Something shifts in my peripheral.
The illusions are gone now, drifting away as Ace weakens from pain beneath me, allowing me to dare a glance at the figure close by.
He is covered in blood, most of which likely doesn’t even belong to him. Our eyes meet, and the sound of the fight around me that was once so deafening begins to dull. The connection is electric, empowering even, as he watches me but does nothing to stand in my way. Does nothing to try and convince me not to take a life. Does nothing because he knows I can handle myself.
Does nothing because Kai would do no differently.
The boy beneath me tried to kill his brother, tried to get Kai to do it for him. And as I stare into the gray eyes of the prince, the future Enforcer, the deliverer of death, I know that he has been patiently waiting to kill him. Patiently waiting for revenge.
And yet, he is simply standing there, dripping with blood, and doing nothing to stop me from ripping his revenge away from him.
This is not my life to take.
“I would kill you...” My voice is stern and strong, loud enough for Kai to hear. I see Ace’s eyes light up with the assumption that I’m too weak to go through with ending his life. How very wrong he is. “But you are not mine to kill,” I finish, watching as his eyes darken, hatred replacing hope.
My gaze finds Kai’s again, his eyes bright against in the moonlight and smoldering like smoke from a fire. A muscle ticks in his jaw, his hands twitch at his sides. I give him a single, slow nod.
And then he is striding towards us, shadows clinging to his silhouette.
I barely have time to get off Ace before Kai is hoisting him to his feet with powerful arms. “You’re lucky I don’t have the time or patience to rip you limb from limb at the moment.”
Then Kai’s eyes flick to me, flick over me. The future Enforcer is resisting his urge for revenge and instead scanning my body for injuries. The thought has me swallowing the lump in my throat as his gaze lingers on the gash still gushing on my head before slowly sliding to my neck which is likely already bruising. Then his eyes dart to something far behind me.
The flag.
No one has made it there yet, too busy fighting and focused on revenge to break away. When I look back at Kai, his eyes are already trained on me. “Go,” he murmurs the word, nodding towards the flag that will bring me victory. “Win this damn thing, Gray.”
I blink at him, but his attention is already back on the task in front of him. So I turn towards the flag. My boots scrape against the rocks beneath my feet as I stride towards that seemingly insignificant piece of cloth.
Screams join the shouts and cries of the fight, and I don’t need to turn around to know that Kai has begun his work on Ace. I ignore it, my focus solely on the flag.
And then I’m suddenly standing beneath it, looking up at my prize. Looking up at my victory.
And no one stops me as I rip off the flag.
Chapter Forty-Four
Kai
Funny how killing makes me feel most alive. I feel lighter than I have in days. My mind is clearer, sharper, now that thoughts of Ace are no longer consuming it.
My only regret is that I didn’t have more time to play with him, and if I were a better man, that thought might have repulsed me.
The recap of the Trial was tedious, mostly consisting of each team trudging up the mountain in silence. But the final fight atop the peak was enough to have the bored crowd cheering. The chaos was captured by the Sights and replayed for me to relive.
I watched Paedyn meet my eyes and grant me a gift.
The gift of a life. The gift to take a life.
She handed Ace over to me despite wanting to dole out his death herself. She let me have my revenge without even knowing that it was partially for her. Because before I wanted to kill Ace for nearly killing Jax, I wanted to kill Ace for nearly killing Paedyn.
Death is no stranger to me. I’ve killed more than I can count, and the blood clinging to my hands and staining my soul can never be scrubbed clean. And yet, she looked at me as if I was deserving of Ace, of kindness, of—
Her. I only want to be deserving of her.
I watched as Death claimed another victim. Blair was the one who brutally took Braxton’s life. Well, she can’t take all the credit. I may have helped. Her mind sent a blunt branch that was scattered on the ground into his chest. Flesh and bone tore apart, making room for the new addition impaling his body. It slowly leeched the life from his surprised eyes before he fell to the ground.
But the surprise in Braxton’s gaze reflected in Blair’s.
She wasn’t aiming for Braxton. No, that blunt, brutal death was heading for the silver-haired girl striding unsuspectingly towards her victory. I may have cheated Death of its intended victim, but I gave it a life, nonetheless. I borrowed Blair’s power and nudged fate in another direction. And it found Braxton.
But I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again, and again, and again to save that silver-haired girl.
Quite the team, Death and I.
But I’ve had three days to recover from the Trial. Three long days spent in the training yard, slicked with sweat, or locked within a study with my father’s Silencer where I am also likely drenched in sweat. Damion pushes me hard, smothering me with his ability while I fight to use it against him.
Whether it’s my body or brain aching from either type of training, I welcome it. Distraction is the best form of passing the time, and I seem to have a lot of things I wish to be distracted from these days.
“Kai, are you listening, boy?”
I give my head a shake, returning to the conversation at hand. “Intently, Father.”
The king sighs deeply and Kitt cuts me a look. We’ve been stuffed in his study for hours, discussing everything from guard rotations to the Resistance, which we have no new information on since the few prisoners from the attack at the first ball are now all dead. Although, Father doesn’t seem particularly concerned by that fact now and has instead been talking about the Trials for far longer than I have been listening.
He eyes the two of us as he asks slowly, “It is interesting how the Slummer girl won this last one, don’t you think?”
I stiffen, and I think Kitt might have done the same.
I all but handed the victory to her, choosing revenge over winning. Torture over triumph. I wonder if Father knows this. Knows that I let her walk over to that flag without another thought. Knows that I smiled at the sight of her, strong and sure, as she raised that flag into the air.
“She won fairly. I don’t find that interesting.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of them.
A humorless chuckle fills the room. “That’s just the thing,” Father says, green eyes piercing through me in a way Kitt’s never could. “Slummers don’t win.”