Page 42 of Wings of Destruction

I’d change it, if I could. I’d have put myself on the field with the others before dragon fire turned them to dancing embers on a heartless wind.

I slam my fists into the girl’s face repeatedly, control slipping until it’s gone entirely, beating her harder than I should have. Someone is screaming, the sound agonized and heartbreaking.

Distantly, I see the blood. I know the girl is kicking weakly before she gives up even that attempt to dislodge me. Her final weak punch lands on my clavicle before she shields her face again. Blood streams from her split lip and cheek.

I wrench them aside and slam my skull down into her nose before someone pulls me off of her.

I’m the one screaming, thrashing, fighting as though some infernal demon has taken up residence in my soul. It takes three girls to keep me contained while the others stop to help the beaten and battered maid on the ground.

She’s a pile of tears and blood, her nose cracked, and her pale skin stained crimson.

“She’s out of her mind.” Her swollen mouth obscures her words. “You saw her! She’s dangerous.”

“Miss Whyte! What do you think you’re doing?” Mrs. Milkin blocks out the view as she steps between me and the girl.

Her normally ruddy face has gone full red and her nostrils flare like a bellowing bull.

“She tried to steal from me!” My chest heaves, my insides swollen like they’re attempting escape as well. “I saw her.”

My body shakes and the distant drip of the faulty pipe is a slow scratch in my brain.

“I didn’t touch her stupid necklace. She went feral on me.” The girl sniffs and cries out at the pain from her broken bone.

The sound does something strange to me. It twists things already bent out of shape and I lunge for her again.

Milkin steps with me, making it impossible to get around her bulk, then slaps me across the face. One slap, two, and the hurt doesn’t register until the third stroke.

“Control yourself, Miss Whyte.”

The sound of flesh meeting flesh rings dully inside my head and the throb of my pulse is almost enough to block it out. Almost.

“This sort of behavior is unacceptable! Do you hear me?” Milkin, in a rage, grabs one of my ears and twists hard enough to wrench it off my skull. “You never attack your fellow worker. Did I not make myself clear when you first arrived?”

I squeal as she pushes me to my knees and towers over me, gripping me by the back of the neck.

“It’s my mother’s necklace,” I grind out.

“I’ll hear no excuse,” she yells, drilling her words into my brain. “One more foot out of line and you’re going to the mines. Do you understand? Nod if you do!”

Tears leak from my eyes, squeezed shut, and I force a nod.

Milkin sends me forward and kicks me in the kidneys again for good measure. Her signature move and one I take with a tamped down groan. Several of the others slither the sobbing thief out of sight and I stay on the ground, my hands covering my face, silent cries wracking through me.

“I don’t care if she sets your clothes on fire,” Milkin adds. She grinds her shoe against my tailbone to pin me. “I don’t care if someone throws your bed off the damned cliff. You will adhere to the rules. Consider this your final warning.”

I’m sick of being abused.

Sick of being made to feel inferior for the simple fact of existing.

Sick to death of having my identity stripped away piecemeal because someone else is stronger than I am. Milkin only has power because someone gave her the position, I guarantee it.

The sounds of the crowd slowly fade and when I force my eyes open, only a single maid remains behind. Her luminous blue eyes are slits as she considers me, her black hair short and choppy.

I sniff, running a hand over my nose, my mouth. “What are you looking at?”

I’ve seen her before. Actually, I think she’s the girl on the cot beside mine, the single one.

She shakes her head and rejoins the others.