CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“Alright, Cass,” Silas said, tossing a practice sword across the ring, “show me what Ronin and Mireille have taught you.”
Silas had met Cassandra and Mireille at the training room this morning just after breakfast.
After he’d left the shop last night and Ronin had shuffled off to bed, Cassandra and Mireille had stayed up for another hour or two, making plans about how they were going to sneak into World’s End to infiltrate Wormwood’s office and get a look at those ledgers.
They’d come up with what Cassandra thought was a pretty brilliant, albeit risky, plan. She was starting to think that none of her friends were capable of anything other than risky plans. She and Mireille planned to reveal it to Silas and Ronin this morning.
But Ronin wasn’t here yet. And Silas wasn’t about to let Cassandra wait for the white wolf before they started training.
So, Cassandra bumbled her way through the thrusts and arcs and swipes she’d learned these past weeks. Her wings bounced against her back and made her steps falter.
Silas’s tentative smile turned into a grimace.
Cassandra planted the tip of the sword in the dirt and swiped her wrist across her sweat-soaked forehead. She hoped she didn’t look as discouraged as she felt. “Well?”
“No offense—“ his eyes darted to Mireille “—but I can tell you’ve been instructed by someone without wings.”
“None taken.” Mireille crossed her arms, annoyance darkening her silver eyes.
“You’re fighting against them,” Silas said.
Cassandra’s own annoyance rose. “No shit. How do I fix it?”
Silas plucked the sword from her fingers and tossed it out of the ring. “We start from square one.”
Cassandra rolled her eyes. “The appeal is in eleven days. I’m not sure that we?—”
“Do you want to keep doing thingswrongand get yourself killed, or start doing them right?”
She squared her shoulders, not so stubborn that she wouldn’t try things his way. “Alright. Where do we begin?”
“Wing exercises.”
Ronin entered the room right at that moment, then aimed a pointed smirk at Cassandra that said,Told ya so.
She grumbled, but obeyed, lifting and stretching and lowering.
“At least someone taught you how to do those right,” Silas said.
She sent Ronin a big, fake smile. He leaned a hip against the water table, not even trying to hide his smug expression.
After Cassandra had done several repetitions, she tucked her wings against her back and looked to Mireille. “Now that we’re all here, should we tell them?”
“Tell us what?” Ronin asked, stretching an arm across his chest to warm up.
“About how we’re going to get our hands on those ledgers,” Cassandra said, looking Ronin up and down in a way that madehim pause his stretching and send her a questioning look. “You are going to be our distraction.”
Mireille sidled up to Ronin and smacked a hand on his shoulder. “Rumor around town is that Wormwood was hitting on you outside World’s End the other night. You’re going to take him up on his offer of a drink. And I’m going to help.”
“How?” Ronin asked.
“By doing something they’ve been begging me to do since I arrived here two centuries ago. A special performance by the former prima ballerina of the Kheimos Company.”
Claws punched through Ronin’s knuckles and he released an audible snarl. “No.”
Mireille barked out a laugh. “It’s funny that you think it’s your decision.”
