Page 24 of Daughter of the Darkened City

Enid grinned at Melina’s firm tone. Good for her.

Kaemon sighed. “Yes. I would. It’s been eleven years and I feel like I barely know them…”

His voice trailed off, and it was silent for a moment. No doubt Melina was hugging him, or something as equally cute and lovely.

“Go then,” Melina said. “Be with your siblings. The baby is far off and I’m doing well. I have a host of demons, elves, orcs, goblins and humans here that are looking out for me. We have a community, Kaemon. You don’t have to bear all these burdens yourself anymore.”

Enid stopped listening and glanced at Dryston, who looked back at her with a satisfied smirk on his face. She rolled her eyes. At least she had Kaemon on the trip to buffer his overbearing attitude. But a part of her faltered, an old jealousy flaring. Kaemon and Dryston had been thick as thieves growing up because they were older and therefore could do more. And she was being a burden again.

She looked away, back out the window, wishing she could go on her own. Let her prove to herself that she wasn’t an encumbrance anymore. That he could be free of her. That he didn’t owe her anything. Not protection, not filial duty, not even love. Because that was it, wasn’t it? Sometimes she thought he showed her love because he had to. Because it was expected.

Kaemon and Melina entered the room again, scattering her dark thoughts.

“Fine. I’ll go,” Kaemon said.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Enid’s fist connected with the padding on the post in front of her, each attack digging deeper and pushing harder than the last. Sweat dripped from the ends of her black hair, the short locks falling over her face, into her eyes. Still, she didn’t stop. Not until the swirling storm of emotions in her passed.

It had already been thirty minutes. Her old way of dealing with these unpleasant memories wasn’t working anymore, none of her ways of dealing with it was. Her mind still dipped into that old dark place with each hit of her wrapped fist into the post. She could see the scene as if it were yesterday, not a decade ago.

The day her parents died. The day Kaemon was taken. She lay on the forest floor, blood dripping from her lips, her hand desperately grasping her lower abdomen. Enid could still feel that pain radiating through her, her old scar aching, and she threw an elbow into the post, watching with satisfaction as it rattled.

Still, the memories came. Her mother dying in front of her, watching as the light slowly dimmed in her eyes. Watching as her brother Kaemon was bound, screaming for their oldest brother, Dryston, to save her. To choose her life over the others. And Dryston did.

And that was the problem.

Enid’s jaw hurt from the tension of clenching, but it was nothing to how the rest of her felt. She doubled her efforts on the pole, striking with her hands, throwing kicks, putting more and more power into the strike. The pole rattled, the sturdy wood under the padding groaning and creaking. She threw a kick, bringing her back leg up, pivoting to throw her hips into it, and connecting her shin to the pole with all her force. A crack echoed in the air and the pole splintered as it fell to the ground.

“Shit,” she cursed, her breathing labored.

“By the goddesses’ tits, Enid,” a dark voice from behind said. “What did that pole ever do to you?”

Enid chuckled and turned as Dryston walked up. He cocked his head to the side, an uncommonly gentle expression of concern on his face.

“I’ll make another one,” Enid said, that old familiar feeling of being a child caught doing something wrong, coming over her again.

Dryston shook his head. “This is the elves’ training post? Maybe they should make it from better materials. Though maybe they rarely take their anger out on inanimate objects.”

Dryston raised one brow, that old beseeching look of his, the one that begged her to talk to him. She swallowed down all the nastyemotions that swirled in her with that look. She couldn’t talk to him, or anyone else, not the mind mages he’d had her go to all those years ago. The words became lodged in her throat, choking her every time she tried.

“Do they usually take it out on living beings then? That seems a bit much,” Enid replied with a grin.

He walked closer, taking Enid’s hands in his own, frowning as he examined them. The once white cloth was now stained dark red, fading around the edges. She hadn’t even realized while she’d been in it, but now her knuckles throbbed.

“Still bloodying your knuckles.” His tone was so defeated, almost reprimanding, his frown deepening.

She yanked her hands back, hot shame pouring over her. She always wanted to hide from him when her self-destructive habits took over. It had started with biting her nails and cuticles and him telling her to stop, then putting oil on her nails to discourage it. It had only made her sick to her stomach because she couldn’t stop. Then it turned to pushing her body too much in training, blood and bruises and broken bones. Then it turned to drink and sex. All to soothe the gnawing guilt that raided her soul.

He’d stopped begging her to change long ago.

And she’d given up on herself around then, too.

Dryston was perfect. Or nearly so. He had anger that could darken a room, but even then, it never poured out in unjust violence. He always stood perfectly straight, did everything in moderation, held his tongue, and thought ten steps ahead of everyone.

Enid couldn’t be more opposite. He was like the blaring sun, his light so brilliant that it obliterated her because she was only made up of dark shadows.

He gave her a long look, opening his mouth, no doubt to ask her about her internal world.

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