Black Reign

Astryd

Darya's blood was all I could see for days. It was all I could smell, all I could taste. Her blood. Their blood. My Sayaadi's blood.

It was all I could think of, clutched at the back of my mind, as I entered Sankori to witness nothing short of a massacre.

My friends had lain on the floor, blood pooling from their necks, heads and chests. The assassins, thieves, spies, archers, trainees... all gone.

It pained me to the point I felt nothing. I could hardly kneel before my private shrine for the goddess Maldara without feeling a horrible weight yanking at my chest. Even my master had been silenced, words kept to a minimum for us both whether it be in meetings or dining halls, addressing our personal squadrons or the wider guilds.

Amadrya's tears had not stopped since we returned. And while she grieved through loud, ragged sobs, the rest of us shed silent tears.

Ferran remained beside me throughout. When I took leave of any room to stroll down the halls in hopes of walking my grief off, training it off, fighting it off...

Grief was never something I could handle, and neither is it now. Though I have lost any family dear to me and dozens of friends along the journey of clawing my way to Heiress, nothing has ever pained me more than this.

Now, sitting in the trainees' dining hall, there is an eerie silence draped across the room which sets my nerves afire. The back of my mind feels like it is burning, acidity corroding the lining of my gut. I sigh slowly from my nose, making no sound.

Sahar and Julio are at my sides, trapped in a silence deeper than the one already here. Ferran and Nascha sit opposite, staring at their food with lightless eyes. Amadrya, I have not seen since yesterday's noon.

I hook my foot behind an ankle, uncomfortable. It is as if I can hear everyone's thoughts, feel their collective agitation and the thrum of the word: Sankori, deep in the air.

By the Lady, when will this be over? This grief that has warped into... nothing.

Something about wanting it all to be over feels selfish. Can I not mourn my assassins? I knew a great amount of them, addressed all and yet my chest does not seem to comprehend the magnitude of it.

The door opens, and to my surprise Amadrya strolls in. A little spark of hope lights my chest.

Regardless of the confident gait of her strides, I can see the sadness carved deep into her face over the distance separating us. Those amber eyes of hers seem to have sunken deeper into her face, dark circles and tear stains marring usually pristine skin. Her lips are chapped, cut deeply at the bottom from her teeth's incessant worrying. A pang of pain slices my heart, dispelling any hope. I ache for Amadrya. For my archer, my third. My friend.

I wonder if that is the first thing I've felt save confusion since returning. Since seeing their bodies strewn across the base's halls and nearly retching from the sight.

Three people follow Amadrya. The first is none other than Maestra Darciana, her usual smug look removed and replaced with... No. She couldn't possibly feel any sorrow for my lost assassins. They were mine, not hers, not her treacherous Asura, not—

I cease the havoc in my mind.

Beside Maestra Darciana is Veradis, eyes latched onto the traitor woman beside him. Lady, if only he knew what she was—what she is—I've no doubt whatever shines in his eyes would warp into an otherworldly fury that only he could muster.

The elder trainees had spoken of it, spouting rumours of Veradis as I passed through halls and classes, inspecting session after session. Veradis was a mighty warrior, a spy great enough, trusted enough, to be placed in the Dynasty Islands for years without being uncovered. He had slain squadrons of Dinshei, had spent two years training with their Stealth Masters to hone his skills into nothing less than perfection. But, what has grabbed my attention above all, was that he and Darciana are ex-lovers. How, exactly, someone could stomach being her lover baffles me to the point of no return.