“Paedyn?” I spin on my heel to see Calum watching me. “Your father would be proud.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kai
Training and torturing have kept me sane over the past couple of days, though I’m well aware that only an insane person would admit that.
It’s almost been a week since the first Trial ended.
Almost a week since I buried a blade in Jax’s chest.
Almost a week of restraining myself from doing the same to Ace.
So I keep busy, pounding my fists into mats so they don’t find their way to somebody’s face, seeing that I don’t have the Silencer to beat down on anymore.
It’s a shame that I killed him.
I’m sure he had information, yes, but I’m not one for empty threats. I promised Micah I would kill him if he didn’t prove his life worthy of saving. And when he failed to offer me the information I wanted, I followed through on that promise.
He was a liability, too dangerous to keep alive as my human punching bag. I knew he had no intention of telling me what I wanted to hear, and I had no intention of wasting my time.
Though I do miss taking my anger and frustration out of him.
Despite that, I still spend most of my days with Father’s Silencer. His ability is one of the few I’ve never trained with, never even encountered until a month ago. So I train with Damion for hours, trying to understand and develop this new power as best I can. I never want to feel powerless like I did when Micah ambushed me in Loot. No, I want his power. Want to be able to use it and deflect it so I can never be crippled like that again.
Easier said than done.
The training is tedious and tiring. Learning to use the Silencer’s ability is far easier than defending yourself against it. I’m smothered daily by his power while trying to tap into it, trying to use it against him. I’m struggling, to say the least, despite being determined and despising feeling so helpless.
But I’m restless. I keep myself busy all day in the hopes that the nightmares are too exhausted to chase me from my sleep at night.
The blade of my sword sinks deep into the wood of the practice dummy I’m currently hacking into.
I sigh in annoyance and grip the heavy hilt with both hands, yanking the sharp steel out of the splintered wood. I mindlessly flip the weapon at my side before raining down blows on the hunk of wood once more, letting my mind focus on the power and precision of each swing—focus on what it feels like to wield death, hold it in my palm, bend it to my will.
And yet, all it takes is a familiar laugh to shatter that focus.
She’s leaning against that padded tree she likes to pummel so much, Kitt standing close. Something begins burning inside of me, but I ignore it, not bothering to acknowledge the jealousy painting me Ilya’s kingdom color.
My eyes are glued to the two of them as they talk casually. Paedyn seems to be far more comfortable with Kitt as of late, spending time with him outside of training and meals. I will the jealousy to seep from my bones, to simply evaporate, but it gnaws and nags with every thought of the two of them together.
Paedyn nods to Kitt with a smile before he turns and heads back towards the castle while I force myself to focus once again on training. I cut and slice at the wood with my sword, the tension in my shoulders easing with every swipe.
“How about a rematch?”
I hit the wood hard, slicing the sword deep across the dummy’s chest. Paedyn waits patiently as I slowly turn around, swinging the sword in slow circles at my side. I don’t bother smiling as I casually say, “Someone’s in the mood to lose.”
The shadow of a frown shades her face as she crosses her arms. “And someone’s just in a bad mood.”
I chuckle humorlessly. “Darling, this is not me in a bad mood. There would be a lot more blood if that were the case.”
She gives me a small smirk. “Well, I won’t have to take your word for it, because after I beat you, I’m sure I’ll get to witness one of your bad moods firsthand.”
I sigh, giving in. “Fine. Hand-to-hand again?”
“No,” she says slowly, “I was thinking we could do something different.”
“And why’s that?” I take a step closer to her, leaning in as I say, “Is hand-to-hand too distracting, having to be so close to me?”
She somehow manages to take a step even closer. “Not at all. I don’t get distracted, Azer.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“Only if you’re in the mood to lose.”
Plagues, this girl.
She smiles up at me. “So, how about archery? Unless, of course, your pride can’t handle losing to me. Again.”
“Oh, that won’t be a problem. Because I won’t be losing.” I pull my face away from hers and brush her shoulder as I pass. I know what she is doing, and I welcome the distraction. Welcome her being the distraction.
I pull a bow off one of the weapon racks and throw a handful of arrows onto the ground between us. Paedyn already has her weapon in hand, already facing the battered target over fifteen yards away.
“Three rounds,” she says, not taking her eyes off the target. “We each get three shots per round. Highest score wins.”
“Fair enough.” I extend my hand towards her to shake on the rules, as is customary. She slowly grasps my hand, holding it firmly as her callouses brush my own. Then I tug her towards me, pulling her against my chest where I murmur close to her ear, “Good luck, Gray.”
She rolls her eyes at me but mine are locked on her. “I don’t need luck when it’s you I’m competing against,” she says coolly, her growing smile smug. I can’t help but huff out a laugh. After a moment too long, I let her go, and she turns to face the target with a smile. When I don’t move to nock an arrow, she throws an expectant glance at me to which I respond with a gesture towards the target. “Ladies first.”
“Oh right. I forgot you were a gentleman.” She snorts before nocking an arrow. I cock my head, watching her as she holds the bow as if she is left-handed, though I know she isn’t.
Interesting.
I blink, and an arrow is sailing through the air, landing just shy of the bullseye. She places another arrow on the bow and pulls back, taking a deep breath. She shuts her eyes for a moment, only firing when she opens them. Bullseye. I watch her follow the same routine with her final arrow. Watch her arm strain as she pulls the bowstring back. Watch her eyes flutter shut in concentration. Watch her breathe deeply before sending another arrow sinking into the bullseye.
Damn.
Archery has never been my favorite, and clearly, Paedyn doesn’t feel the same. She’s a natural. So confident, so controlled, as if the bow is nearly an extension of her arm. The arrow obeys her as she wills it to land exactly where she wants.
And I’m suddenly thinking she’s right. I might lose this.
“You’re up.” She steps back beside me, and with a mocking whisper, says, “Good luck, Azer.”
Plagues knows I’ll need it.
I step up and settle an arrow onto my bow. I can feel her eyes on me, tracking every move I make and it’s annoyingly distracting. I pull the bowstring back, aim, and fire. Then I’m cursing under my breath for just barely missing the bullseye before I nock another arrow. This one follows the same pattern, and I’m now frustrated and feeling the overwhelming need to punch something. I fire my last arrow and it finally lands where I want it to. Barely. Its silver tip sinks into the farthest edge of the bullseye, guided by sheer luck to get it there.