Page 35 of Powerful

His hand lifts once again.

‘I haven’t seen you before,’ he says evenly. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Oh, I’m Paedyn’s seamstress.’ I say this as cheerily as I can muster. ‘She sent for me since I’ve gotten quite good at making clothes for her over the years.’

He contemplates this with narrowed eyes. ‘You are close with Paedyn, I take it?’

‘Yes, very.’ I smile, relieved to be talking about something so comforting. ‘We’ve lived in the slums together for years. So, it’s no shock that we are the best of friends!’

‘I see,’ he hums. ‘She must be very happy to have you here with her.’

I nod. ‘Oh, yes, we both are!’

‘Well, you will be happy to know that she survived this first Trial.’ His tone is dull, as if he’d been hoping for a very different outcome.

I suppress my relieved sigh. ‘Of course she did!I’d expect nothing less from Pae.’

‘Pae,’ he repeats softly, lifting the edge of his mouth in that unnerving way. ‘How sweet.’

I do my best to keep the smile on my face, even as I’m shifting uncomfortably on my feet. I’m about to attempt a quick curtsy and swift escape when he sighs. ‘Yes, how fortunate that Pae was not one of the casualties this Trial.’

I blink. ‘Um, if you don’t mind me asking – Your Majesty – who were the casualties?’

He shrugs slightly, as though these deaths mean little to him. ‘Sadie – a shame. I’m close with her father. Oh, and the Veil girl from the slums, though that was unsurprising…’

His voice fades, muffling as my ears begin to ring. My eyes fix on the wall behind him, glazing over as the gravity of his words weigh down on me.

Hera is dead.

All I can think of is Mak. Of the guilt on his face when he finds out, the agony in his voice following every word after.

‘How terrible,’ I say shakily. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’

His voice is eerily cheery. ‘Such is the Trials.’

When he says nothing else, I sink into a wobbly curtsy. ‘It was an honor meeting you, Your Majesty.’

I move to scurry past him and startle when his booming voice follows me down the hall. ‘Oh, I’m sure we will be meeting again, Adena.’

Late afternoon light paints Loot in a warm glow by the time I step onto the busy street.

I would have run the whole way here if it weren’t for my lack of endurance proving that to be difficult. But I followed the path down by the Bowl Arena with much more haste than usual.

The street is packed with shouting customers and squealing children. I push my way through as politely as possible, eyes trained on the crumbling building that houses his shop and home.

I’m not sure how I made it to his looming door, but I’m suddenly standing before it. I raise a hand to knock and—

And the door swings open.

I still at the sight of him.

He’s standing there, eyes glossy and brimming with a guilt that tells me he already knows why I’m here.

‘I felt you coming,’ he whispers, voice weak.

My eyes drift to the crumpled paper clutched in his hand, catching the familiar lettering scrawled across it.

A flyer for the Trials.

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