The Martyr and Her Daughters

I: The Martyr

 

3741 DAYS – KSENIA

 

            The tip of the plasma-lined spear passes so close to my eyes I can feel the heat on my irises. I just barely dart back out of the way. The tang of burnt hair fills my next panting breath as ends of my bangs get singed off.

            Gritting my teeth, I drive my own spear upwards, between my body and the weapon, and force the staff away. It’s not enough to do more than make my attacker stagger for a moment. He smirks, spins and swings at me again. But this time, I’m ready for it.

            I catch the incoming spear tip with the end of mine and shove it aside to close the distance between us. In one fluid movement, I continue my sweep and swing my spear right at his ribs—

            The spear bounces away, harmless.

            Before I have time to snap out of my confusion, my attacker takes advantage of the distance I removed, drops to the ground and kicks my legs out from under me. I crash hard to the floor, air knocked out of my lungs. He shoves the glowing, plasma-lined end of a spear in my face, forcing me to stay put.

            I glare up at my opponent’s cocky grin. “You cheated.”

            Fabiyan makes an indignant sound and wrinkles his nose. “I did not!”

            Still scowling at him, I smack the end of his spear away. The plasma—set in training mode—leaves little more than a sting on my palm as I push myself up to my elbows. “I know what a particle field feels like when I hit it.” Eyes narrow, I scan Fabiyan for the field’s source.

            “You’re just a sore loser,” he insists, but offers me a hand up.

            As I take his hand, I see it: a small silver chip clipped onto his belt with a telltale blue dot of a particle field generator. When Fabiyan hauls me to my feet, I dart forwards and snatch the chip from his belt. He twists sideways, but too slow. I back away and pointedly shake the generator with a tight, toothless grin.

            Fabiyan winces. Caught.

            I shake my head at him. “You cheater! Have you been using this all night?” No wonder he was so much harder to fight… I look at the chip more closely. It’s a particle field generator, hot in my fingertips from use, but I’ve never seen one this small. “Where did you get this, anyways?”

            Fabiyan shrugs with a non-committal nose.

            I raise an eyebrow and put more distance between us. “In that case, you can just get another one if I smash it.” I lift my arm and he yelps, arms shooting out.

            “Don’t!” He lunges forward and I dance out of his reach.

            Arm still up, I wait.

            Fabiyan kicks at the training mat. “It’s just something I was tinkering around with.”

            I hold it up in front of my eyes, “Hm,” then pocket it.

            “Please give it back.”

            “I don’t think I will.”

            “Ksenia, please.”

            Grabbing my spear from where it fell when I got knocked over, I take up a fighting stance again. “Give me a proper fight first. Without cheating.”

            Fabiyan sighs, but shifts his feet as well with a crooked grin I can’t help but return. “If you insist.”

            Before we can begin, the door to the training room opens and we both snap our arms to our sides.

            A woman with thick, dark hair pulled back in a neat bun steps inside and passes an assessing look between the two of us. I return it with a cheery smile, Fabiyan with a nod. Polina, my trainer and one of the two masters of the house of mercenaries. Her gaze lands on me. “You know you’re not supposed to be teaching members of other sects to fight.”

            “I’m not,” I say innocently. “I’m just using Fabiyan as a human punching bag.” I swing my spear into his stomach which results in a satisfying “Oof!” He shoots me a look, but I pointedly keep my stare on Polina. “See?”

            Polina chuckles quietly, but doesn’t press it further. “I’m just letting you know we won’t have our evening session tonight.” She flashes me a smile and gestures to the house through the door behind her. “I’m busy with preparations for tomorrow’s festivities.”

            I beam back at her with a knowing waggle of my eyebrows. “Okay.”

            Tomorrow me, Fabiyan, and the other trainees in our year will be initiated into the mercenary house properly. At sixteen, or just about, it marks the end of almost ten years of training for me, a little less for most others. And it means we’ll finally be able to get hired out on real jobs, with pay. We’ll finally get to see the world.

            With one final glance between us, Polina turns to leave. “You two behave now.”

            Neither Fabiyan or I move until her footsteps have faded away.

            He shoots me another look that I return with an unapologetic smile. “That was low.”

            I have been teaching him to fight, and I’m not supposed to be. So he couldn’t very well act like he knows who to use a weapon as well as he does in front of Polina. Squinting at him, I smooth my hair back and wipe the sweat off on my pant leg, pausing to pat my pocket with the chip a few times. “Be grateful I didn’t hit you lower.”

            Fabiyan snorts. “Fair enough.” He lifts his spear again. “I do still need that back.”

            I return the gesture, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Come and get it.”

            This time, I kick his ass.

            When he finally picks himself up, groaning, off the mat, I toss him his little tinkering project.

            Breathing hard and muscles burning with satisfaction, I ask, “Another?”

            Fabiyan shakes his head. “Nope. I’m good. It’s probably time to meet up with Aysan and Tarrow anyways.”

            Smirking, I poke him in the side as I sing-song, “Someone just wants to see his boyfriend.”

            He smacks my hands away. “I want to actually be able to stand for my initiation tomorrow.”

            Still giggling, I follow him into the hall, spears back in their racks.

            Outside, the wind howls though the valley the house is carved into the end of, an imposing cliff face at the back and a long, winding valley leading to the main gates. Half of the hallway is striated grey stone, the same as the valley cliffs. The other half is made up of columns and arches that overlook the inner courtyard. A thick blanket of snow covers the ground, cold kept at bay by the much larger particle fields lining the walls.

            A rectangle made asymmetrical by the shape of the valley, training rooms and other communal spaces like the dining hall inhabit the long sides of the house. A towers stands at each short end, warm light spilling out of the living quarters’ windows. One for the hereditary members—people whose families have been in house for generations—and one for the non-hereditary—outsiders who were brought in by another member.

            It’s the latter Fabiyan and I make our away towards, when we have the unfortunate luck of running into two members of the former. I never learned their first names, but they like to tout the family names enough: Claus and Nickoli.

            Fabiyan shoves his hands in his pockets and keeps his head down, shuffling to the side of the hall to give them more space. I hold my ground and smack into the shoulder of the closest one, Claus.

            He scowls at me over his shoulder. “Watch where you’re walking.”

            I turn my nose up at him. “I’ll walk where I please.”

            In a flash, he grabs me by the front of my shirt and picks me up, holding me against the cold stone. I have to force myself to not lash out. Fabiyan presses himself against the wall beside me.

            “Cocky today, aren’t we?” Clause sneers, Nickoli drawing himself up to full height behind him, arms crossed.

            Hands gripping the ones holding my shirt, I unclench my jaw to say defiantly, “After tomorrow you won’t be able to push us around like this.”

            Claus scoffs. “Get a hundred tattoos, it won’t make you anything more than some non-hereditary bit—”

            “Watch your language,” Fabiyan snaps quietly, but as sharp as I could want.

            Both boys turn their attention on Fabiyan. Nickoli shoves him harder into the wall. “The hell you gonna do, Shade? You can’t hurt anyone unless they’re strapped to a chair. At least Miss Mouthy over here can fight.”

            Fabiyan says nothing, but I catch him running his thumb along the outside of his finger forcefully. A small tell that only shows up when something hits a nerve and he’s trying to hide it.

            Before I can fully commit to starting a fight, an imposing shadow overtakes the hall, clearing his throat.

            All four of us snap our heads to the figure, a broad-shouldered man built like a mountain. Arseni, the second master of the house, and head of one of the oldest families in it, since his father died last year. Even the other hereditaries wither under his stare, which wanders to where my leg is poised to kick Claus.

            Heavy gaze on Fabiyan and I, Arseni says, “Let’s not cause trouble the night before your ceremonies.” The soft words clash with the icy edges that line each syllable. To Claus and Nickoli, he adds, “These are my son’s friends, after all. I’d hate to upset him before the big day.” He sounds as happy about the relationship as I feel about him defending us. Which is to say, the words grate like sandpaper.

            “Yes, sir.” Claus sets me down, but still has time to give me another dirty look. I bite my tongue to keep from sticking it out.

            Arseni casts another stare of all of us, hands behind his back, then carries on his way. As he passes, I swear a chill follows.

            Arseni’s back firmly to us, the four of us glare at each other for a moment longer, before Nickoli and Claus follow after him. But not before Claus mouths, “Bitch.”

            My face heats and I put my hands up. “Alright, come here you son of a—”

            “I said.”

            I wince back against the wall and avoid looking at Arseni.

            “Let’s not cause trouble tonight.”

            Victorious, the trio of hereditaries leave. Fabiyan has to drag me away.

            “Bastards are lucky they’re Soldiers,” Fabiyan says as we carry on. “If they were Sirens, too, I know you’d beat the shit out of them in training tomorrow.”

            The attempt at levity does little to cool the still-present heat in my cheeks. “They’re lucky Arseni showed up or I would’ve beat the shit out of them tonight.”

            It’s a lie, but I wish it wasn’t. The hereditaries get free reign to rough up who they want, but that doesn’t mean the non-herediatires would face the same lack of consequences if we retaliated in kind. Right now, I couldn’t care less. But I don’t want to drag Fabiyan down with me.

            When I don’t say anything else, Fabiyan runs a hand up and down my back in silent understanding. We maintain the silence until we get back to the shared trainee bunks and grab our coats and boots for our promised rooftop rendezvous.

            Aysan and Tarrow’s voices drift down from above. Just before we climb up, I grab Fabiyan’s arm. “Thanks. For cutting him off.”

            Like with Polina, he would have had to just take anything they’d thrown at him or get me in a lot of trouble.

            “Of course.” He puts a firm hand on my shoulder, brow furrowed in determination and something like apology. “We’ll show them. One day.”

 

 

3741 DAYS – KSENIA

 

            Aysan and Tarrow are talking when Fabiyan and I pull ourselves onto the roof, Aysan with a hand casually hanging off a knee and Tarrow listening intently. They both stop when they notice us. It used to bug me, the line Aysan drew between hereditary and non-hereditary. Even when we were friends and had been since he started talking to me when we were kids and kind of just didn’t stop. Tarrow had been his shadow and Fabiyan mine and so we all became friends by proxy.

            But after a while, I decided I didn’t care. They could keep whatever top-secret hereditary shit they were talking about.

            Aysan gives us an easy smile. It’s a rare thing to see outside of Arseni schmoozing potential clients, but Aysan smiles just like him, even though his frame is still gangly. “What took you guys so long?”

            I stretch my arms above my head to buy myself time to shake off the unease and shrug. “Just had to kick Fabiyan’s ass a couple extra times.”

            Fabiyan snorts, but also doesn’t mention our meeting with Claus and Nickoli. Or Aysan’s father. He runs a hand affectionately through Tarrow’s hair before bending down to give him a kiss.

            Tarrow accepts both gestures awkwardly, hands held tight to his chest like he’s not sure what to do with them. Not because the relationship is new—it’s going on almost a year now—but because I don’t think Tarrow knows how to be anything but awkward. “You alright?”

            “I’m just fine,” Fabiyan assures Tarrow as he takes a seat next to him. Tarrow lies down to settle his head on Fabiyan’s lap, wiggly roof tiles clinking lightly with the movement.

            Outside of the particle fields protection, the night air is icy on my cheeks and freezes the inside of my nose when I breathe in.

            I plant myself between Aysan and the happy couple and try to think of something to distract myself from the walk here. “So.” I give a glance around our rooftop group. “Where are you going to get your tattoos?”

            While the tattoos that we get with our initiation are partly a status symbol, they do serve a practical purpose of holding bio-nanos that connect to our weapons or other tools we use, so we can control them without the need to put on additional equipment. It’s built in, ready to go.

            Aysan shifts to dangle his other hand off his knee. “On my chest, over my heart, of course.”

            I chuckle. “Very traditional of you.” Not that I expect anything less from Aysan.

            He makes the sixth generation of his family being members of the house, and six generations of Soldiers. Like the name implies, the Soldier sect makes up an army for hire. Not that Aysan will likely ever see any real deployment.

            “Fitting, though.” Fabiyan absent-mindedly runs his fingers through Tarrow’s hair as he gives Aysan an assessing stare. “For the house’s next master.”

            “You don’t know that.”

            Fabiyan and I laugh, Fabiyan with more bitterness than me.

            “Good one, Aysan.” I turn to Fabiyan and Tarrow. “What about you two? Anything more interesting?”

            Tarrow wrings his hands. “I mean, Shadows don’t have a ton of options, for practicalities sake.” He shrugs. “Probably just on my thigh. Somewhere easy to hide.”

            While the Shadow sect is trained to use all kinds of fancy devices to turn them invisible while they carry out their spy work, there are times that demand they go around visible. Advertising their affiliation as trained spies would put a damper on things.

            “Wow, are you all going to be so boring?” I flick my eyes to Fabiyan. “Counting on you here, Fabe.”

            “Eh, I haven’t thought too much about it.” He looks up, breath steaming in front of his face in the cold as he thinks. “I heard the hereditary Shades were planning to get theirs in matching places, not that I was invited.”

            Shades are the smallest sect, with only five allowed to be trained per year. Fabiyan is the only non-hereditary Shade in his year, and one of only three in the house.

            “Aw, come on,” I give him a shove, “you should join in just to spite them.”

            Fabiyan wrinkles his nose. “I’ll pass. They already don’t like me.”

            Tarrow nods along silently. His father joined as a non-hereditary making Tarrow a first generation hereditary. Tarrow doesn’t get the worst of it, but his dad remembers what it’s like.

            Aysan, as per usual, is blissful unaware, asking with a blank stare, “How come?”

            Fabiyan, Tarrow and I share a look. Fabiyan sighs and starts, “Well for one—”

            “Do we have to get into it tonight?” I interject. “We’re supposed to be celebrating.” I give Fabiyan a pleading stare.

            He searches my face for a moment, then nods. Tarrow clumsily takes Fabiyan’s hand, earning a small smile from him. “I wouldn’t want it on my hand anyway. I’m thinking of getting it on my back. Somewhere out of sight.”

            “Why? It’s not like you need to hide it,” Aysan’s voice takes on an edge of distain too sharp for my liking as he continues, “in your line of work.”

            “Hey!” Aysan should consider himself lucky his dad is who he is, because he is within perfect kicking range. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            Aysan holds his hands up. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way! It’s just… you know…”

            While not hired often, Shades are paid very well for what they do, tasked with getting information out of people or sometimes just scaring someone into doing what someone else wants.

            “And?” I press, raising an eyebrow. “You gonna judge me for planning to go out and kill people too?”

            “No! No, of course not!” Aysan reaches a hand out towards me back I brush him off. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Really.”

            “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

            Aysan leans around me to look at Fabiyan. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

            Fabiyan shrugs, staring down at the roof. “It’s fine. I know my job isn’t a well-liked one. I’ve made my peace with it.” His thumb running up and down his finger tells me otherwise. But he straightens and asks me, “What about you, Ksenia? I have a feeling you’ve thought this out more than the rest of us.”

            I can’t help but grin, a crooked line. “I’m thinking of getting it on my neck.” I drag my fingers lightly over the side of my neck, imagining phantom bumps of ink and bio-nanos underneath. “I think it’ll look cool.”

            Tarrow winces. “Isn’t that going to hurt?”

            “Only for a bit.” I lace my fingers behind my head. “Besides, it’s not like I have to hide my job.”

            Sirens are bodyguards for hire, either for a prolonged period or for a single event. All kinds of high-profile people come looking for protection. I was told when I picked that sect it was probably the most dangerous job in the house, aside from some high-level spy work. Working alone and by nature of the position putting a target on your back. But the allure of getting to step into the glittering world of any powerful enough to need such protection was too much, even if jobs have a tendency to end in blood. Plus, we get to learn to use the most weapons.

            “I worked my ass off to get here.” I lie back on the worn roof tiles to watch the stars between puffs of my breath. “I want to show it off.”

            Fabiyan leans over to give my leg a squeeze. “You deserve it.”

            I smile and let myself enjoy the warmth of being surrounded by friends, familiar and comfortable. As clueless as some of them are. The hardest part is over. After tomorrow, things will be different.

 

===

 

            The initiations take place in the oldest part of the house. An offshoot of the hereditary tower carved deep into the valley walls. It’s my first time inside and, frankly, probably my last, unless I take on a trainee of my own one day. Compared to the celebrations in the rest of the house, the cavernous stone room seems even more quiet. Absent are the streamers and flags are hung up with the colours of each sect that decorate the rest of the house. Maroon, emerald, navy, indigo; Solider, Siren, Shadow, Shade.

            And I’m alone in the antechamber, my steps echoing off the vaulted ceiling as I pace.

            Somewhere far above, a hollow bell chimes, signaling me to enter the chamber beyond.

            Typically, the ceremony takes place with three witnesses: the two masters and the trainer. But in my case, two are one and the same. Polina regards me warmly as I step inside. I forget sometimes Polina’s a hereditary, too—third generation through her grandmother. It’s easy to forget, especially when she’s standing next to Arseni who looks down his nose at me like I’m an inconvenient pile of snow.

            But today, I don’t let him daunt me. He can think what he wants, but I’ve earned this. I’ve proven I have just as much right to be here as him or his son.

            I vibrate with excitement at the sight of the weapons on Polina’s hands. Soon to be mine. Passed down from trainer to initiate, the weapons limit the number of active members in the house. Most often from parent to child, but not always.

            A hovering brazier in the center of the room dances with flames that run warm hands over my face as I step closer.

            Polina steps to meet me on the other side to the brazier, playing the role of trainer for now. “Ksenia. We gather here today to mark your ascension from initiate to full member of this house of mercenaries. To mark the passing of the torch and weapons from me unto you.” She sets the weapons down on a cushioned table and holds out her hand to Arseni, who passes her a metal dagger.

            It’s unlike any of the plasma-lined weapons we use, heavy and dead in her hand, blade gleaming in the firelight. An ancient thing. She pricks the tip of her finger and then presses her bleeding digit to the handle of each weapon. First the plasma spear, then the recall whip, and finally the hover knife. Each time, a small compartment opens and spits out a small glass vial containing her blood, which codes the weapons to only respond to her.

            As the last vial pops out, her tattoo on her forearm glows faintly for a moment, then falls dark.

            Gathering all three vials, she holds them over the fire. “I relinquish my control, my service ended,” she pauses to give me a proud smile, “willingly and in good spirits.”

            I stand taller.

            With a final breath, she tosses the vials into the brazier, glass shattering and blood burning away with a hiss. Polina quicky cleans the dagger and then steps back and passes it to Arseni, now back in the role of master.

            I steel myself as Arseni steps forward and holds out his hand. Every memory of nights spent patching up Fabiyan or Tatiana or any of my other non-hereditary friends from hereditary attacks hisses at the thought of touching Arseni. But I do. My hand is even steady as he takes it in his grip.

            “I, Arseni, Soldier master of this house, one of two, deem you worthy to ascend into our ranks.” He holds the blade over my palm and levels me a cold stare. “Willingly and in good spirits.” The words sound like pulling teeth.

            I just grin back at him. I suck in a sharp breath as metal splits skin. He cuts deeper than he needs to.

            Arseni drops my hand as quickly as he can and passes the dagger to Polina. She takes my hand much more delicately, calloused hand familiar on mine. “I, Polina, Shadow master of this house, one of two, deem you worthy to ascend into our ranks.” Like she noticed Arseni’s distaste, she gives my hand a gentle squeeze and says extra forcefully, “Willingly and in good spirits.” Her cut is quick and shallow.

            I wait a moment for the blood to pool in my palm before I say like I have every night for the past month in practice, “I, Ksenia, have proven myself worthy and enter the sect of Sirens,” my smile stretches so wide I’m sure my face will split open, “willingly and in good spirits.”

            Polina passes me three vials and, one at a time, I fill them before she slots them back into the weapons. The three weapons buzz to life and my stomach does summersaults in response.

            The tattoo machine is a thick, palm-sized disc that Polina takes from Arseni. “And where would you like it?”

            Beaming, I turn the left side of my neck towards her and run my fingers over it like I did last night. “Here.”

            Arseni can’t help but scoff at the unconventional placement, but Polina chuckles as she holds the device in place.

            With a hiss and a moment of stabbing pain I answer with a gasp, it is done. Too eager to wait, I give my fingers a few experimental flicks. The hover knife lifts up and darts back and forth over the cushion, the end of the whip twitches and the plasma on the spear tip ignites. I bite the corner of my lip to hold back a very childish squeal of delight.

            Polina steps closer, my trainer once more. She takes my head in her hands and tilts it forward to plan a gentle kiss on the top of my head. Tilting it back up again, she playfully flicks my nose. “Welcome.”

​

 

1901 DAYS – KSENIA

 

            By the time I’m down to the last insurgent, the banquet hall is a living testament to why you don’t fuck around with black market plasma charges. Which is to say, a disaster of exploded furniture and body parts. Half of the intruders died to their own malfunctioning weapons before I could get to them.

            Popping up from behind her cover of an upturned table, she throws my own spear at me. Credit for grabbing the weapon from a comrade’s body. Points docked for trying to use a bio-encoded weapon against its owner. With a flick of my thumb, I send it stabbing into a wall behind me, fingers on my other hand dancing to call my hover knife.

            It zips out from under a pile of chair pieces and divebombs for the insurgent. My attacks force her to lower the blaster she had aimed at me and instead hold up a hand with a partial particle field to shield herself. I glance over my shoulder at the dignitary I was hired to protect. Still shielding under an upside-down chaise.

            My brief lapse in attention gives the insurgent enough time to get off a shot that clips my shoulder. Cursing, I duck behind a pillar but quicken my attacks with my knife. My hand cramps from all the fine motions of guiding the knife to bob and dive as it tries to get past the shield.

            Sweat dripping down the back of my neck, I scan the mess for my recall whip. It lies exposed right in front of the dignitary’s chaise. Taking a breath and quickening my attacks to a blind fever-pitch, I dash for it, sliding behind a table of my own as I snatch it. Barely to a stop, I bolt up and snap the whip out and flick my wrist, tattoo humming faintly on my neck as it shifts control from my spear to the whip. The intruder moves to block the whip and at the last second, I curl my fingers, wildly changing the direction of the whip’s end to slice through the shield generator. And her arm.

            Her cries fall silent as I remotely drive my knife into her neck.

            In the eerie calm of the destroyed room, I brace my hands on my knees, panting hard. Pushing my hair out of my face and letting out a long stream of air, I collect my weapons and go through the familiar motions to attach them to me. Knife and whip at my hips, spear across my back.

            Straightening, I collect the shaking dignitary from their plush shelter. I take their arm and guide them through the wreckage to a hidden door that got blocked by a fallen column when a macgyvered hover knife blew up at the start of the fight. With a few choice swings from my spear and a good shove, the pillar falls away and I push up the door, sweeping an arm towards it. “Right this way, Mx. Romanov.”

 

===

 

            The job finishes a few uneventful days later when I escort Mx. Romanov to the atmosphere airport, along with some additional security. An apology gift from the politician they were here to meet with.

            “I can’t thank you enough,” Mx. Romanov repeats as they shake my hand on the tarmac. “I must admit I was skeptical about you mercenaries you have here. But… what was your name again?”

            I contain my smile to a professional level. “Ksenia.”

            “Ksenia, yes. I may have to bring you back to my own country from time to time.”

            Giddy, I let my smile stretch a little wider as I give a nod. “It would be my pleasure.”

            With a final wave, they board the atmosphere plane and I take my leave. As soon as my back is turned, I break out in a grin and silently pump my fist in celebration. Only twenty-one and already getting offers for out of country work… Part of me is thrilled something went so wrong so I could show off. Maybe that makes me a bad person. But I don’t really care.

            A self-driving shuttle takes me back through the city towards the valley house. Glistening skyscrapers and densely packed buildings all glow with warm light—pinks, oranges, and reds. Other vehicles blast past, some on group level like me and others on high-wire rails above. I used to dream of just coming here when I was little and living outside the city, on the outskirts of the world. How things have changed.

            As we drive, I take off my jacket and spread some more generative-gel on the blaster wound. It’s mostly healed by now, nothing more than a patch of faintly pink skin.

            The shuttle slows to a stop a distance away from the valley house, an invisible boarder preventing vehicles from coming any closer. A no-fly zone from the sky to the snow. I step out into the crisp air and take a deep breath. Home once more.

            I wave at the Soldiers guarding the gate to the house and make my way to my room in the non-hereditary tower to shower and change. A private room, now. For a while after I moved in, I found it hard to sleep. Fabiyan and Tatiana and I had sleepovers for months after our initiations. I crack a window to air out the place and the smell of food drifts in. Looks like I got home just in time for dinner.

            The dining hall is alive with voices. Long tables with benches fill the space, with buffet tables lining the sides. I pile up my plate with familiar food and scan the room for friends. Aysan is at his family’s table at the front of the room eating with his parents. He notices me scanning and waves me over. I wave back, but pointedly look for somewhere else to sit. I think Aresni would have my head if I tried to eat at the same table as him. Tarrow and Fabiyan are absent, but I see Tatiana and some other non-hereditaries from around our year.

            When she sees me approaching, Tatiana shuffles to make space for me next to her. “Welcome back!” She throws her arms around me in a sideways hug. “How was it?”

            “A bunch of numbskulls tried to use homemade plasma weapons.”

            Tatiana and Yuri, Shadows and less familiar with weapons don’t quite follow, but Boris, a Soldier, grimaces.

            For Tatiana and Yuri, I add, “Most of them blew themselves up before I did anything.”

            Tatiana sticks her tongue out in disgust.

            I snort. “Yeah. There’s a reason they’re illegal to make yourself.” That and so only we can use the good weapons. I scan the room again. “Where are Tarrow and Fabiyan? Did I miss them?”

            Boris checks over his shoulder. “Tarrow’s sulking around somewhere. He got all weird about Aysan’s offer, according to Yuri.”

            I turn a questioning eyebrow on Yuri.

            Yuri leans closer and lowers his voice. “Aysan recommended Tarrow to be the other master, after Polina. It freaked him out something fierce. Any clue why?”

            I sit back, frowning. “Isn’t Polina supposed to pick her successor?”

            Tatiana scoffs and sneers at her spoon as she twirls it in her fingers. “The hereditaries are ‘supposed’ to do a lot of things.”

            Steering the conversation away from that mess, I press Yuri, “And how did you hear this?”

            He shrugs and says nothing. I’ve suspected for a while now he’s working as one of Polina’s spies, to keep tabs on the goings on in the house. “So? Any clue why he’d react like that?”

            Frown deepening, I shake my head. “No.” Shadow work suits Tarrow well; he’d rather work where no one sees him. He’s never expressed any interest in being in a position of power.  Maybe that’s all.

            “Fabiyan’s working,” Tatiana says, answering the other half of my question. She gives me a devilish grin. “Dragged in the target myself just yesterday morning.”

            “Nice!” I shove her playfully, then pretend to swoon. “Two of my favourite people working together. How wholesome.”

            Tatiana laughs. Boris and Yuri don’t. I assume the nature of Fabiyan’s work, or Shadows’ parts in it, isn’t as funny to them.

            Enjoying seeing them squirm a little, I hold a finger to my chin and continue, “Fabiyan usually works quicker than this.” He’s been making a name for himself as much as I have. “Was this target particularly… tricky?”

            Tatiana scrunches up her nose as she thinks. “Not really.” Barely holding back a laugh, she continues, “Though, he got real weird after I slipped him the drugs to sedate him.”

            “Right! We were in the middle of this story when someone,” Boris waves an accusatory hand at me, “showed up and rudely interrupted.”

            I shove more food into my mouth and turn to Tatiana eagerly.

            Tatiana gestures with her hands as she talks. “Well, sometimes the drugs we use can have some side effects, but this was a new one. The guy starts wobbling, I’m like ‘oh great, it’s kicking in.’ He reaches out to hold onto something and grabs some fancy ass plant,” she shakes her head in disbelief, “and then she starts making out with a plant in the hallway!”

            The three of us burst out laughing.

            “I know!” Tatiana continues. “It wasn’t even anything that strong. It’ll make you a bit loopy before it knocks you out, but it’s not like it’s gonna cause you to hallucinate.”

            “What makes it a fancy plant?” Yuri asks.

            “I don’t know, the guy was rich. What would I know about plants?”

            Boris snorts. “With all the magic potions you Shadows use, you’d think you’d know more.”

            Tatiana kicks him under the table, “It’s not like I make the drugs,” and I laugh again.

            Boris and Yuri’s gazes track something behind me. “Oh, great,” Boris mutters into his glass as he takes a drink.

            I know who’s behind me even before he slides a hand along my shoulders. “Hey, Ksenia.” Aysan looks down at me with a puppy-dog smile.

            “Well hello, Aysan.” I take his hand, running a thumb over the back of it. “Come all the way from your table on high to see little old me?”

            Tatiana rolls her eyes and swirls her drink around her glass.

            “Can I steal you away?”

            With a dramatic sigh, I finish the last of my food and stand. “If you must.”

            Aysan plants a quick kiss on my cheek. I do him one better and kiss him properly, for all to see, then take his hand.

            Tatiana fakes a gaging noise. “You two are insufferable.”

            “You’re just jealous.” I blow her a kiss over my shoulder as I leave.

            She laughs softly into her cup. “You wish, babe.”

            Hand in hand, Aysan and I walk through the halls towards his room, him rattling off master-in-training things I only half hear. I admire his profile in the warm light of the house. He’s puppy-like in more ways than one, having filled out his gangly frame from when he was a teenager to be muscular in a way I take the time to appreciate as we walk.

            We’re nearly at the hereditary tower when I notice two familiar faces across in the hall across the courtyard: Claus and Nickoli. Still haven’t learned their first names, but I do know they’re being deployed even farther up north in a few days to fight what I’m sure will be a miserable battle with no glory.

            I only let my gaze linger on them long enough to see they’re watching us before I turn my attention back to Aysan. Faking a yawn, I stretch my free arm above my head. “You know, I don’t know if I can do this tonight.”

            Aysan turns his worried eyes on me. “What? Why not?”

            “I just got back from a job and I’m just so tired…”

            “But I’ve missed you. You’ve been gone all week!”

            I lean hard on him as I talk, running a hand up and down his arm. “It’s just so far to walk.”

            “It’s not that far, is it?”

            I turn my head so he can’t see the exasperation leaking through in my expression. This boy is lucky he’s a soldier, he wouldn’t know how to breathe without someone telling him how. Walking two fingers up his arm, I throw him a bone. “I could maybe still do it if someone were to carry me the rest of the way.” I give him a look from under my lashes. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

            Smiling in earnest now, Aysan sweeps me off my feet. I treat him to a girlish giggle and wrap my arms around his shoulders as he adjusts his hold under my legs. He says something else. I don’t hear it.

            Over Aysan’s shoulder, I let my smile drop into a withering glare aimed at Claus and Nickoli, lip curling. With a sharp flick of my wrist, I flip them both off behind Aysan’s back.

            They glare daggers at me. One even looks like he’s about to march over here. I pointedly lean my head on Aysan’s shoulder, stroking his hair, not breaking their stare the whole time. In a huff, they both storm off. I watch them go, vicious satisfaction snaking around my heart. Look where this bitch is now.

 

===

 

            Aysan’s room is always too hot. The sheets cling and my hair stays plastered to the back of my neck long after I’m lying still, waiting for him to fall asleep. Once he does, I slip out of the bed and get dressed. I only make it a far as my shirt when he says, “You look gorgeous in the moonlight.”

            I chuckle as I sit on the bed—too soft—to pull on my pants. “You’re such a romantic.”

            He reaches for my hand. “Stay a bit longer.”

            “Can’t.” I give him a toothless smile over my shoulder. “Midnight prayers.”

            He sighs and rolls onto his back. “Can we talk for a bit at least?”

            “What do you want to talk about?”

            “At dinner…” He wrinkles his nose at the ceiling, “I wish you wouldn’t do that…”

            Frowning, I turn to face him fully. “Do what?”

            “Blow kisses at Tatiana.”

            I force a short laugh. “You wish I wouldn’t joke around with my friend?”

            “A friend who’s an ex.”

            I roll my eyes. Here we go… “Yeah, when we were teenagers.” Tatiana and I dated for a while right after we started working. But I was away more than she wanted me to be and I didn’t want to slow my ambitions for her. So we agreed to end it there before we got hurt. And I’m glad we did. I’d miss having her as a friend. But I shove down my annoyance and grin at Aysan. “When we break up, I’ll blow kisses at you, too.”

            He turns to me, brows upturned. “You don’t mean that.”

            I straighten, swishing my hair. “I do. I will blow kisses at you.”

            “You know what I meant.”

            I sigh and give him a serious look and say very clearly, “Aysan, I’m just here for some fun. I told you that from that start.”

            “I know…” His gaze wanders the rumpled bedsheets. “I just thought I could change your mind.”

            I snort, running my fingers through my hair. “You’ll have to do a better job than that to persuade me.”

            I expect the words to be enough of a blow to his ego he’ll let me go without complaint, but instead he sits up and wraps his arms around my torso, pressing kisses into the back of my neck. “Let me try again then,” he says with a grin.

            “I said I can’t.” I lean away and pry his hands from my stomach. “Midnight prayers.”

            Reluctantly, he releases me, but rolls over in bed to watch me leave. “Come back after?”

            I wink at him as I pull open the door. “I’ll think about it.”

            And I do. In the time between stepping out of the room and closing the door. My answer is no.