Page 128 of Ashes of Honor

We were exhausted. Near broken. No magic left. No strength to fight back.

No hope.

Because Amaia would be dead.

Ronan was ready. And he wanted us to feel it—to understand, in the marrow of our bones, how thoroughly we’d already lost.

Reina

Alot of times, when Moe talked, it scared people. Maia was never included in that. But ever since that night Moe never came back to the tent, and I’d spotted her leaving Amaia’s in the early morning, things around here had been weird.

Amaia had changed our plans. Not by much, and I supposed, that’s where all the debate that followed had come from. I knew better than to ask Moe what she’d seen, same way she knew dang well it was bad luck to tell someone about their death. It was the only assumption I could come to after their weird behavior. Still, I didn’t question. What did I know? War wasn’t exactly new tome but this position was. I was here to follow orders and shut the heck up. Set a good example for the others.

All of which would have been ten times an easier task if I couldn’t feel the anxiety seeping off her, Alexiares, Tomoe, and pretty much every leader that cared about what happened to her outside of the war.

I leaned over the cold ground, wringing my hair out and tossing it in a towel. This bathing tent was absolutely disgusting. The less time I spent here, the better. Luckily, I could use my own water and avoid the harsh tap they pulled from the ground for the showers in order to limit exertion.

“Release your inhibitions. Feel the rain on your skin, no one else?—”

“Boo.”

The voice caught me off guard. It was still an ungodly hour and I’d thought myself to be alone. There were barriers at least, but when I entered, no one had been here. Of course, over my singing, it was hard to hear anything else. Couldn’t say I didn’t feel safe here, I supposed.

“Oh. Hi, Finley,” I said, taking a step back at the small but mighty blonde who’d managed to sneak up on me.

“Hi, Reina, pretty voice,” she mocked, rolling her eyes. A smirk tugged at her small, round lips, and she tilted her head, sizing me up. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah. You know what they say; early bird gets the worm and whatnot.” I chuckled, reaching for my toiletry bag.

Finley took a feline step forward, “That is what they say. How’s the water this morning? Fresh.”

I’ll be the first to admit, I was not a fan of how she said that last word. Made me think she wanted to drown me in it for fun andIwas the one who had the power to wield it. Not once had I felt anything other than general contempt come from her. No real emotion. Not love. Not hate. No fear. No sorrow.

Finley replicated those things, but I neverfeltthe true emotion come from her myself.

She was either really dang good at keeping her emotions in check in front of others, or she was a sociopath. Both were pretty terrifying if you asked me.

“I wouldn’t know,” I answered, adjusting the towel sliding off my short hair. “I use my own. Hard water is bad for your skin and hair.”

“Right. I bet you purify yours first and everything.” She took another step. I flinched as she bent down, reaching past my body. Finley froze. A cruel smile slipped into place and she rose back to stand directly in front of me. “You dropped something.”

Her eyes lowered from mine and down to my throat. They flickered back up again and narrowed. “You’re not actually scared of me. Are you?”

She laughed, as though it was an insane thought, though she had tortured my entire family only months ago. I didn’t respond. Instead, I grabbed my brush from her strong grip and turned toward the flap of the tent.

“It must be nice. To live life so … free.”

Her words stopped me in my tracks. Not because they held malice, but because her guard had finally slipped. When I turned to face her, her crystal eyes held nothing but pain. “It became very clear in the early days of all this that showing any ounce of empathy would end up with me and my father dead.”

“No one forced you to torture people and be cruel, Finley,” I responded with a scoff. I refused to feel bad for her. There were better people in the world to pity.

“No,” she agreed. “No one forced me. But I had to make a choice, and I chose to survive. Same as you, same as your precious general, same as every person in this camp. I won’t apologize for the fact that survival looks different on everyone.”

“No one asked you to.”

“When we first arrived in St. Cloud, it was a mess. They were doing … unspeakable things to … vulnerable people.”

How bad could it have been if it had been deemed unspeakable by a woman who not only knew where the line was, but crossed it by choice countless times?

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