Page 46 of Between Smoke and Shadow
“Pull through,” Viana yells. “Focus! You just have to?—”
Harrick collapses to the mat. Malek holds the water over his brother’s unconscious face, only releasing it when the elite officially calls the match. The stadium erupts in cheers and boos, and Viana deflates in front of me. She returns to her seat, eerily still as Petra celebrates beside her.
A pair of healers remove Harrick from the ring, while several casters work to free Malek from the mess of stone. He curses at them the entire time, and when they finally destroy the lastboulder, he lurches to his feet. White bone sticks out from his ankle, and his left elbow bends at an unnatural angle.
Malek doesn’t acknowledge his wounds. He hobbles around the mat, managing a sloppy bow in each direction. His fans once again fill the stadium with his name, and he pumps his good hand with each chant.
Malek. Malek! MALEK!
The room shifts with bodies. Harrick’s supporters grumble their losses. Malek’s crowd lingers, still drinking and counting their coin. Viana remains in her seat, long after Nordan and Petra have left. I stand dutifully behind her, wishing she’d go check on Harrick. Pathetic as it is, I want to see if he’s okay.
When Viana finally leaves, she heads not for Harrick but back to her quarters. My stomach is tight the entire time, even as she maintains her stoic facade. She doesn’t look at me as we enter her bedroom, and I’m tempted to leave without permission. It won’t help, not in the long run, and so I stay.
I stand at the closed door, hand clasping the bronze handle. I may not be allowed to leave, but I feel safest here all the same. Viana storms around the room, ripping the velvet curtains from her windows and taking a knife to her duvet. I’m not sure if the violence is making her feel better, or if it’s only digging the anger deeper. Either way, she’s destroyed her room in a matter of minutes.
She lets out a vicious scream, high and piercing, as she tangles her shredded comforter around her shoulders. She’s gone hysterical, alternating between screams and sobs and strangled laughter. I want a guard to overhear her breakdown, to come calm her. Nobody does, and I’m too terrified to intervene.
She stumbles around her room, pausing occasionally to stab something else with her knife. I shrink against the door as she does, hoping her focus remains on her dresser and not on me.The knife leaves hollow dents along its wooden surface, and Viana shrieks with each skewered punch.
When it’s clear no one is coming and Viana isn’t losing steam, I finally clear my throat.
“My lady,” I say from the doorway.
She doesn’t react, so I clear the guck and hesitancy from my throat. If she doesn’t stop soon, she’s going to destroy everything in her room. Fine by me, except I’ll be the one to clean it. I’ll be the one to face her wrath when she realizes all her belongings are damaged beyond repair.
“My lady,” I say again, forcing the words louder. “Perhaps you should lie down for a while?—”
I don’t have time to react, let alone finish my sentence. Viana hurls the knife across the room, and it strikes the side of my face. A flare of pain shoots through my cheek, bringing with it a warm trail of liquid. My legs shake, and I slide down the door before I can stop myself. I clasp a hand to my cheek, feeling the blood pool between my fingers.
She just barely missed my eye.
“Dammit!” she screams. She lunges toward me, arms rattling the door as they frame the space above my head. “Look at me, wench.”
I do, but only with my right eye. She might not have cut the left one, but it’s already swelling.
“That was an accident,” she snaps. “That wasn’t intentional, and I didn’t do it. You fell, all right?” When I don’t respond, she drops to my height. Her long nails dig into my shoulders. “You did that to yourself. Understand?”
I should tell her to go fuck herself.
I don’t say anything at all. Instead, I nod, hand trembling against my face. There’s blood on my lace veil, sticking it to my skin. It’ll be stained now, and that saddens me more than itshould. Harrick gave me this mask, and while it certainly wasn’t a gift, I hate that it’s ruined.
“Good,” she says. There’s a tremble in her voice that almost makes her sound scared. She moves away, returning a moment later. She tosses a scrap of green velvet onto my lap. A piece of her duvet, I realize. “Clean yourself up. You’re dismissed.”
I scrub at my face with the fabric. I’m sure I’ve only spread it around my skin, made a mess of blood and tears. Viana turns away from me, and I take the moment to scramble through her bedroom door. With the velvet still pressed to my cheek, I run from her quarters to my own.
Pathetic.Weak. Helpless.
The words spin through my brain on repeat. Even as I collapse into bed, they whirl faster and faster. I’m sick with it, my own shame and frailty.
I tell myself I would have fought back, if only I’d had the sword or the dagger from the training arena. If I’d had a weapon, I would have destroyed Viana for all her wicked sins. Nobody would ever hurt me again.
I force these ideas to overtake my thoughts. I make them wash away any feelings of inferiority and sadness. If I ever stand on level ground with Viana, with any of these horrible people, I will ruin them until they can’t hurt anyone at all.
FIFTEEN
HARRICK
“This is foolish,” Mother says. She trails behind me as I storm the corridor, her heels clacking against the reflective tile. “At least wait until we speak with the Committee. You don’t have the Architect’s?—”
