Page 45 of Wings of Destruction

“Come on, I’m having some fun,” Evie says with a singsong trill.

She pauses, indulgent, anticipating how Kieran will take her side. And why won’t he? They’re the same, cut from the same cloth.

They look good together. I spare a glance at them, the blonde closer to me and Kieran a storm cloud in the distance.

She’s willowy, slender, but strong. The cut of her armor shows off the toned muscles in her arms and legs. A leather cuirass hugs her curves, bracers holding daggers at her wrists. The spires of blonde hair are pulled away from her face by a diadem of metal and leather, some strands braided in a plait down to the middle of her back.

“Your kind of fun can be chaotic.” Kieran crosses his arms over his chest but I notice he’s not averse to joining in the taunting. After all⁠—

“Princess?” I finally say.

My lips are swollen and I run my hand across my teeth. My cheeks burn with the movement, a gift from Mrs. Milkin.

Blast if I’ll let those two see my bruises.

“Trust me, he’s not using it as a term of endearment,” the girl corrects.

No, it’s a slur, to remind me of exactly how far I’ve fallen. There are certain things I don’t need spelled out for me and this one is evident.

The perch is emptied of dragons, including the black beast I’d seen Kieran ride during the battle. Determined to ignore them and get this heinous job finished before one of the lizards returns, I shake the droplets from the scrub brush and slice it across a stretch of rock.

The porous material absorbs the moisture and fills the air with the pungent scent of musk.

Pain spirals from the top of my head as the blonde grabs my hair and wrenches me off my knees. I swallow down a screech, flailing for her wrists and slipping over her bracers.

She drags me backward and stops when I’m flat on my spine. In a quick flash, she releases my hair and steps down on my wrist, pinning me. I kick out and knock into the bucket, spilling it everywhere.

Soap and dung leach into my dress and stain the bottom of her shoes.

“Evie.” Kieran says her name in a low warning.

One she ignores.

“I know you,” she tells me in an undertone, her gaze maniacally bright. “I know exactly what you think of me, too.”

“Then why don’t you say it out loud?” I push.

She arches a perfect brow at my whisper. “There’s no need. I’m loyal to the crown, and I’m loyal to General Ryson. You are nothing but the scum he failed to crush beneath his boot. You won’t find DragonSpear a welcoming place for your kind, even if you are on the other side of the line now.”

She presses down on my wrist hard enough for the tendons to protest and my fingers to curl reflexively. I grunt against the pain but hold her gaze.

How bad will it be to take a swing at the sadistic blonde?

Bad, a small voice in my head adds immediately. It will be bad.

Because I know what happens to women at the mines. That’s where I’ll go, where she’ll insist I go. The pits are a necessary part of the infrastructure, or so my tutors always said, but the labor sculpting the minerals and metals from the bowels of the earth isn’t there willingly.

Evie’s smile flickers like she’s indexing the extent of my mental conversation.

“That’s right,” she says. “You understand, don’t you? You’re lucky to be here, because what waits in the mines…”

She pauses, savoring my fear. “Well, let’s just say even death becomes a mercy you’ll beg for.”

Kieran stalks forward but he stops close enough to touch, close enough to push her off of me if he wants to. He doesn’t. He looks down at me and strain paints his features with more shadows. A small dip of his chin is nothing but a quiet acknowledgement of my suffering.

It’s not enough.

We both look away immediately.