Page 2 of Swift Wings Shadowed Heart
My steps are firm as I make my way to the archway that leads to a set of privies. I raise a hand to push the door open, and suddenly, I freeze, doubt slamming into me with the force of an axe blow. The feeling is so strong I nearly gasp.
What the hell is wrong with you, Rhea?
The idea of taking revenge against this man has made me feel many things, but doubt has never been one of them. He has to die, has to pay for what he did to me… to my family. He ruined everything, turned my father from a gregarious man into a withdrawn, unhappy soul. Cindergrasp stole my father’s zest for life in one botchedCleansingprocedure. He must die.
Except I’ve never killed anyone in cold blood. I’m not a?—
I take a deep breath and steel myself. I will not cower now—not after everything I’ve been through.
I push the door open and enter. Cindergrasp stands in front of a mirror, rearranging his toupee. His face twists in irritation in the looking glass, but when he notices me, his eyes widen.
“Madam, you are in the wrong place. This is the man’s lavatory,” he stammers.
I ignore him and engage the lock.
His eyes widen even more. I can see the gears turning behind his dim eyes. Why would a woman more than half his age lock herself in a privy with him?
I approach. He turns to face me, mind still whirring.
He sees the Scion pin tacked to my dress by my left breast and seems to come up with an explanation for my presence.
“If you believe you can sell your favors to me for a victory in the Rite of Flight,” he sneers, “you are highly mistaken, woman. Go do your whoring elsewhere.” He flaps his hand toward the door.
Of course he would reach this conclusion.
“I doubt even a rotted corpse would willingly do anywhoringwith you,” I reply.
“How dare you? I am the?—”
Fast as the sweep of a dragon’s tail, I put my forearm across his throat and shove him against the wall. In the next instant, my dagger’s point is pressed right below his left eye.
“Scream and I’ll pop your eye out like a malignant tumor.”
His chin trembles, and he makes no attempt to fight back.
“P-perhaps I can help, after all,” he stammers. “I can talk to the Commander, and?—”
“Shut up,” I hiss. “I can get a place in the Sky Order without your help,Neutro.”
“Then what do you want? Anything, I can get you anything.”
“Yes. You will do for my purposes since it’s only blood I’m after.”
A whimper escapes him as his eyes, wet and desperate, rove around.
“Are you trying to figure out who wants you dead?” I ask. “Must be hard. Most people only have to remember a few enemies, but you? So many possibilities. Maybe, instead, you should ask yourself... whodoesn’twant you dead?”
When he says nothing, I apply a little more pressure on the dagger.
He blinks rapidly. “I… I have lots of gold.”
“I don’t want your gold. I already told you. I’m after blood.”
A trickle of crimson slides down his cheek, and at the sight of it, the doubts that assaulted me only moments ago completely vanish, consumed by a wave of visceral satisfaction.
“My name is Rhealyn Wyndward,” I say, and that’s all it takes for the Neutro to do what he came here to do: empty his bladder.
He still remembers my name.
