Page 22 of Of Realms and Chaos

“If it were anyone else, you would not hesitate to do so!”

Henry had been right, of course. I could do nothing for them if I were not alive. He had also laid bare a truth Bellamy had been hesitant to acknowledge: there was nothing the prince would not do for me. We all knew it, but it was during that argument—when his response had been storming away rather than denying the truth—that had made us all distinctly aware of the extent. Aware of just how much he would sacrifice for me.

It was unnerving. Unsettling. Uncalled for.

And I was unworthy.

So instead, I did my best not to think of my friends, to find distractions in mead and plotting and complaining. Apparently, now I would find those distractions in training. Which made sense, as our journey was not a vacation or a time for sightseeing. There was purpose to this choice, one that would alter the outcome of the war that we now understood was inevitable.

A sad and unfortunate truth that left all of us on edge as we concocted a plan that was simultaneously ludicrous and undeniably brilliant.

It was my idea, after all.

“Ash?” Henry’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, his hands gripping either side of my face to bring my gaze to his.

I blinked. Once, twice, three times.

My mind rarely turned off these days. Though, thankfully, Bellamy had taught his Trusted well. It was rare for their mental shields to slip. Henry’s in particular was strong, a wall of bright white light that felt as if it burned through my power. So it was only my own thoughts that plagued me.

“Sorry,” I said with a sigh. I got up, snatching my dagger off of the bedside table on my way towards the cabin door. I doubted it would work for throwing, but I felt grounded when it was in my hand. It had not glowed since Haven, no matter what I did to it, as if only death could please the runes enough to light up.

Henry did not mention my aloof state again, opting to grab my hand and lead me quickly out of our cabin. Slow, that was what he often called me. This ship had made walking especially difficult, so he was prone to drag me around and ignore my nausea in favor of arriving places quicker.

I could not wait to never step foot on one of these wretched things again.

We stopped once so I could dive for the edge, dry heaving as my body attempted to find anything to expel from my empty stomach. Henry huffed but once again held my hair, mumbling under his breath about how horribly embarrassing I was.

“Ah yes, I am a poor excuse for a sailor. Remind me to find a new dream, as being a pirate is officially off the list.” There was very little bite to my tone, but I rolled my eyes and squared my shoulders all the same.

“Dramatic as always.”

When we found an open spot on the deck that would allow us to train, Henry opened his faded brown jacket to reveal multiple black straps and sheaths covering his body, cinching the thin white tunic and highlighting the thick muscles of his chest. Daggers, smaller and sharper than my own, sat poised for dealing death. Each of them had blue hilts, the same stunning color of the demon sigil.

He grabbed one, freeing it of its confines and placing the tip against his finger. The sharp metal glinted in the morning light, the beauty lethal and violent and strangely alluring.

“First lesson of the day, little brat. We all must face death eventually, but it is what we do when we stare into its wicked eyes that defines our fate. I do not believe in choiceless lives and moments of chance. You see an obstacle, and you overcome it. You hear the call of your end, and you deny it,” Henry said, pointing the dagger at my chest. “You, Asher, will not lose. You will not concede. You will not die. Now, repeat that.”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. There was something about a demon demanding me to repeat an oath to live that really got on my nerves.

“I will not lose, concede, or die. Can we move on now?” I asked, batting the dagger away. I felt the blade slice through my skin, blood welling on my hand.

It was impossible to deny how good it felt, the bite of pain. More than that, the idea of a beautiful new scar to tell the story of where I had been was enticing, addicting.

My olive skin now bore evidence of the afriktor attack, the demon fight, the battle of Haven, and all of the many sparring sessions that had left me bleeding. This would be a wonderful new addition.

Quickly, I slid my hand across my black trousers, the blood smearing away, as Henry watched me with keen eyes that always saw more than I wanted him to.

“Ash,” he said, the soft whisper of his voice making my heart ache. His dagger slowly lowered, the concern he felt evident in the furrow of his brows and the downturn of his lips.

Silence was my friend in situations like these. I could not talk about the way I felt, could not explain the pain when a lifetime of experiences and rules had taught me to hide it.

So I did the only rational thing I could.

I punched him in the face.

My fist connected with his cheek with a resounding crack, his head flinging backwards upon impact. Pain rippled from my knuckles up to my elbow, not nearly as bad as when I first hit Bellamy those many months ago but still enough to leave me gritting my teeth.

“I should have seen that coming,” Henry chuckled, touching a finger to the cut on his cheek. He smiled, his white teeth shining and his eyes crinkling at the corners.

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