Page 24

Chapter 24

“WHOA,” I MARVEL AS I follow the others into a room that could fit the entire Syphons’ camp back in The Scorch at least five times over. “What is that?”

Aeson’s grin is cocky as he approaches the massive glass enclosure sitting dead center in the middle of the sprawling chamber. “That is our fully integrated bio-haptic training simulator.”

“The little one anyway,” Commander Ventis announces from behind us.

“Little?” I question with a raised brow.

“We have a bigger version in the south range that we use for flight combat training,” she tells me with a small dismissive shrug.

“Damn, how big is that one?” I ask with an impressed whistle.

“Big,” she answers simply.

Aeson’s Wing file in around us, some of them heading toward the bleacher benches on one side of the training facility, while others take up positions around the room to watch and guard from. My wonderstruck gaze drifts to rows of sleek, modern conditioning equipment, and when I look up, I notice a few observation boxes above.

My thoughts flash to the ragged, piecemeal facility we have back home and all the hours I’ve spent in it, training, bleeding, pushing myself. I’ve probably spent more time there than I have anywhere else, and I have the sudden urge to stamp my sweat and hard work all over this place and claim it for my own.

Dragons are covetous creatures. We collect, hoard, and squirrel away anything and everything that we find valuable. I don’t typically have to combat the innate drive to keep and claim since I haven’t revealed, but when the need to take and own hits, it takes no prisoners, and this place and everything in it calls to me. A few months training in a facility like this and I’d be back to the condition I was in before the Tainted took me.

“You’re drooling,” Aeson whispers in my ear, his sudden closeness jolting me out of my thoughts.

He tugs lightly at the end of the ponytail I just haphazardly threw up, tilting my head back until I’m looking up at him.

“If this place is doing it for you, Claws, wait until you see my private gym.”

His smile is impish and he releases my ponytail and taps his finger under my chin to close my mouth. I didn’t even realize it had dropped open.

I glower over at him, annoyed that I let myself be dazzled so easily. “Careful, Spare, or I’ll think you like me,” I taunt, needing space between us but not wanting to step back and make him think I’m retreating.

“Careful, Claws, or I just might.”

The asshole chuckles as he walks away to join Sondar and Farrow, and I discreetly wipe at my mouth, just to be sure nothing is there.

He’s good. I’ll give him that. I could almost believe he means it, if I didn’t know what was at stake.

The weight of someone’s gaze is heavy on my shoulders, and I look around to find Commander Ventis watching me intently.

“So how does this work?” I ask her, ignoring the prickle of warning at the back of my neck and instead studying the simulator in front of me.

“The system will take a few scans, and then it will run you through a series of maneuvers and drills to gauge things like your range of motion, the force of your hits and kicks, your bite PSI, things like that…”

“Bite PSI?” I question, taken aback. “Is that…a thing?”

One dark eyebrow twitches at my question, and I can feel the judgment radiating off the micro-movement. “We like to train for all actualities, which, for dragons, includes biting. However, we can list that as a disqualifier for your match if it makes you…uncomfortable.”

I watch the female warily as she confidently approaches the solid wall of the simulator. A seam appears, and then a doorway suddenly materializes, granting entry.

I don’t know why Ventis volunteered to help when Aeson told the others where we were going and what we were doing, but I don’t get the impression she’s my biggest fan. She’s not entirely prickly, but something about me is clearly bothering her, and I wonder if she’ll have the guts to outright tell me what it is or if she’ll continue to stew.

“Sure, no biting,” I agree distractedly as I follow her into the transparent enclosure.

Aeson and Sondar are already on the other side of the big cube, and a ribbon of curiosity about the scion and biting starts to wrap itself around my thoughts as I watch him. Quickly, I slam the door and then scurry away from that unwelcome stream of consciousness.

Ventis wanders to the corner closest to us and taps a circle on the floor with her foot. Unexpectedly, a faint mechanical hum fills the air, and a control tower rises from the ground. She swipes her hand over the top of the rising pillar, making a keyboard and screen light up.

“Once we’ve established some baselines for you, I’ll place a few tactors on your body that will create a bio shield that controls the sensory feedback from not only your opponent, but the simulated environment as well,” Ventis continues to explain.

Curious, I reach out to touch the wall closest to me. Surprise filters through my bewilderment when I find it isn’t glass like I thought it was. It’s not even hard like a wall should be. There’s a give to the density of the clear panels, like they’re designed to absorb and distribute the force of a direct hit.

Fascinating.

“How does the simulator even the playing field between opponents?” I ask absently while I circle the controls Ventis is keying things into.

“It doesn’t make two opponents equal per se,” Ventis counters. “Your skill level and experience are still your own. All the simulator does is regulate the force used against one another and help mitigate any damage. The tactors will still mimic the appropriate pain drives and trigger other physical responses, there just won’t be any actual damage done to your body. I suppose the even playing field is that you won’t die. Which is more than could be said if this were real.”

I roll my eyes at her dig, not letting it get to me. I’m harder to kill than she realizes, the last week alone has proven that.

“In other words, my opponent can still hit like a tank, but the pain will all be in my head?” I hedge.

Ventis considers my question for a beat and then nods. “More or less. Now, stand on the X and we’ll begin…please.” She tacks the last part on like it’s an afterthought, and I fight the urge to blow out an exasperated breath.

Nope, she’s definitely not on Team Ever.

I hesitate, looking around for a locker room. “Do I need to change into something else?”

“Do you have anything to change into?” she queries, tapping away at the console in front of her but offering no help beyond that.

I look over to see if Aeson is still in his nice clothes and find him punching a battle dummy that’s risen from the ground. Different sections of the dummy’s body light up, and Aeson aims a hit or a kick there based on the monotone instructions that seem to be coming from the dummy itself. That must be how the simulator determines the base level of force we’ll be using when we fight.

Aeson hasn’t changed into anything more fitting for sparring, but I note his clothes don’t seem to be restricting his movements in any way. The same cannot be said of mine. Then a thought occurs to me, and I look down at my fussy outfit with a mischievous smile.

Finding the clasp at the center of my corset, I unhook it. The stays automatically disengage and I pull the contraption off. I decide to keep my pants on, figuring the patches of armor Nixy said were sewn in will be helpful. Then I remove my silky, off-the-shoulder top and start to unlace my boots.

Back at Nixy’s, I gave my strapless bra the jump test, but I do it again now, twisting and darting around just to be sure everything stays where it’s supposed to. Although, if this fight figuratively goes tits up, I’m not above using a wardrobe malfunction in my favor.

“What are you doing?” Aeson demands, suddenly behind me when I turn around from tossing my discarded clothes out of the cube.

I barely manage to avoid slamming into him while also tamping down on a surprised gasp at his popping up out of nowhere. He moves very quietly for someone the size of a mountain.

“Getting ready to be scanned. What are you doing?” I ask innocently, stepping around him to go stand where Ventis indicates.

He hovers over me as I move, his big frame working to block me from the view of anyone else. His gaze is a sweeping threat as he looks around to ensure no one is watching.

“Why are you naked?” he demands, his hands fluttering at his sides as though he’s debating whether to use them to cover me up. His hard eyes slip slowly down my body, and I feel it like a warm caress against my skin. Heat settles low in my core, and when Aeson looks back up, I find the same heat banked in his gaze.

Leaning a little closer, I bark out a sultry laugh. “I’m hardly naked, Aeson. I can get naked if you need to see the difference though?”

A low, spine-tingling growl vibrates out of him, sounding simultaneously like a warning not to dare and an invitation to take this conversation elsewhere. I suppress a smile.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” he grumbles, pressing even closer to me until I feel his breath tickle down my cheek and sweep across my neck. A needy shiver rolls down my spine, and goose bumps scatter across my body.

I look up at him with a demure bat of my lashes and a playful tilt to my lips. “Because I can’t move in my clothes the way I need to. What’s the matter, Spare? Distracted by a little skin?”

His voice drops low enough to make me shiver. “Is that what you’re doing, Claws? Distracting me?”

Pressing up on my tiptoes, I skim my chest lightly against his, just enough that he can feel a hint of my hard nipples through my bra. I drop my voice to a whisper, and he leans down, hungry to capture every word. “No, I simply don’t want anything getting in the way of kicking your ass.”

At my words, the black of his pupils overtakes the bright blue of his irises. With a satisfied smirk, I drop back down and step back. Before he can say or do anything, a small drone separates from the console Ventis is standing at and flies toward us, stopping a few feet away where it hovers about chest high. Aeson is forced to back up to give the little machine room, and a bright beam of green light suddenly shoots out and starts sweeping up and down my body as the drone slowly rotates around me. When it finishes its circuit, the little floating ball zips away and nestles itself back into the console to upload its data.

“Fine,” Aeson snaps. “Two can play this game.”

With that promising declaration, he drags a finger down the side of his shirt. The movement must activate a hidden zipper, or maybe he uses a claw to slice right through the seam; either way, there’s now a split in the fabric where there wasn’t one before. He removes his shirt and then kicks off his boots so we’re both in matching stages of undress.

Instantly, his dragon mark draws my eye, and I’m tempted to step closer and really study it. I stop myself, figuring there will be plenty of time to look when we’re beating the shit out of each other. Aeson puffs up a little as I take him in, and I shake my head at his arrogance. Not that I can really fault him for it—if I had muscles on muscles like that, I’d never put clothes on.

“That’s an interesting battle strategy, lass,” Ogdan lilts, his gray eyes bright with mischief as he approaches.

I sigh.

“Not a very original one though,” Tove jibes as she joins the party.

“I like it better when you’re both giving me the silent treatment,” I declare flatly. “And it’s not a strategy,” I lie. “I don’t carry around a change of clothes on the off chance someone wants to fight me. And no dragon means no scale armor either, dang it.” I snap my fingers and make an exaggerated pouty face.

“At the rate you’re pissing people off, maybe you should start carrying around fighting gear,” Tove counters.

“Scion,” Ogdan calls, interrupting my caustic retort and nodding in the direction of the entryway. Three concerned-looking drakes I’ve never seen before are standing there over by the room’s entryway.

Aeson nods, his features darkening slightly with concern, and then he walks away without another word, Ogdan and Tove right on his heels. I try to eavesdrop on what’s going on with the visitors, but Ventis calls up my own battle dummy from the ground and runs me through a series of drills to establish my baseline for the simulator. By the time I’m done, Aeson is back on his side of the cube, and Sondar is putting what looks like tiny neon green stickers on the commander’s temples, shoulders, wrists, and ankles.

Ventis steps into my line of sight, a case in her hand with bright green stickers no bigger than my pinky nail. These must be the tactors. Without asking or telling me what she’s doing, she places a sticker on each of my temples, shoulders, wrists, ankles, and one on my chest.

“Are you going to tell me what I’ve done to offend you, or should I keep pretending that you’re not looking at me like I’m a puddle of piss you just stepped in?” I ask the female evenly as she works.

She doesn’t immediately respond, but her scowl cuts so deeply into her features, I’d be surprised if it doesn’t leave permanent marks. She pulls in a measured breath as though readying herself for something.

I do the same, only more discreetly. Just when the silence starts to skirt uncomfortable, she finally looks me in the eye.

“Who is your mother?” she asks me point-blank, a hard edge in her ice blue eyes.

I study her for a moment, wondering where she’s going with this. It’s not odd that she’s curious, but something in the way Ventis is asking makes me think this isn’t about curiosity, this feels like it’s about condemnation.

“Does it matter?” I counter, examining her reaction to my purposeful evasion.

“It does,” she responds simply, giving me nothing more than that.

I narrow my gaze at her. “Why?”

She considers me carefully. And she must see the obstinacy set in my features, communicating that if she wants me to answer her questions, she better be willing to answer mine.

“Because I grew up with Paloma—Queen Tenebrae,” she quickly corrects. “We were very close. And I’d like to know who the king betrayed his mate for.”

I keep my face blank, my body still, as defensiveness washes over me. A dogged determination glints in her gaze when I don’t fulfill my end of the unspoken bargain and answer her question now that she’s answered mine.

She shakes her head and her stare grows distant. “When the scion informed me of who you were, I thought I could remain impartial, professional, but you look like him—like your father. I wasn’t prepared for how that would make me feel. I’m trying not to, but all I see when I look at you is the way he betrayed one of my dearest friends, and…” She trails off, her face forlorn and her words haunted.

I nod, my exhale tired as her words fall heavily between us. She’s hurt and heartbroken, and I’m the only one left to aim it at. It’s unfair and frustrating, and yet, as much as I want to hold her wrongful estimations against her, there’s something in the loss shrouding her that quiets my hurt and calms my indignation. I’ve been there, wounded and suffering and needing someone to blame. I understand the need to try to make sense of something nonsensical.

“I met the queen,” I tell the commander placidly, willing to extend a little grace and empathy despite her resistance to offer me the same. “She gave me this oval-shaped, dark brown candy that her sons loved, and I instantly shoved the whole thing in my mouth. It. Was. Awful. To this day, I can’t remember what it was called, but I will never forget the taste.”

I scrunch my face in disgust and fight off a shiver of revulsion at the dusty memory before continuing.

“I quietly panicked because I did not want this candy in my mouth anymore, let alone have to eat it, but what else could I do? I didn’t want to offend the queen or her sons—who apparently had horrible taste in treats. But she must have seen the dilemma written all over my little face, because she held the bottom hem of her dress up to my mouth and told me it was okay to spit it out if I didn’t like it. So I did. I spit this glob of nastiness right into the middle of her beautiful dress, and she didn’t even bat an eye.”

A sad smile slips across my face, and my throat grows tight as I recall the softness in the queen’s voice and the kindness in her face as she took my hand and gave it a comforting little squeeze.

“I was so nervous, so worried about upsetting her, about ruining her pretty clothes, I started to cry. And then she wrapped me up in a firm hug and let me. She wiped my tears with the clean part of her skirts, and she asked me all about the things I liked to do and eat, about my favorite games and subjects. When I was finally done feeling emotional, she held my hand and said, ‘Ducky, let’s go find you the treat you deserve,’ and we raced to the kitchens and told the chef all about my favorite tart…and then we made it. The queen rolled out pastry dough and helped hand whisk custard because I told her that’s how the cook did it back home.”

My fond smile dims with sorrow, and I notice Commander Ventis lifting a hand to her mouth to hide the tremor of grief there. I take a moment to lock my own sadness down so I can continue.

“I think your loyalty to the queen’s memory is admirable. I was only six when we met, but even then, it was obvious she was the kind of dragoness who merited it. If anyone felt betrayed by my existence, it wasn’t her. She was kind, and she was loving, and she didn’t deserve to die the way she did.”

I pause, a flash of blood suddenly marring my vision as screams fill my head, echoes of Queen Tenebrae’s horror when her begging and pleading for the lives of her sons fell on cruel and heartlessly deaf ears.

My chest aches, it fights my demand for air, but I force myself to breathe in quickly through my nose and then slowly release it out of my mouth. I do it three more times until I’m once again back inside the simulator, looking into the solemn gaze of Narine Ventis, First Commander of The Horde’s Air Fleet.

She watches my momentary struggle but doesn’t say a word. I clear my throat and fist my hands to cover the unwelcome quake in them as the flash of memory fades as quickly as it came.

Resolve and perseverance harden in my features, and I level Commander Ventis with a fortified gaze that dismisses the pity now floating in her own.

“I don’t deserve your condemnation,” I point out. “Whatever you may think about my father, I didn’t ask to be born. I didn’t ask to survive. And I didn’t ask to be here.”

Silence filters in between us, and we both let it linger. Her light blue gaze roams over my face, and then she surprises me with a firm nod, a simple unadorned gesture of acceptance and understanding. She backs up a few paces, and half of a grief-stricken grin slips across her face.

“Gulappe,” she offers.

Confusion settles across my face.

“The sweet her boys loved,” she tells me. “It was called gulappe. It was made out of fermented molasses and very much an acquired taste.”

I shake my head, a small laugh sneaking out. “See, even the name sounds gross.”

Commander Ventis chuckles, but I can clearly hear the loss and heartache in the gentle sound. She turns to leave, and I wonder if I just made things better or worse, or maybe changed nothing at all. I knew there would be drakes who didn’t understand the choices my father and the other Syphons made, but I always thought their judgment or resentments would be reserved for them, not me.

“He likes to talk while he fights,” Ventis calls over her shoulder. “Commander Noctis. It lets him set the pace and distract his opponent while he sizes them up. Don’t let him set the pace, Ducky.”

And with that, Commander Ventis calmly walks out of the simulator and then leaves the room altogether.

“What was that about?” Aeson asks as he strides over, his questioning gaze bouncing from me to the now empty doorway.

“Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, Spare,” I tease, shaking away my lingering emotions and getting my head back in the game. “Now, are we here to have a tea party or fight? Let’s do this.”