Page 30 of Reckless
The thought is a bitter sort of betrayal, a whisper of truth ticklingmy ear. Because this—this shell of a man and silhouette of a monster—is exactly what he wanted. Not the meekness he mocked, the Achilles’ heel that is my kindness.
I run an ink-stained hand down my face, scribbling between the deep lines of my skin. My eyes catch a cursive that doesn’t belong to my hand, scrolled across the parchment resting beneath my elbows. Kai’s harshness can be found even in the slant of his letters, the heaviness of the ink.
I don’t envy him. Not truly. Not intentionally.
Kai was the king Father wanted. It was as clear as the obvious distaste they shared for one another. Kai is every bit the brutal, the bold, the foreboding—every bit the king’s son. And I think that was exactly the problem between the two of them. Father hated that he wasn’t the heir. Hated that the king he wanted was thwarted by the son he had first. I wasn’t Kai, and it killed him.
And I know that part of him despised my brother because he was everything I wasn’t.
I stand, feeling nearly as shaky as the sigh I let out. Pacing to and from the window has been my routinely exciting excursion for the past two weeks. But today, today I’m feeling rather bold. Today I open the curtains before immediately regretting that rash decision.
I’m blinded by the dull light streaming through the cloudy window. Between blinks, I scan the grounds beyond, the home I’ve felt like a hostage in as of late. My eyes trail to where I know the Scorches stretch far beyond, to where I sent Kai to find her.
Her.
I think about her more than I should. Write about her when my thoughts can no longer contain her. Pore over every detail of our short, shared existence. Every deliberately deceptive word. The persistence of her playing with me. Father and his subtle encouragement to spendtime with her. The feelings Kai is fighting while hunting her down.
The flood of thoughts has me pulling a relatively clean sheet of parchment from beneath its marred brothers and sisters.
And then she’s spilling onto the page again. A variation of words I’ve strung together before. A ballad of betrayal, a sonnet of sorrow.
I’m tired of writing from the villain’s perspective.
CHAPTER 13Kai
I’ve found her.
In the middle of a damn fight, of all things. I shouldn’t be surprised.
“Finish him! Finish him! Finish him!”
The cellar is damp, echoing with the shouts of a cramped crowd. After pushing past sweaty bodies, I let my eyes drift over the various heads of dull colors, still unaccustomed to the lack of vibrant hair among them. That’s when I turned my attention to the man stalking circles in the cage, shockingly large in comparison to his opponent.
His opponent.
The one who moves like a dancer, not always in fluidity, but in calculation. As though anticipating each step, mapping out each movement.
The one who fights with a familiar kind of fire, a fierceness that’s been fueled and honed for years.
The one with the covered face, hidden hair, concealed identity.
I know the face behind that fabric. Know the freckles that fleckthat nose, the silver hair that glints in the sun. Know the lean body hidden beneath layers of clothing, concealing the waist where my hand fits perfectly, ribs scarred by a spear in the Whispers Forest.
It’s her.
“And there you have it. Shadow’s won!”
Shadow. How fitting.
Though I can’t see her face, I can practically feel the pride radiating off her as she stands in the ring, fist lifted in triumph. I’d barely focused on the match, too consumed with the realization that isher. But I spot the blood soaking through the scarf she keeps tightly wrapped around her head and face, concealing the criminal who lies beneath.
All too quickly, the match is over. The crowd is clapping. The Shadow is leaving.
No. I need her.
The thought almost has me laughing bitterly. Two weeks ago, those words would have held a very different meaning, one I’m not allowing myself to ponder any further.
She’s standing beside the announcer now, collecting her pay and what looks to be his praise.
