Page 14 of Fearful (Powerless Trilogy #3.5)

Death is beginning to understand this difficult human—perhaps even like her.

Lenny holds his assignment’s gaze, silently urging this spilling of honesty from her lips.

“By the age of four,” she continues curtly, “Mother had me training for half the day. My power was the only thing she’d ever really liked about me.

So, she forced me to become what she never could be—lethal, harsh, a condescending bitch. Or so I’ve heard.”

A shadowed smile lifts the Imperial’s lips. “We are both allowed an insulting nickname.”

Blair smothers him with a flat look. “Anyway, it became Mother’s sole mission to mold me into her perfect creation.

She taught me to intimidate, never show fear.

The princes were viewed as my competition, an obstacle I needed to conquer in everything.

” She pauses, looking annoyed by her own unsolicited admission.

“And I couldn’t help but resent them. Not because my mother wanted me to, but because they were allowed to live .

They had so much power, and yet, the boys got to be just that—boys. ”

She is tearing at the skin on her palm now.

“I was never allowed friends, or fun, or food that I enjoyed. My life was not my own. And when I grew tired of forcing the same tasteless slop down my throat, I decided to make that the one thing I could control. I would sneak into the kitchen, stealing spices, fruit, anything I could get my hands on.”

“I wondered why Gail seemed to know you so well,” Lenny murmurs.

“She knew I was taking her supplies.” The Tele almost smiles at the thought. “And yet, she never tried to stop me. Maybe she realized it was my escape from the callous girl Mother required I be. But then”—her voice grows chilled—“the sergeant caught me.”

“Sergeant,” Lenny echoes in understanding. “So, it’s your ma—sorry, mother.”

“She hates when I call her that, which is precisely why I do,” Blair says simply.

“It’s fitting, though—she spews more orders than my father ever has.

So, when she discovered I had a passion that didn’t benefit my fate as a general, she declared that baking was nonsense and ordered I never do it again.

Continuing my family’s legacy is all I’m meant for. ”

Again, Death feels a pang of sympathy.

Lenny leans in, listening closely. Mara is surprised he can go so long without speaking.

“So, I made a deal with her that day,” Blair continues.

“If I won the Purging Trials, bringing more honor to our family than any general could, she would have to let me go.” She looks down at the angry skin on her palm.

“That was four years ago. And I spent every day after becoming the harshest, most lethal version of myself.”

“You had to win,” the Imperial murmurs. “It makes sense now. But… why didn’t you just run away?”

“I was young,” she retorts. “I knew Mother would find me and call off our deal. But now… I have nothing to lose.” Her words are clipped.

“In those Trials, it was my life I was playing for. And if I won, I wouldn’t have to live under the sergeant’s control or the king’s command.

I could start over—be who I want, who I would have been before Mother made me this way. ”

It is like looking in a mirror, Mara realizes, regrettably. Without ever seeing her, this girl knows Death more intimately than most. For they both burn with a passion that Fate laughs at.

Words continue to pour from Blair, threatening to drown her. “So when I killed that girl in the Bowl—Adena—I thought it would be all worth it in the end. I was supposed to win those Purging Trials. I had calculated my score, knew that if I finished that maze first, I would be free.”

Lenny hangs his head. “But the Resistance attacked.”

Yes, Mara did remember collecting the sea of limp souls from that sandy arena. They were all quite content to be dead, she recalls. For most possessed a certain calmness that only accompanies purpose. Hope.

“And there was no winner for the sixth-ever Purging Trials,” Blair muses.

“Mother refused to hold up her end of the bargain, so it was all for nothing. All the malice I met the world with, all the blood I spilt in the arena.” Her voice sounds oddly strained.

“That was my first deliberate kill. I really thought she was a criminal. But Adena’s death didn’t even let me live.

So, yes,” she states plainly. “What you said to the Tele was true.”

A stiff silence swells between them.

For the first time, Death feels as though she should not be intruding on this moment.

The pale moonlight peeking down on the tense scene paints Lenny’s lashes silver. Blair must notice this too, because she is staring rather intently at him. That would be a first.

“So now you have nothing to say?” she finally spits.

The Imperial smiles thinly. “ ‘We are made this way.’ That is what you said to me about… well, bitches. And I think I understand that now.”

He looks at Blair, as though this is his first time truly seeing her. Mara is quietly envious—she has never been on the other side of such a stare. Not on this side of eternity.

The Tele nods distantly. “My mother was made too. With a weak power, she was forced to feign strength. It’s why she hates me for wanting to waste mine on passion.”

“I’m sorry,” Lenny offers slowly. “About all of it. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

His words only remind Blair to slam that stony facade back into place. She straightens with a wince. “I don’t need your pity.”

“No, you don’t,” he agrees. “That’s why I’m offering you my help instead.” The Imperial nods, his mind elsewhere. “You’re going to get out of here. And I won’t let my reputation get in the way of that.”

“But”—Blair’s facade is crumbling again—“you were going to find a way that didn’t make you look even more weak—”

“Thanks, yeah, I remember,” Lenny cuts in swiftly. “But that attack earlier… That was a reminder.” He swallows. “It’s time to cut the shit and face it—I will always be weak. You were right. No one expects me to actually protect you.”

There is a forced tone of hilarity in the words, one Death is certain he has honed over the years. He is likely used to diminishing himself before others get the chance, hiding behind his humor. It’s a sad cycle, Mara decides.

“Fine.” Blair folds her arms, wincing yet again. “Then I’ll teach you how to be powerful.”

The Imperial finds this funny. “Shit, are you being nice to me? How hard did you hit your head?”

“I can demonstrate with your skull.”

“Look”—Lenny lifts his hands defensively—“I appreciate the shockingly kind offer, but I’m a Hyper. ‘Powerful’ just isn’t a word that applies to me.”

“That’s because you’re only relying on your ability,” the Tele drawls lazily. “Real power resides in how you’re perceived. It’s all an act.”

“And you?” the Imperial asks slowly. “Are you all an act?”

Blair is drenched in moonlight when she lifts her chin. “The act is all I’ve ever known.”

Yes, Death decides.

It is like looking in a mirror.