my dagger and tuck it into my boot, brushing my fingers along the swirling, silver handle. It’s the only other keepsake I have from Father besides his ring—both of which I never go without. I’m admiring the intricate handle for the hundredth time before jolting when I suddenly remember something. “Be careful today, A. There are fewer guards out than usual for some reason, and I don’t like it. Just ...” I struggle to find the right words. “Just keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary, okay?”
She looks slightly unsettled by this news, but the narrowing of her hazel eyes is playful. “Is this your Psychic juju warning you of potential danger?”
“Yeah, we definitely need to work on your subtlety,” I sigh, shaking my head at her with a smile.