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His words were like arrows to my heart, each one striking a bull’s-eye. I was foolish to let this man bother me as much as he did, let his chastising tone make me feel small. He was wrong about one thing; the outside world was exactly like the mountain—unkind and unforgiving, selfish and corrupt. Every person I met either wanted to use me to get further or hurt me to push me behind. He turned out to want both.
“Aye, Azriel. You have reminded me there are worse creatures in this world than vampyres and cursed queens. There is a greater evil in our land than the kind that stems from monsters.” I hissed. “You have reminded me of the cruelty which lies in the heart of every living thing in this realm, and the ability it has to destroy even the smallest sparks of life. Thank you for extinguishing mine before it grew too bright for our dark world.”
I pushed past him, shoving my bony shoulder into his side. There was no more pain left in my heart as I walked away from him, no tears threatened my eyes as his steps followed harshly behind. There was no whisper of remorse for the way I almost felt about him. I was an expert at suppressing my emotions, an artist at painting over my past. Because it was always easier to believe a lie than to feel the painful truth—I had let someone break beyond the boundaries of my carefully constructed walls in hopes they would accept the girl hiding behind them.
I replaced my shame with anger and exchanged the sting in my chest for apathy. A coldness returned to my heart, numbing over the hurt. My training as a runner had prepared me for this, and I stepped into my old role as easily as I stepped one foot in front of the other. I rebuilt the wall he shattered, replacing it with something stronger he, nor anyone else, could never get past again.
“Don’t go in there without me,” he warned to my back as I approached the entryway at the end of the hall. I glanced over my shoulder and looked right through him, disregarding his warning as I threw open the door and slipped inside.
The double doors led to a large, circular room with no windows. Silence settled as I entered. The only light burned from low-hanging torches that casted a dim glow across a platform lining the curved walls. I pressed further into the arena, not allowing the watchful eyes of winged men intimidate me. I counted twelve—each beautiful in their own right, each studying me from behind their desk on their pedestal. There was a thick tension in the air, hostility a tangible sensation. It gradually slowed my steps. What was left of my pride propelled me forward to the center of the room.
The watcher in front of me sat highest on the platform, and I assumed this was the leader of the council. He appeared no older than Azriel—none of them did, apparently lacking the ability to age. But his golden eyes were a solid wall, impossible to see beyond. His hands were folded across his desk as he peered down at me, head cocked slightly to the side in obvious curiosity.
“Where is your escort, Chosen?” he finally spoke, the tone of his voice only rivaled the queen’s in its authority. And there was a maturity in the way he took himself seriously. Something myescortlacked.
I inhaled deeply to find my voice, ignoring how small his eyes made me feel. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir, I’m bound to no one here. I approach you and your council on my own.”
His brows rose slightly on his dark-skinned face, his entire figure a living shadow. “You belong to Azriel. He is your watcher while your admission here is pending.”
I scoffed at the idea. “With all due respect, sir, I belonged to someone for twenty years and have no interest in remaining so for another second. If you or anyone else on your platform has an issue with that, you may return me to Valdihr as soon as this meeting is over.”
A slow smile spread over his face, whether from amusement or agreeance, I had no idea. “If you refuse to be escorted, Chosen, at least knock next time.”
I nodded with a tight jerk of my chin. “Noted.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, letting wings of ebony spread wide behind him. “Enter, Azriel.”
At his command, the doors behind me opened. A rush of air met my back, and the frustration vibrated through his steps into the tiled floor as he approached. His figure came into the corner of my view and gave a low bow to the man above me.
“I apologize, Grandmaster, for Arya’s blatant entrance. She forgets the world still has rules which demand to be respected.” His glare burned holes into the side of my face as he rose from his bend.
“And Azriel seems to forget I also demand to be respected.” Wings or not, I had something these creatures wanted, and I would not let him nor anyone else devalue my importance. I looked at him then, noticing the disdain in his glare. He involuntarily surrendered from my look.
The Grandmaster’s grin only grew. “It seems we are all being reminded of important lessons today.”
The understatement of the century.
“But that is not the reason for this meeting,” he continued. “Azriel, you were tasked with getting information concerning the Dark Army’s progress. And yet, you have brought us a human instead. Explain.”
Azriel shifted on his feet and, despite our conversation prior, I was grateful for his presence. “Arya learned something important during her first run to Grimsbane, and we came to an agreement. She agreed to willingly tell us what she knew in exchange for seeing her friend, Loren, the Chosen we saved a few weeks ago.
“As you know, I usually interrogate the runners, then offer them a dishonored life once they spill their secrets and betray their loyalty to the queen,” he replied with a sideways look at me. “But Arya was—is different. She isn’t a true runner by the queen’s definition. She’s somethingmore. As you know, the queen has never chosen a female runner. I believe she sent Arya on this mission to test her, to see if her theory was correct and develop this girl into who she is called to be—and hope she died in the process.” Azriel inhaled deeply, glancing in my direction to assess my reaction so far, but my mask remained barren of emotion. He continued, “I brought her here because I believe Arya is the huntress.”
Whispers flooded the room at the word, unnerving my composure and unsettling my confidence. The smile fell from the Grandmaster’s face.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, snapping my head between Azriel and the Grandmaster. “What’s a huntress?” Fury consumed me as they looked back at each other, their eyes having a silent conversation I was not privileged enough to join. Had this been Azriel’s real reason for snatching me up and convincing me to leave my safe home in the mountain? Had I lost everything for his fleeting curiosity?
“The huntress was designed by the gods during the early years before The Fall.” The Grandmaster answered me with ice in his words. “Once every century, they chose one woman and blessed her with skills beyond her human companions. Watchers were created by the gods to be their messengers, their eyes and ears in the human realm. But the huntress is a mortal born of human means and blessed to be the god’s assassin.”
The ridiculous idea of being the god’s personal killer sent a surge of giggles in my chest. Azriel turned his head toward me at the sound, the astonished look on his face only made the giggles exacerbate into a full-blown fit of laughter.
“You think I’m a huntress? You believe the godschoseme to be their personal assassin?” I asked through stray waves of amusement. “It was difficult enough to be chosen by Eivor. Honestly, you think too highly of me, Az.”
“Tell me, Arya. Have you ever killed?” Grandmaster asked.
My emotions sobered at the question. “Excuse me?”
He leaned forward on his arms with intention. “Have you ever killed someone? Have you ever felt the urge to end someone’s life, to seek justice with their blood and bathe in their last breaths?”
