Page 10 of Broken Destiny

“And what happened to this potential?” I ask, swallowing loudly as a lump forms in my throat.

“She died,” the beastmaster responds as if he’s talking about the weather. “Burst into flames before she could even step onto the star. The smell was horrid.” He studies his fingernails as he relates the story, and I stare at him with my jaw dropped.

And Ansel had said that other positions were available for the losers…had he simply been trying to keep me from escaping into the night? I wouldn’t have gotten very far.

“Seriously, Dighit, that isn’t necessary,” Ansel scolds the younger man, and a snarl curls the asshole’s perfect lips. I’m glad Ansel doesn’t need to bow to this douche, but I’m also irritated with him for not telling me the details.

“She should know what she’s up against,” Dighit responds as if he actually has my best interests in mind.

If he wants to scare me off, daring me isn’t the way to go about it. I shrug. “Might as well get this over with. Tell Kodi I’m sorry.” I direct my words toward Ansel, and I hope he gets the message I won’t dare say out loud. If I die, I want him to try and free the ghost. I don’t know if I manage to relay all that through a single look, but I try.

With a bracing breath, I step forward and position myself on the star, crutches and all. Nothing happens. I glance back at the four men. “Um…” I start to say, but then my vision blurs, and I’m no longer in the foyer. I look around the new space, my eyes wide and my mouth catching figurative flies.

It’s a plain room, but it glows with magic. It almost looks like a cave, with smooth stone walls and no discernible light source, even though it’s dimly lit. The sensation that fills me is more than magic. I’ve come home.

Something moves in the shadows of the corner. Fear chokes me momentarily. My overactive imagination tells me there’s something scary waiting to jump out at me. I’m so worked up, I almost fall on my butt when a little creature creeps from the darkness.

I stare at him unabashedly, and he returns the regard. He’s no taller than my hips and has a pointed hat like a gnome, but that’s where the resemblance stops. His skin is weathered brown like a tree and his eyes are hard and black like raisins - inhuman. He has no hair on his body that I can see, and his features are poorly created, almost like someone formed him out of clay and smashed the statue on the ground before it fully dried. His bulbous nose is bent to the side, his brow is prominent, and his lips are almost perfectly formed. The strange mishmash of beauty and ugliness is oddly enchanting.

Despite his appearance, he doesn’t scare me. I don’t sense any animosity from him. I can’t say how I guess his gender, but his body, although smaller, is vaguely shaped like a male human except for his wings. They’re folded against his back at the moment, but the pointed tips peek over his shoulders. They’re golden brown, brighter than his skin, and softly feathered, but the feathers almost look like leaves.

“Um, hi?” I say after a moment. “I suppose I’m here for some sort of trial?”

He steps forward, his flawless lips frowning. “Who broke your hindlegs?” he asks gruffly, staring at my lower body with a look closer to anger than disgust.

“My legs?” I correct him. I almost feel like I have to answer him, and I grit my teeth against the memories that suddenly shove themselves to the forefront of my mind. He looks up past the protruding brow, eyes drawing together as he studies my face. The memories continue to flash in my brain, little snippets that make me want to cry out. My breath comes faster as I shove them away one at a time before they can fully form. I don’t want to remember.

I barely notice when the little creature waves his hand, but the assault on my brain stops abruptly. I suck in relieved breaths.

“You’ll have to face your past at some point, child,” he declares with a deeper frown. His voice is almost musical, a smooth tenor.

“Not yet,” I gasp. The words seem to leave my mouth without permission like they were pulled from me, similar to my memories bubbling to the fore. “Who are you?” I manage finally.

“Who are you?” he counters. The little room should echo, but it doesn’t. And even though I’ve walked and climbed stairs and am now standing on my own, I don’t feel any pain. It’s a welcome change.

“My name is Zosia…Abram.” I force out the last name. It’s no longer necessary to keep it secret if Ansel is going to spread it around. More than that, I don’t think I could lie in this room even if I chose to.

“And why are you here?” he continues, ignoring my request for his name.

I shrug. “Someone brought me here from the orphanage. Said I might be the next librarian or something.”

“And do you know what you are?”

“A little snarky, a lot irreverent, intelligent, if I do say so myself, and…well…not normal?” I look down at my legs.

The little creature snorts a laugh; the humanity of it surprises me. “You’re not normal, but it has nothing to do with your bones,” he responds, and it sounds like the gospel truth coming from his mouth. “You’re just altered from your normal form. Can you shift?”

“Shift? I never have.” A vague memory of a sphinx pops into my head. It’s difficult to reconcile the image with the picture I have of myself, but I can’t deny the truth in that room. I was a sphinx at some point.

He nods and makes a slow circle around me. I want to turn with him, but I’ll just end up falling on my ass, so my head twists instead. He stops behind me, staring at my back. “Your wings weren’t injured.”

“I have wings?” I gasp with surprise, my heart beating faster. Remembering a sphinx and imagining myself as one are two entirely different things.

“You will if you can learn to access them. Whoever injured your hindlegs endeavored to steal the source of your power and prevent you from shifting, but I don’t believe they succeeded. You’ll be able to shift if you work hard to overcome your memories.”

I open my mouth to make a snarky comment. Hard work and I don’t exactly get along, but if it means I can shift… “Would my legs still be broken if I…” My voice catches.

“Yes,” the little guy says. His voice echoes with sadness. “Unfortunately, yes. But four legs are better than two and your forelegs aren’t injured. You’ll also be able to fly. It’s almost necessary for your position here.”

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