Page 5 of Wrath of the Dragons
Cayden must’ve just been here because a fire with fresh logs burns in the hearth. Aside from that, I can feel his presence like a soul with unfinished business lingering in a graveyard. I can’t help but cross the room and crack open the first door, which leads to a small storage closet, and the second, which leads to a washroom.
This is what I asked for.
Space is what I need to sort out my mind.
It’s what has always helped me in the past.
I jump and cover my mouth with my hands when a loud bang on the roof makes several jars lining the shelves rattle, and I’d bet all my money that it’s Sorin perched up there. Sometimes I think he believes himself to be as small as he was when he perched on my shoulder.
Dark wood beams line the ceiling and walls, with pale yellow wallpaper between them. There’s a long desk with empty vials for tonics, a blank book and quill, and a mortar and pestle set in front of the herb-filled jars Sorin almost sent to their doom. A small couch and chair that look as soft as clouds rest close to the stone fireplace, with a table topped with a few books and a set of tea that I realize is still warm when I press my hand against the porcelain.
My heart is in my throat as I sink onto the couch and pluck the letter off the tea tray. The ink on it is still wet and I smudge Cayden’s name with my finger.
Angel,
Despite the cottage being located on Healer’s Row, you don’t need to open your doors to anyone until you’re ready. You can use this place as an escape if you don’t wish to go to the castle or Veles Manor. I’ve compiled some books on dragons I believe you’ll find interesting and brought your current read from the castle.
Enjoy the quiet. I’ll be seeing you later.
Always yours,
Cayden
I lie down and curl my legs on the couch as I clutch the letter to my chest and stare into the flames. The scent of lavender, pine, and rosemary calms me, and with only myself as company, I drop the façade. Sometimes I pretend to be something I’m not for so long I think I’ll be able to become that version of myself, but no matter how much I’ve tried, I can’t simply force myself to be fine. I don’t want to hurt, but I do, and I hate that I do.
Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning but I don’t know where the water is coming from, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
Chapter
Three
Cayden
I pull my fist back andslam it into my opponent’s face, watching as he drops to the floor. The familiar ache in my knuckles does nothing to subdue the frustration burning inside me, and even as the bell goes off and the crowd roars, I’m numb. The useless lump of flesh stays down on the sweat-and-blood-splattered ground as people shout for him to get up.
“The Viper wins!” the announcer declares, and I raise my wrapped fist in the air before he has the chance to touch me.
“Give me another.”
From the corner of my eye, I watch as Ryder heckles the crowd to manipulate their bets, swaying some to go against me. It’s been our routine for years and increases our earnings considerably. Nobody recognizes me. If they did our scheme would never work. The tonic I took will make me drowsy as hell in a few hours but hides the scars littering my skin and the tattoo on my ribs. Nobody cared about who I was when I was younger, just another scarred criminal trying to make some coin with his fists, but I had to take precautions when I became commander.
I’d have taken the tonic in Imirath but not having my wits about me on the heist wasn’t a risk I could take. Like most of my time behind enemy lines, a black mask covers the lower part of my face, and a matching bandanna keeps my hair back aside from the few sweatystrands that stick to my forehead. Ryder takes the same precautions, using a hat to cover his curls and wearing a face mask, which isn’t uncommon in the slums of Verendus. It’s not as if many soldiers come this deep into Verendus, and the people that frequent establishments such as this spend their days avoiding someone like the Commander of Vareveth.
Beads of sweat slide down my chest and I roll my neck while moving around the sloped, misshapen ring as the next man ducks under the ropes. He’s stockier than me, but not taller, and makes a show of amping up the crowd. I grab my bad shoulder and roll it a few times, knowing it’ll help Ryder if the crowd thinks I’m injured.
“Fight!” the announcer shouts above the crowd as the bell goes off.
I tap my fists together and bounce on the balls of my feet as my opponent charges, sidestepping him at the last moment and jamming my elbow between his shoulder blades. He stumbles forward, catching himself on the ropes as a mixture of cheering and booing makes my ears ring. He finds his balance again and snarls, making his cheeks as red as his hair, and I smirk behind my mask. He charges again, but I let him back me into the corner and pound his meaty fists into my ribs. The bones ache from years of abuse but I hold firm. Honestly no beating I take in this ring will be worse than Ryder’s whining if I don’t play my part, and there’s a strong force within me that craves the pain, knowing I’ve hurt the one person I never wanted to. I take another hit as I think of Elowen’s tears as I tried to apologize, her doubt, her pain, her anger.
He switches tactics and swings at my face, but I shove my forearm out to block his hit and advance. My opponent stumbles back when I jab him in the stomach, but a glimpse of long dark curls pulls my attention away from the match. My head normally quiets whenever I step into the ring or engage in any fight, but I’m not here mentally, only physically. His fist slams into the left side of my face and splits my cheek open, causing blood to seep into my mask.
I chuckle despite my mounting irritation. “Very good.”
I force the eerie calm that settles within me every fight to awaken. Though it’s the rarest of cases, I’m thankful Elowen is not here. If she were in a place like this, I certainly wouldn’t be anywhere but right next to her. Fighting is the one thing I’m good at; my father made sure of that. My knuckles throb with each hit I land, splitting open and soaking my wrappings, but I don’t stop. I keep going until the man crashes to the ground like a felled tree, with blood trickling from his mouth, and pounds his fist to the ground to signal surrender.
The crowd erupts again but I don’t wait for the announcer before ducking under the ropes and jumping down from the platform. Ryder’s had enough time to play his game, and it’s not as if we’re strapped for funds like we were when we first started this charade. People practically jump out of my way to let me through the crowd as they rush to collect their winnings.
I bought this building when I was twenty, after spending enough years working both as an assassin and in a ring just like this. Though I continued both pursuits, I needed this place to widen my business endeavors. I was still a child when I escaped my father and crossed the border from Imirath into Vareveth. I stayed by the coast, and the dampness in the air made it one of the worst places to be without a roof over my head, but it felt like a haven compared to what I fled.
