Page 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“ P lant your Creator-damned feet!” Mireille shouted.

“I’m…fucking… trying !” Cassandra snarled back, swiping her feathers off her shoulder. High Gods, it was nearly impossible to spar with these wings.

Was nearly impossible to do anything with them.

They’d resumed training three days ago and this morning’s session had started with Cassandra teaching Mireille and Ronin a few poses from the Flow—those slow stretches accompanied by deep breathing that she’d loved performing as a Sister. A way to still her thoughts and awaken her muscles.

But when she’d tried today, she couldn’t keep her balance and had toppled into the dirt, dislodging a memory of Tristan doing the same in the Temple training yard.

She’d shoved down the vision—had been trying not to think about Tristan at all. She was on the edge of a precipice. If she pictured Tristan and Ione together, she’d plunge back into bone-deep despair and lose all the motivation she’d gained during her Kennel visit.

Mireille stabbed her practice sword in the dirt and swiped her wrist across her sweaty forehead. She grabbed Cassandra’s hips and angled her sideways.

Ronin called out from his position against the wall. “Your stance is still all wrong. Angle your body, left foot in front. When you thrust, put your entire torso into the movement, not just your arms.”

Mireille nodded, then stepped back as Cassandra planted her feet and tried again. “Better.”

“Now do the arc I showed you,” Ronin added, picking at his fangs with the point of a practice dagger.

“Must be fucking nice,” Cassandra grumbled, “standing against the wall and barking orders while the females do all the work.”

Ronin blew her a kiss.

Cassandra lifted the sword over her shoulder and sliced down across her body. It felt good— powerful —right up until her momentum slammed her wings against her back and she stumbled forward. A frustrated roar tore through her clenched teeth and she threw her sword to the ground. “This is useless ! I’m never going to be able to?—”

Mireille cut her off. “I know you’re frustrated and feeling like this is impossible. But if you give into those destructive thoughts, you’re never going to make any progress.” She slapped her hand onto Cassandra’s chest, right between her breasts, pressing wet, sweaty fabric against her skin. “ Use it, Cass. Hone your anger into the sharpest weapon.”

Cassandra tore away, then stalked to the side table where Ronin handed her water bottle. “No offense to you both, but I need to be trained by someone with wings . It’s impossible for you to understand. I need to know which muscles to hold, which to relax, and when to do it. How to use the power and momentum of the wings themselves.” She shook her head, knocking back another sip. “I’ve seen Windriders fight with them before. Especially—” She swallowed.

Stop being a baby , she scolded herself. What, now she couldn’t even say his name? If she ever got out of here, she might even have to see him again, Amatu save her.

Her gaze bobbed between the two wolf bi-forms, wondering how in Ethyrios they were dealing with that agony. Forced into proximity despite the cleft between them.

If they could handle it, she could handle it. She tucked damp tendrils of hair behind her ears, put on her big girl mask, and said, “Especially Tristan.”

Mireille assessed Cassandra with a curious stare as Ronin twirled his dagger.

“I imagine it’s quite a sight to see an Imperial Prince turned Vestian Guard fight,” Mireille said.

“It’s incredible,” Cassandra answered, and Ronin grunted his agreement. “His wings act like a third set of limbs. Rooting him to the ground, knocking his enemies off-balance, swatting away weapons.”

Mireille bowed her head, dejected. “I wish I could teach you to fight like that.” She perked up. “What about Silas?”

“The half-human Windrider?” Ronin asked at the same time as Cassandra said, “I was thinking the same thing.”

“He’s powerfully built,” Ronin said. “Looks like he knows his way around a fight.”

Mireille narrowed her eyes. “He’s survived Harvest Night five times.”

“Fuck,” Ronin breathed out, brows raised.

“We’d have to tell him the truth about what I was,” Cassandra said. “What I am. Do you trust him?”

“I do.” Mireille nodded, without a moment’s hesitation.

“Then it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“I’ll talk to him tonight.”

“Why are you seeing him tonight?” Ronin asked, his clenched fist betraying his nonchalant tone.

“We’re on rotation at the Kennel,” Mireille answered, oblivious. “I’ve got a fresh batch of healing tonic to deliver.”

“I’ll go,” Cassandra offered. “I can deliver the tonics and meet Silas there. I’d like to ask him myself.”

Not to mention she couldn’t stop thinking about the words that old woman had thrown at her.

Acting like you’re better than the ones who did this to us.

“Sure, if you’d prefer.” Mireille bent down to pick up Cassandra’s sword. “No more stalling. Here’s what I want you to do for the rest of the day.” She kicked Cassandra’s feet to shoulder-width apart, right below her hips. “Plant yourself. Firmly. Grip the ground with your toes. That’s it. Now, raise and spread your wings.”

Cassandra did as she was told, her back muscles protesting fiercely.

Mireille flipped the sword, then thrust the handle toward Cassandra. “Grip it. I want you to hold your arms up, at shoulder height, and keep them there for an entire minute. Once the minute is up, do that arc Ronin showed you thirty times on the left, then thirty times on the right. Keep your hips forward and only turn your torso. Once you’ve done the sixty arcs, pause for a minute and repeat.”

“How many times?” Cassandra asked, panicky.

“Until you can do it ten times in a row without failure or without slamming your wings into your back,” Mireille said with not a hint of sympathy. Fucking ruthless . “And don’t think Silas is going to go any easier on you if he agrees to help.”

Cassandra wanted to cry. Wanted to curl up on the dusty floor and lay there for eternity.

But then she thought of those humans in the Kennel with no light and barely any food or water.

Thought of the humans in the colonies, especially the obliviates who’d had their minds and memories stolen by the Empire.

Thought of the mixed-heritage Fae here in Tartarus, torn away from their loved ones for centuries.

Thought of Borea and her Sisters, bruised and bloodied on that platform outside the Vicereine’s palace, Imperial broadswords shining at their necks.

Thought of Tristan’s terrified, tear-stricken face as Eamon had pronounced Cassandra a traitor to the Empire.

Thought of Ione claiming Tristan’s lips.

She’d use it. All of it. Every dark emotion that clouded her mind. Grief. Anger. Jealousy. Desire, even. Tristan may have thrust her aside, but she couldn’t deny her heart still pleaded for him.

She’d catalyze the feelings into the fuel she’d use to power this step in her journey.

She gripped the sword tighter, brought her arms to shoulder level and began to count.

“Good,” Mireille said, nodding. “ Good .”

Ronin pushed off the wall and ambled over to Mireille. “Can I speak with you privately?”

Cassandra’s arms dipped slightly as she lost her concentration, wishing they’d stay in here so she could eavesdrop.

But as Mireille and Ronin left the training room, she lifted her arms back into position.

And continued to count.