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Chapter Twenty-Nine
Zaina
It takes me hours to find Aika.
I can’t explain what sent me after her, except that Einar’s description of her in the carriage had alarm bells going off in my head, had me wondering what she might do to herself.
What she might do to anyone in her path.
At least, I am inconspicuous in the traditional headpiece that leaves only my eyes uncovered. Easterners are common enough here that I won’t stand out, and no one can see my face.
Small mercies, when everything is going to hell.
When the cloying smell of smoke hits me, I let loose a string of curses. As I race toward the source a few buildings away, I can practically hear a much younger Aika’s voice in my head.
“That’s why they call me The Flame,” she says, a smug grin on her face when I finally pull my hand away from the fire.
It’s only one of Madame’s many daily training exercises, seeing who can withstand pain the longest.
“No one calls you that.” I scowl.
“You clearly need more practice.” Madame shakes her head in disappointment, and I know it will mean the dungeons for extra training.
My hand wasn’t hurting yet, but better me than Aika. At least I’m used to the things Madame puts me through in the dungeons.
I turn back only to see Aika testing her hand over the fire again, ready to see if she can beat her time from before.
I squeeze my eyes shut in consternation.
Keeping her safe is a lost cause, but it’s not one I can make myself give up just yet.
Damn it.
I knew.
I knew the second I read that stupid story that it sounded just like something she would do, but I convinced myself I was wrong because she’s never gone against Madame.
She lives for an adrenaline rush, though, and she never,everknows when to say “when.”
The vigilante.She’s going to get herself killed. Or worse.
Is this because Madame told her she had to marry the prince? At least, I assume she knows, with the masquerade only two days away.
I stumble down the alleyway just in time to hear her voice cry out.
“You left me!” she yells.
I freeze in my tracks, my very core going cold.
Einar said she was grieving, but I didn’t quite believe it. Aika doesn’t grieve. She doesn’t wallow. She forges ahead, unburdened by the ugliness around us.
At least, I thought she did.
I force myself forward to peer around the corner.
“You left me to become... this.” She barely gets the last word out, her fists clenching.
The words echo down to the hollowest part of my soul, piercing the deepest, rawest parts of me.
