Page 85 of Wings of Destruction

No one is going to tell my story. I don’t need them to. I’ll write it with action instead of words, and the steps I take toward justice will burn themselves into the annals of history. The orphan, the price she paid, and the monster she willingly became to save her kingdom.

Eighteen

Morgan

The dark circles are thick enough for me to feel.

They weigh me down, bags underneath my eyes, and my spine curves forward from too many sleepless nights. It’s easier to let it bend rather than force a straight line.

Even I have my limits, my body is telling me to stop pushing it too far and get some rest. The daily orders have been given. My task?

A locker room, attached to the private gym I use to exercise in.

Does Milkin somehow know?

There’s no maniacal glinting glee in her gaze when she bestows the order, along with a benevolent sweep of her hand. She goes down the row, ignoring the way Daisy digs her bony elbow into my side simply because she can, and when Milkin faces me…

“Be grateful,” she snaps, taking no pains to disguise her savage glee. “You’ll work alone but it’s a private room. Think of how much work it would be if I sent you to clean the men’s locker room. It’s filthy.”

Yeah, excellent.

Milkin pauses like she expects me to kiss her feet in gratitude. Effusive praise has never been my deal.

“Why is Morgan getting the private room? She’s done nothing to earn it,” Daisy gripes.

“Does my reprieve upset you?” I mutter from the corner of my mouth.

She snorts and lifts her pointy chin high enough to give Milkin a front row view of the inside of the girl’s nose. “I just don’t think it’s fair.”

I smile sweetly at Milkin. “I’ve been on my best behavior.”

If they knew about my nightly jaunts, I doubt I’d get the simpler detail. The dark-haired girl who sleeps near me watches us, silently, her blue eyes rounded by curiosity.

Milkin rubs the bridge of her nose. The stray hairs poking out from the underside of her bonnet are fuzzy and wiry. “Daisy, I have no time to argue with you. Harbi wants the grand hall cleaned and I can’t trust Morgan to help with it. Not like I need to explain my decision.”

Daisy sniffs and her body tenses like she’s ready to launch a counterargument.

Milkin points a glare in Daisy’s direction and the maid goes quiet.

“That will be all.” Milkin claps her hands. “Off with you.”

Daisy hikes a leg out to trip me, but I somehow manage to sidestep her at the last minute. It’s not my most graceful move but it keeps me from landing on my face.

“Good luck!” She and the blonde who tried to steal my necklace both honk out a laugh.

I slouch through the hallways dragging the broom behind me, its bristles leaving a soft hiss in my wake. Exhaustion puts it mildly. Every tugging step takes me further from the cot and closer to the private locker room I’m tasked to clean.

I’ve glanced inside it before but nothing more than a stolen glimpse in the night when I’m alone.

The taunt and the giggles tell me more than any explanation. The curved edge of the bucket drags from my other arm, my muscles limp.

My limbs are too strung out from last night’s workout to operate properly today. It’s something I should have thought about before I pushed myself hard like striking at phantom enemies will somehow erase the note I’d left in the book.

It’s going to make this impossible task even harder. I dig inside me for the familiar anger I’ve used as fuel all my life and find nothing but the smallest cough of emotion.

Those dregs won’t help me clean the locker room. It’s not enough to get me through the next hour.

“Too bad.”