Page 6 of Wings of Death

I snatch a towel off the shelf and wipe my face. That wasn’t so bad. I’m not as weak as I thought I was. After a five-minute break, I spend the next hour practicing my flips and mid-air kicks. I finally decide enough is enough once my muscles are screaming for a break.

I hear clapping and catch the Master sitting near the side of the arena on a bench. He heads my way as I take a long drink of water. His wrinkled eyes hold more wisdom than I can imagine, and I can’t help but wonder about his age. His grey hair is pulled up into a bun, his dark brown robes tied at the waist with a gold belt.

“Well done, Zarla. I appreciate your dedication.”

I awkwardly smile at him, and he chuckles.

“You remind me of your mother,” he says with a smile. “She loved the arena. I found her in here practicing on her own more times than I can count. We even sparred together occasionally. She was a powerful angel.”

My vision blurs as tears sting my eyes. It always happens when people speak of my mother. Gods, I miss her. I snatch up my towel and wipe my tears away.

“Do not be afraid to show your weakness. It, too, can be a strength.”

“Thank you,” I say, then cough a little to clear the lump in my throat. “I don’t know much about my mother, so I appreciate you telling me.”

He takes a step forward, his hands clasped behind his back. “I see the potential in you, Zarla. Just as I did in your mother. You have Serona’s strength. And her courage. I haven’t seen either of those or felt their power since training her. But I see it and feel it here now, in you.”

I wipe my eyes once more. “So why can’t I harness my powers? Every single guardian and second in this academy has harnessed theirs. So why not me?”

His eyes soften as he stares at me before walking away. I frown, wondering if I have somehow offended him.

“Follow me, Zarla.”

I grab my bag off the ground, swing it onto my shoulder, and jog to catch up to him. He moves to the back of the arena where several offices are located and heads down a long corridor toward the end room, somewhere I haven’t been before. We pass three offices, each with frosted glass walls and doors creating privacy. The same cedar panelling lines the corridor, and I smile as I breathe in the sweet earthy scent of the wood.

We stop at the end of the corridor outside the room.

“I have something to show you,” he states, then pulls a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the door.

The room is much bigger than I expect, lined with cedar and grey stone walls. The ceiling is low and the lighting dim. There is a grand oak wood desk near the back of the room and several shelves of books and folders scattered around the walls. I brush my fingers along them, noticing the fraying edges and worn covers. These books are old. Likereallyold.

He walks to the very back, and there is another space around the corner behind the desk. A wooden chest sits back there with the most delicately carved angels covering its surface.

“Wow,” I breathe, admiring the beauty of it. It appears ancient.

He gently opens the chest, but I can’t see inside from where I’m standing. He reaches in and pulls out something wrapped in a fine cream cloth. Whatever it is, it’s special. I can feel it. He holds the item out to me as he watches me through intent eyes, and I take it. It’s tied with what appears to be dried strands of a plant. I untie it and gently unfold the cloth to reveal two golden daggers with red and green stones encrusted in the handles. They are absolutely beautiful, and somehow I can feel their warmth radiating through my hands into me.

“They were your mother’s.”

My gaze snaps up to the Master, and I almost drop the daggers. “What?”

He chuckles. “Your mother loved her weapons. They were a treasure to her. She never went anywhere without them. When you were born, she asked that I keep them safe for you. She asked that I give them to you on your eighteenth birthday.”

I knit my brows together. “But that’s tomorrow.”

He softly smiles, the fine wrinkles on either side of his eyes showing with the movement. “I know, but something tells me you’ll need them before then.”

His words send shivers up my spine, but I brush the feeling aside. He has always been cryptic in his choice of words.

“Why wouldn’t she have planned to give them to me herself?”

He places his hands on mine. “It is not for us to question her decisions. The past is the past. Please take them, Zarla. They are yours.”

I study them for a moment, wondering how I will carry them, before the Master hands me some leather straps.

“Here, take these. You can strap the daggers to your thighs or your ankles, however you wish.”

I take the straps and slip them over my boots, adjusting them around my thighs before slipping the daggers in. “How did my mother wear them?”

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