Shadows and Steel | ✓

chapter thirty-seven

-37-

The final trials were tomorrow. As tradition declared the challenges would end the day after the test of wit. DETRA ran most of its decisions through tradition and set ways, it seemed. Elle rolled over, closing the book she had been trying to read. There was no point squinting at the pages when the words failed to calm her mind.

After the poison test, she had found Cerid sat again in the grub hall. Since their lessons had been postponed, he had taken to waiting for her there. They walked their way around the halls, chatting; for a moment she had forgotten about the shadows following them, or the weight that crushed her chest. This all caught up with her with a sudden sickening lurch. Final trials were tomorrow, then his official announcement to the recruits. After that...she almost didn't want to think of it.

Guilt seeped down her spine, her shoulders hunching with the invisible weight. The mist surrounding the mysterious air would be cleared at the ceremony, but wolves would be biding their time amongst the others. Her loyalties were frazzled.

It wouldn't take too long for Tristan to put two and two together. He had met Cerid, weeks ago, as her mentor. For him, the mission was straightforward. Loyalties lie with the Order and only the Order. Didn't hers?

Staying with the Order meant freedom. Eventually.

Would it have been better if she'd have refused the job? Mikel might have killed her. He would've, if she'd have let him. Then Cerid would be safe and Elle wouldn't be in this mess and DETRA would go on as it always has. The heir would host a ball to welcome the newest recruits, some ethereal girl hanging on his arm, dripping in jewels. He would perform his duty and she would perform hers.

Common sense told her to expose his identity to her team, spin it so she hadn't withheld information. Cerid would die. She would live and be a step closer to her own freedom.

Sometimes it was an almighty good thing she didn't have much common sense.

Cerid had noticed her worry but pegged it to just nerves. Elle didn't get jittery before a brawl—just calm, calculated thinking. "As your mentor, I recommend stretching this afternoon. Go through your base movements, the ones you should have built as reflexes. Don't let them rile you up, the gods know they'll try...and get a good night's sleep." He added.

"That's awfully...practical."

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "But from a person who cares deeply for you, I beg of you not to perform anything reckless." Smoky eyes flickered to hers, "You're going to win."

"And you need to stop worrying. I did survive for years without you."

"I'll be watching every match."

She rolled her eyes, unable to stop a smile from tugging at her lips. "You're just piling on the pressure, hm?"

Now, curled in her bottom bunk the assassin couldn't lull herself to the darkness she craved. Her mind wandered to Kath, Leo, Tristan and Jax. How would they be preparing for the trials? She had no way of knowing if they had all succeeded the poisonous trial.

Tan skulked to their bunk, making sure to kick Elle's boots over as she clambered up. They didn't speak. Elle tipped her chin up, pressing the back of her head into the pillow and sighed. It wasn't the first time she had wished for Eryan. Ironic since once she always returned to the city, all she could think about was how to get out again. She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut to stop her from picking apart her thoughts.

The upper bunk squeaked as Tan settled. Then, just as the assassin was feeling more relaxed, a hum drifted past her. The sickly-sweet sound grew pestering as it failed to cease. Too quiet for anyone else to catch. Elle jammed her hands over her ears, scowling and muttering obscenities. 

She wouldn't give Tan the satisfaction of knowing that her childish tune bothered her. In truth, that was the only thought that stopped Elle from climbing the ladder and forcing her to shut up with a hard blow to the head.

A haunting melody, dipping and hiding behind her ears, through her hair. A strange tune, beautiful in a way. Elle focused her sight on the bunk above and even when the humming stopped, she couldn't get to sleep. An unmistakable tune, one she had heard rung across Eryan, bouncing over rooftops in the dead of night or a grey early morning. It used to ripple over the river's surface and float over to her old bedroom window.

Tan had been singing the death song of Myndor. A foreboding piece, played at burials and farewells. Traditionally said to bring bad luck and misfortune when sung anywhere else. 

A faint memory of a music lesson, cloudy at the edges came to mind. Faces were blurred, but the meaning of the lyrics came into sharp focus once more. Death and decay biting at a little girl's heels until she tripped.

Elle bit the inside of her cheek. Death's farewell. She thought drily. How fitting.