Page 3 of Swift Wings Shadowed Heart
The stench of urine fills the room. I pull him away from the wall and whip him around. He faces the mirror, while I stand behind him, dagger posed on his jugular. With a quick glance down, I confirm my dress is safe from the growing puddle. I still have a Rite of Flight to attend. Damn it if I’ll let this asshole ruin anything else for me.
I meet his gaze in the mirror. He breathes hard, chest pumping. The lonely gas sconce on the wall casts shadows over our faces. My expression is haunted, my mouth an unforgiving line, my eyes two shadowy puddles. His expression is one of horror and realization. I see the moment he understands his life is truly forfeit, the instant he knows no offer of any kind, no matter how generous, will save him from the fate I’ve mapped out for him.
His mouth opens as he prepares to scream, but all that comes out is a strangled moan as I change the grip on my dagger and slide it between his ribs all the way to the hilt. I step out of the way as he performs a macabre dance in which he attempts to reach for the dagger. With strange detachment, I watch as he staggers backward and hits the door to the privy stall, slamming it open. He collapses right on top of the commode and slumps, panting, blood dripping onto the floor behind him.
“For my mother,” I say as his panicked gaze meets mine. “For my father, and for the child you forced to live with her mother’s blood on her hands. Now, the right blood coats my fingers.” I lift my hand and show him the stains.
I watch him for several moments until he goes utterly still, his sightless eyes staring at the ceiling. Using my clean hand, I close the door to the stall, turn to the mirror, and check my dress. It looks as pristine as before. Good.
I turn on the spout and begin washing my hands.
Steps outside. I freeze.
“Someone in there?” A knock rattles the door and my nerves.
Oh, fuck! Now what?!
2
Rhea
My heart pounds. My eyes rove around the room. The only thing that looks slightly amiss is the urine puddle by the wall, and of course… me.
I wait, imagining the man on the other side breaking down the door and discovering the Neutro’s body slumped over the privy.
To my immense relief, retreating steps sound.
I wait for a few excruciating moments until silence reigns again. Tentatively, I open the door and peer out. The hall is clear. I leave the room and hurry back into the party.
The din of conversation and the bright glow of the many candelabra strike my senses with disorienting force. My face feels flushed, and I feel as if everyone is staring at me, able to decipher exactly what I’ve been up to in the last ten minutes.
I feel trapped, short of breath. I need to get out of here. My legs nearly give out as I take a step forward. I cover the misstep by pretending to rearrange my dress, then slip out the closest door. A balcony.
Get it together, Rhea.
I stare fixedly at the vast night sky and take a deep breath. A cool breeze hits my face. Scraggly branches from the woods below scratch the underbellies of the passing gray clouds. Sucking in a breath, I lower my gaze and notice a smudge of blood between my fingers.
Shit!
“Trying to escape,” a deep male voice asks from the shadows to my left.
I jump along with my heart, turning to face the man and folding my hands behind my back. Did he see the blood? Iwastrying to escape, though the sly smile the man wears implies a joke, that I was trying to escape from the party—not from what I did. Yet, I can’t help the wild roar of my heart at the idea of being discovered. My face must tell it all because he quickly bows, looking stern.
“My apologies, Madam. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
It takes a moment to regain my composure, but in the end, I raise my chin and smile. “N-no. No trouble. I just… didn’t see you there. You startled me.”
Quickly, I appraise him from head to toe. He wears a Sky Order uniform, which he fills up damn well. The straight lines of the jacket enhance his wide shoulders, and the form-fitting trousers stuffed into black boots hug his strong thighs with gusto. His dark hair, I can’t tell the exact shade in the dim light, is wavy, loose strands framing his face—not the crew cut of a Sky Order’s fresh cadet. An officer then? His jaw and chin are strong, not to mention his high cheekbones. Piercing blue eyes appraise me back.
I raise an eyebrow admiringly. He is a morsel—a work of art that has a positive effect on my nerves. A good distraction.
His left shoulder, the one where Sky Order insignias are worn, is turned the other way. I wish I could tell his rank to assess him better. No luck there. I don’t see a dragon rider pin either. It could be hidden behind his raised lapel. Behind my back, my hands fidget, though I’m careful not to stain my dress. I need to get rid of that damn smudge.
He looks straight ahead into the night, exposing a perfect profile. Thethump, thumpof wings catches our attention. One of Embernia’s ancient dragons and his rider streak through the sky, heading west. Perhaps a messenger carrying supplies to the front lines.
A wistful expression shapes the man’s face as he stares after the rider and their mount, as if he’d rather be on a scaled back and not this gloomy, ancient castle, surrounded by leafless branches groaning in the wind. Does this mean he’s a rider missing the thrill? Or one of the many Sky Order members who wasn’t chosen and now performs one of the less desirable jobs?
“Most never become riders, Rhea,”my father said when I told him I wanted to join the Aerie Academy. “And if you don’t get chosen, you still have to serve. It will be a lifetime of military service, an existence that will forever revolve around war and conflict. Most women who serve never find husbands or build families. Is that what you want?”
