Fragile Chaos

by Amber R. Duell

  “I thought you blew up a mountain,” I blurt. It’s better than talking about the kiss, even though I should be trying to convince him it wasn’t wrong.

  His chin lowers and he looks away. “You shouldn’t have been there for that conversation.”

  “Well, I was.” I cross my arms, feeling brave. “You leveled the capital?”

  “Not intentionally.” He lifts his arms and exhales sharply. “That place was a cesspool anyway. The world is better off with it gone.”

  I dig my fingers into my arms to keep from doing anything rash. The end game is more important than enemy lives being taken. They’re gone and there’s no changing that, but Oren is alive. He’s still in that camp and I need to stay on Theo’s good side to save him. Lucky for Theo. There’s a big piece of my mind I’m dying to give him. Mainly about his apparent lack of a conscience and total disregard for human life.

  “If you don’t want to end the war, why would you stop the bomb?” I ask. “Wouldn’t it kick things up a notch?”

  His head snaps toward me. “I never said I didn’t want it to end and I certainly don’t need to up the ante.”

  My next question lodges itself in my throat. If he wants it to end, what is he doing? Digging his heels in to prove a point again? Maybe he should reread his letter to himself after the Ostran War. He can’t want control so badly he’s willing to destroy the world. “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t.” His voice rumbles through me. “I’m doing what I was made to do. You don’t need to understand.”

  I hold back, stuffing the anger into a tiny bottle while repeating Oren, Oren, Oren over and over in my head. The glass shatters. It rips through me, reopening old wounds and tearing new ones. Words fly off my tongue before the sentences have a chance to fully form in my mind. “Did you ever consider that explaining your reasons to people instead of brushing them off would allow them to understand? And maybe, just maybe, if they understood where you’re coming from, they might be inclined to change their own thinking. Maybe they would compromise and work with you instead of against you.”

  His eyes flash but I refuse to listen to him tell me my opinions don’t matter. They do matter, if not to him than to myself. I storm into the mansion. Stupid, arrogant jerk.

  Wanting to understand his motives doesn’t mean I’m questioning his authority. If I were, I would’ve come out and said it like his brother did a few minutes ago. If there’s any hard evidence he’s doing the right thing, I would love to see it so I can stop feeling like such a mental case. Because, even now, beneath the rage boiling in my veins, is a seed of doubt telling me he isn’t so bad.

  I am a mental case.

  A hand snags my upper arm, yanking me backward into the sitting room. The door slams behind me. Before I can break away, before I even have time to realize it’s Theo, he’s kissing me again. The determination of last night is gone, replaced with something stronger, angrier. My lips freeze against his. Then his fingers curl into the base of my ponytail, his thumbs skimming the edge of my jaw.

  Fire explodes in my chest. I grip the front of his shirt and tug until he’s pressed against me, then pour my own anger, my own confusion, into the kiss. The cool taste of steel, the hot rush of body heat. I soak up every bit of it.

  Then, too soon, Theo breaks away and nearly stumbles over the edge of the rug. “This can’t happen,” he says, his voice gruff. “I can’t afford this.”

  “You kissed me.” My voice is barely there, breathy and stunned. “Twice.”

  His chest rises and falls in rapid succession. He steps closer, then back, and leaves without another word.

  I snatch a throw pillow from the window seat and slam it over my face. The scream that tears from my throat vibrates my entire being. His words shouldn’t be a dagger to my gut, but they are. I have to get out of here and clear my mind. Somewhere away from these walls, the smell of metal, and the sensation of Theo that lingers in every crevice. I drop the pillow to the floor and run.

  Sharp pain lances up my back as I land hard for the eighth time. I lay, panting, in the velvety grass. Blue sky consumes the world around me. The rush of the waterfall roars in my ears, and, even at this distance, its mist clings to me.

  Theo was right. I can’t climb my way into Brisa’s realm. The cliff is slick with mildew, making it impossible to maintain a grip. Each of my fingernails are split and bleeding, and I’m ninety percent sure I broke a toe. I should be glad I didn’t break anything else after the last twenty-foot drop.

  If only the ledges were a little wider. If the rocky barrier was a little further away from the fall’s spray. I slam my fists into the dirt. Nothing is impossible. I take a deep breath and push up to try again.

  My blade whirs through the air. A heavy whoosh. A clang as it collides with Goran’s. He spins, ducking, and we circle each other again. I pull in fast, deep breaths, letting them out slowly as I smile. It’s been too long since I’ve felt the weight of steel in my hand. Too long since the vibrations of each clash have coursed through my body.

  The corded hilt is rubbed smooth from years of use, molding itself to my grip. An extension of myself. I swing downward. Goran blocks it with little effort and a smug smirk plays on his lips.

  “Am I going too easy on you?” I ask.

  He shoves my blade off his. “Have you ever?”

  I advance. Left. Right. Center. He blocks them, the last only by a hair. I step back, adrenaline thrumming through me like a second pulse. A sense of freedom washes over me as I take the offense again. The blade cuts upward and nicks his arm. His foot shifts out of form. I grin and drive down on him with relentless force.

  Goran’s boots grind into the gravel. His smirk is gone, replaced with grim determination. Each blow he checks sends him back another step. He grunts and attempts to regain his stance but there’s no time. I swing over my head, and he drops to his knee, raising his sword to protect his head.

  “Yield,” he huffs.

  I lower my arm and step back, brushing the hair from my forehead. One match isn’t nearly enough to pound out all of my stress, my anger, but I give Goran a minute to catch his breath. He’s immortal but still human, and we haven’t sparred since the war began. I roll my shoulders and wait while he bends over, resting his hands on his knees.

  “You settled the new spy?” I ask.

  He nods. “I inserted him as one of the missionaries helping with the cleanup.”

  I lean against the Wall and sigh. The reports will likely be sporadic until the roads are clear. When things settle down, I’ll see about finding the exact point the temple ruins sat so the reports can be left there. Until then, he’ll have to leave any news in the nearest known temple site nearly fifty miles away.

  Goran stands and stretches his back. “Did you hear from Ebris while I was gone?”

  “No.”

  I’m not sure which is worse—listening to Ebris or waiting to listen to Ebris. It’s been an unnerving few days to say the least. I expected him the morning after the explosion, then the next day and the next. That he wouldn’t come at all never crossed my mind.

  Steel hisses in my ear and I duck. Goran’s sword bounces off the stone behind me. I swing sideways as I rise, aiming for his hip, and he blocks it. Our blades grate as he twists his around mine. I hold tight, refusing to lose my weapon, and hobble backward to gain my footing.

  I dig my boots into the gravel, balancing on the balls of my feet. A flash of silver arches toward my brow. I bend my knees, leaning back, but the tip grazes the bridge of my nose. The shallow cut stings. A drop of blood beads and I smile.

  Now we fight.

  I slam my sword down on his as it passes my shoulder and he spins away. He stays on the offense. Lunging and thrusting. I parry, flipping my sword over his. Then I’m behind him. He darts instinctively to the side before I can launch my own attack. My body hums. If I challenge Ebris to a fight like this, I might win. The fight against my brother would undoubtedly be harder, but the outcome isn�
�t as important as the chance to draw blood.

  I jerk sideways to goad Goran into striking, but he refuses the bait. We circle each other, matching step for step.

  The frustration that’s been eating at me flows down my arm. Into my hand. The hilt. Infusing the sword with a rabid passion. A shout rips from my throat and I lunge forward. Goran raises his blade with both hands to block. I beat down on it. Strike after strike. He growls his own aggravation, unable to move. Unable to fight back. Only defend. Then he pushes forward. His arms quake under the pressure.

  My breathing changes, the careful rhythm lost. I grind my teeth together as he matches my last strike with one of his own. Our blades slide against each other in a shower of sparks. He dives forward, his sword aimed at my knee as he attempts to slip under my arm. I slam my hilt down between his shoulder blades and feel the impact right before he skids across the gravel on his stomach.

  I lower my sword, huffing. “Intact?” I ask, using our code word to be sure the other is able to continue.

  He shifts to his knees and wipes a trickle of blood from his eye. “Intact.”

  Nodding, I readjust my breathing. Fast and deep in; slow and steady out. My teeth almost clack in anticipation as Goran climbs to his feet. He holds his hand up to signal he isn’t quite ready. Then, with a deep sigh, his hand drops and his sword rises. We lunge at the same time, our swords colliding.

  I leer at him through the crossed blades. “You’re out of practice.”

  “Whose fault is that?” he asks.

  We push away from each other, circling, and dive again.

  “Stop!” Cassia’s voice pierces the courtyard.

  Goran and I freeze mid-step. She races through the arch in the Wall and skids to a stop a few feet away. Water drips from her hair, her soaked clothes clinging to her body. Scrapes cover her arms and a gash in the knee of her jeans is outlined crimson.

  My heart drops and I lower the point of the broadsword to the ground. I almost sheath it, but any fear it might inflict has already been done. Only she doesn’t look frightened. She stands straight, her hands pressed against her chest. Her pupils swallow her irises whole as she stares us down. My grip pulsates on the hilt, squeezing and relaxing.

  “What happened to you?” I ask.

  “None of your business.” She drags in an uneven breath. “Are you two trying to kill each other?”

  Goran follows my lead, lowering the tip of his blade, and presses his lips together to hide a smile. It doesn’t work for long before a short laugh breaks free. “Even if I wanted to kill him, do you think I could?” he asks.

  “But…” She blinks, her cheeks flushing, and looks past me to Goran. “But you’re bleeding.”

  He lifts a finger to the cut on his forehead. It comes away red and he shrugs. “A small cut. It’ll be healed by dinner.”

  “Right.” Cassia turns her narrow gaze to me. “Are you seriously hitting him with that thing?”

  “Technically, that happened when he fell.” I push my sleeves up past my elbows and take in each cut on her skin. Every bruise and welt. It twists something inside me. “Goran’s been fighting with me for four hundred years and hasn’t lost life or limb yet.”

  “Is that supposed to make this okay?” she asks in a high voice.

  It should. Especially since Goran’s not the only one who has shed blood on this gravel. He’s bested me on more than one occasion, but we know when to stop. Where not to swing if the other doesn’t look capable of stopping it. I need to be more mindful—Goran won’t simply heal from a fatal wound like I will, but we’re long past routine drills. We’ve been doing this dance long enough to have an honest fight.

  “It…” I look at Goran for help, but he’s too busy trying not to laugh. “No one’s in any real danger,” I say.

  She glances at my sword and lets out a small hmph before turning her back to us. “Playing with swords. Real swords,” she mumbles under her breath. “Morons. Oh hey, friend, let me hack at you with this giant knife. What kind of—”

  She’s too far away for me to hear the end of the question. When the front door slams behind her, reverberating through the courtyard, Goran buckles with laughter. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from joining him. Her reaction might be amusing, but the way she looks isn’t.

  “It’s good to know women haven’t changed that much since I was alive.” Goran flexes his fingers, gazing down at the marks on his hand. “She sounded like my fiancée every time I returned from training with a new mark.”

  I twist the tip of my sword into the ground, watching the gravel shift around the gleaming silver. Killing all my brides left me without reference, but others have commented on it enough to know he’s right. I tend to forget Goran has a past. People he left behind when he came here to save his men.

  “I know you’re having a rough time dealing with the situation,” he adds, “but I rather like her.”

  I slam my sword into the scabbard. “No one asked you.”

  “You like her too. You just don’t want to admit it,” he says, still smiling. His eyes shimmer with satisfaction. “If you think I don’t know what I almost walked in on the night of the explosion, you’re wrong.”

  My body jerks at the memory. “It was just a kiss. It won’t happen again,” I grumble. He doesn’t need to know it already has. Avoiding Cassia has been working well the last few days, but she seems to be cropping up everywhere I go. I’m running out of excuses to get away from her. When I heard her tell Goran she was going to the brook this morning, I thought it was safe to fight here.

  “It’s not the end of the world, Theodric.” Goran uses his thumb to wipe the trickling blood across his eyelid. “You’re wasting a lot of energy trying to keep her at a distance. If you don’t want to give up the war, limit yourself, but there’s no reason not to enjoy each other’s company.”

  Except every time I’m around her I want to do more than I should. Twice now I’ve lost control. Kissed her. It’s not like me. I’ve met pretty girls before. Talked with them, ate with them, been with them. None of it has ever left me with such an empty void in my chest or an utter desperation to fill it. Each day the yawning crater aches more and more until it hurts to breathe.

  “Do you think she’s sincere?” I ask.

  Goran’s quiet for a moment. “Are you asking if I think she’s lying about her intentions?”

  I brush loose pieces of hair from my lashes. “Do you?”

  “I think she’s angry that her fellow Kiskens killed her, and washing her hands of them is her way of coping.” He pauses. “She thinks her whole family is dead, so it’s easy for her to do. When her anger fades, she might think differently. But at the moment, I think she means what she says.”

  How long does this method of coping last? Has the anger faded already? Is that why she kissed me back? Twice? When I came back hurt, she seemed genuinely concerned, and it was easy to fall under her charm. I couldn’t help the kiss. But then she laughed with Leander. Leander. The only god people fear more than me. I know from that day in the temple that she’s afraid of death, so even if he’s a people-pleaser, she should have been wary.

  “Goran?” I hesitate. I’m not sure what I want to ask or if I should ask anything at all.

  “Control yourself until the war is over.” He claps my shoulder. “You’ll have no obligation to help Kisk during the next war.”

  No, but I’ll want to. If I let her in, I won’t want to let her go. The desire to make her happy is already spilling over. It’s overlapping the war, muddying what’s right and wrong.

  “Relax,” Goran adds.

  Impossible. The West is running wild. Ebris is undoubtedly seething in his castle, plotting his next move against me, and Cassia is stealing what little sanity I have left. Or maybe it’s my decision to stay away that’s driving me insane. Maybe Goran’s right and we should spend time together. Planned time without an opportunity for things to go haywire. Chaperoned time because I’ve never trusted myself so little
.

  “I need your help with something,” I say.

  My eyelashes catch in the knit fabric tied around my head, forcing them shut. The world narrows. I lick my lips and gingerly put one foot in front of the other to bide time. There has to be a way to escape. Somehow. I’m not even sure how we came to this. They don’t know about all my attempts at scaling the cliff. If they do, they’ve known since the day of the sword fight because I haven’t tried again since.

  Apparently, I need a new set of life rules.

  Rule Number One: When someone says be careful, listen. Don’t ask questions.

  Rule Number Two: Don’t try to outsmart ancient gods. They’ve seen it all. They’ll know.

  Rule Number Three: When one of said gods produces a blindfold, run. Run fast.

  It’s a little late to worry about any of that now. I may not have a life much longer. Theo’s hand rests gently on my upper back, guiding me forward, and I have to wonder if this is how cattle feel being led to slaughter. As much as I want to rip the blindfold off, deep down I can’t help thinking it’s a blessing. Not seeing death come is probably for the best, but I can’t escape if I can’t see. Even if I can see, it won’t be easy going against Theo. Then there’s the question of where to go.

  If I could get his ring…But that’s impossible. He’s faster than I am. The second he sees me reach for his finger, I’m done for. Besides, I have to get away from him not close enough to grab his hand.

  When the moment is right, I’ll have to risk everything and bolt. I welcome the darkness as a friend, letting my other senses kick into overdrive.

  There’s a soft brushing sound, the front door opening. Someone takes my hands from the front. Thin, raised scars crisscross against their skin. Goran. I swallow hard and allow him to guide me down the steps with Theo’s hand still hot on my back. A breeze carries the earthy scent of the woods on the other side of the Wall. A thud. The door shutting. Crunching gravel as we reach the courtyard.