Shadows and Steel | ✓

chapter twenty-three

-23-

Elle had never attended an underground party before. When the lights had dimmed and curfew announced, agents roused from their beds and crept out of the door. Tan had grabbed Elle's arm, determinedly pulling her to a large cavernous space that looked abandoned.

Recruits slapped each other on the back, murmurs of congratulations and greeting echoed around her. As she looked around, the party wasn't at all like the fine balls she had attended in her youth, where gowns and jewellery were essential. Instead, trainees arrived in bedclothes or their dirty training gear. No girl had perfected their makeup or donned their finest shoes. Everyone looked the same.

Once the room was bursting with recruits from all sections, a group entered carrying cartloads of beer and spirits—stolen from the grub hall. A hoard of trainees surged towards their station, where drinks were given freely to anyone. 

Elle leant against the wall, nodding as Tan as she mentioned grabbing drinks. Her eyes flitted between those present, catching on redheads and scanning for a pink mop of hair. Gods, she hoped they passed the first trials.

In a flash, Tan returned, thrusting a drink into her hand. Elle took a swig, wrinkling her nose at the pungent smell. Down there, it was the best they were going to get. They couldn't risk having music played, so agents danced in near silence, just bouncing off one another, following no particular rhythm.

Tan whooped, holding her drink high in the air and swaying her hips. The assassin left her to it for a while, watching on as she immersed herself in a sea of dancing, twirling from partner to partner. Every so often she would return, breath smelling of spirits and say, "V, why aren't you dancing? You're pretty, prettier than me."

Such a comment wasn't particularly true nor complementary. Elle just turned her around and pointed her to another handsome man for her to sink her claws into for tonight. Another face she hunted for in the crowd was blonde locks and misty eyes, but he was nowhere to be found. The party continued, exclusively for recruits.

Sinking to the floor, Elle rested the back of her head against the stone. Another party, years ago, flashed in her mind. Her stomach twisted sourly when she thought of the silver-haired boy, whom she considered her brother at the time, sulking at such festivities. 

She remembered sorting his suit for him, helping him pick the shoes a week prior. Her face hardened. That soft boy had joined DETRA and built iron armour of his own.

Elle had yet to see him roaming the halls. When she found the bastard, she'd kill him. She made that promise years ago.

Someone sat beside her. She glanced to her right, eyes lighting up when she saw Tristan. His dark hair was tousled and his eyes had bigger bags but the green eyes were the same as she remembered. "Hey." He whispered to her.

In the throngs of people, no one noticed the two agents conversing on the sidelines. "Gods, how are you?" She blurted.

"I've been better," came his reply. "Have you received the missive about the Heir?" His voice lowered on the last word. She nodded, casting her eyes back on the party. Of course, they were only going to talk about official Order business. In Tristan's mind there was no such thing as pleasantries.

"Any luck?"

"Nope." He sank back, placing his beer at his side.

Damn. "I'm going to do some skulking around, asking people," Elle said. Tristan bobbed his head, "just don't get caught asking around. They'll think you're cheating and there's a zero-tolerance policy. A girl in my section was eliminated for asking her mentor."

Elle sucked her teeth, storing the information away. Cerid wouldn't report her to Mather, would he?

They fell into silence. Words fell off the tip of her tongue, all the things she wanted to ask. Had he been sleeping enough? How's training? Are there any pretty girls in his section? She pinched the inside of her arm. Why would she care about pretty girls? Because, her mind answered, pretty girls might compromise his position in the mission and he looked dark and brooding in that DETRA uniform—

"Have you ever thought, that since there's no concept of daylight down here the clocks could be wired wrong to manipulate us." Tristan nudged her. She smiled, "it's all rather surreal." She waved a hand to the festivities. Tristan chuckled, taking another large sip of his beer.

"Have you made contact with any of the others?" Elle asked him.

"Jax is the same as ever. Kath's fine."

She had seen Leo fairly recently.

When the celebration died down, Elle stood to find Tan. "Remember to find the Imperial Heir and stay under the radar." Tristan reminded her, she rolled her eyes rather childishly.

"I know. If you need me I'm Section 6."

"Section 11."

No one could quite forget that brutal training would continue the following day. Giving a slight wave to Tristan, Elle headed into those remaining in the middle and detached Tan form the girl she was kissing. Kovar stood beside her, and lifted his arms in the air.

"Girlie! Where have you been all night?" His slurred words stumbled over themselves. She draped Tan's arm over her shoulder, looking up at the tall man. "On the side. Dancing isn't for me." Something pained her chest when she spoke those words aloud. Bleary eyed Tan mumbled something about a song. Elle grunted. "I need to get her back without causing a scene."

"Come eat with us, girlie!"

"I will!" She said as the pair headed into the cooler hallway. Tan was going to wake up with a killer headache, kicking herself for drinking so heavily at the early rouse tomorrow. At the entrance to their dark section, Tan ground to a halt.

"I think you're going to win," she said to Elle. "It's fucking unfair." Her speech was little more than a drawl but the assassin still made out the words. The assassin wordlessly helped her flop into the top bunk with minimal creaking before kicking off her boots and settling into her own.

#

Tristan's head was pounding again. A crushing pain on the side of his head, making his eyes start to water and feet unsteady. When such a migraine struck, he was a mere prisoner inside the cage of his skull. Blinded by specks of flashing lights and colourful spots, all Tristan craved was darkness. Cool, quiet darkness.

He concurred that attending the party wasn't the best idea, leaning against a stone wall on his way back to his section. His chest heaved, nausea stopping him in his tracks. At least he had seen Elle, with her bright eyes and witty remarks.

There was no doubt that she would have passed the first trial. Tristan didn't need to worry for her safety, but he did so anyway. With her sharp tongue, she could dig herself into her own grave. As much as he hated to admit it, he had missed her sarcasm in the week they had all been separated.

When the pain ebbed away, then came crashing back Tristan sank to his haunches. He breathed deeply through his nose, as the medics had told him. His hand fumbled in his pocket, drawing out the empty vial. A weather-worn label on the front declared the contents to have been wormwood tablets.

Empty.

He debated throwing the thing against the opposite wall, but his reasoning caught up to him. Sighing, he pocketed it and tilted his head up to look at the carved ceiling. As the medic in Eryan had told him, the tablets would suppress the pain of the constant migraines. Never miss a dose.

Snorting, Tristan pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. For a minute he deluded himself the pain had reduced, and that he could stand. The next wave nearly knocked him off his feet. Only two days without his daily tablet and he was already falling apart. In the morning he would go to the infirmary, demand another bottle of precious tablets.

His cheeks burnt at how weak he was acting, curled up and wallowing in his discomfort. He bit his lip, splaying his hands on the cold floor and sat upright. Then, drawing all his might he stood on shaky legs, slowly continuing to his section and praying to the Gods that his migraine would allow him a few hours sleep.