by R. H. Scott
The older man circled Jared, walking behind the two until he came up on Sloan’s side. He leaned in, studying her face. “This little girl,” he began, shaking his hand at her, “is your champion?”
Romani stepped in. “Yes, both of them are. The best of the best.”
“But she’s so—” the older man continued, but he was cut off by the younger.
“Beautiful. She’s so beautiful.” He smiled, tilting his blond head to view her from a different angle.
What the hell is this? Sloan wanted to demand, but she could sense Romani’s unsettling demeanor. If she embarrassed him, if she did anything short of allowing these strangers to regard her like property, who knew how he would react . . .
She could feel Jared tense at her side, his hand twitching.
“The boy—how old is he?” Ms. Beaumont piped up, leaning past them to see the marshal.
“Seventeen. In prime condition.” Romani smiled.
“So young.” She shook her head.
“I assure you, you won’t find anyone more impressive than Captain Dawson, Ms. Beaumont. He is the finest our Academy has,” Romani stressed.
“I have to disagree,” the young blond man chided, standing directly in front of Sloan, his dark eyes flicking over her.
“Careful, Mr. Degrassi, you wouldn’t want to anger Mr. Dawson.” Romani laughed—his version of a joke.
“So she is spoken for?” Mr. Degrassi asked, not seeming all that bothered by the threat of Jared, or Sloan’s relationship.
“She is spoken for.” Jared’s voice startled Sloan. Mr. Degrassi turned his gaze, staring at Jared with a bemused expression.
Mr. Franc scoffed, leaning away from Sloan. “She is with the boy? Then surely she rides on his success.”
Romani shook his head, coming closer, closer to Sloan than she could ever recall him being. “I assure you, Mr. Franc, she is quite lethal.”
Sloan’s chest heaved with each deep breath she took. What is going on here? She wanted to know who these people were and why she and Jared were on display for them. How could they speak about them like this—like they were merchandise?
“Yes, you can see it in her eyes, she’s fiery.” Mr. Degrassi smiled, turning his gaze back to her. Slowly, he raised his hand, reaching for Sloan’s arm. Her entire body tensed as she leaned out of his reach.
She no longer cared what this sick display was or who these people were; she didn’t care about angering Romani or the Order. She caught Mr. Degrassi’s dark eyes, glaring at him as she spoke softly, “Touch me and I will break you.”
His young face contorted under her threat, gauging her seriousness. Then, stepping away from her, his amused smile returned. “Feisty indeed.”
A movement from the back of the room caught her eye. Stone was approaching, quietly getting closer to her.
Ms. Beaumont walked past Sloan, approaching Romani. “A presentation then. If she is his equal then have them perform a demonstration.”
Sloan’s fists tensed at her side. Do you think we are circus animals?
Stone stepped into the bright fluorescent light. “I’m afraid I have to decline. These are my champions and not only do they have an event to attend shortly, they are both in training for an impending fight, and I cannot risk their injury.”
Romani scoffed loudly, shooting a dismissive glance at Stone. “Our good guests demand a presentation. They have traveled quite a distance to see our finest students, General.”
Mr. Degrassi folded his arms, stepping back. “I concur. If you cannot provide us with some evidence as to their abilities, then I can assure you, investing will no longer be a viable option for my party.”
Investing? Who are these people? Sloan wanted to demand. She turned her gaze to Jared. His fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw tense. He kept his stare trained forward—he was trying to remain calm. Sloan loosened her own fist and ran her hand against his, discreetly holding his tightly knotted fingers. Why were the Order doing this to them?
“Of course, of course,” Romani acquiesced politely. Stone shook his head at the marshal.
“Romani, I must insist—”
“General, that is quite enough.” The marshal’s voice cut through the room. He took a slow breath, composing himself. “Please, all of you, be seated. I assure you my students are as lethal as they are obedient. You will have a demonstration.”
Mr. Degrassi and his colleagues finally backed away from her and Jared, returning to their seats. Sloan watched Stone back up, but he didn’t sit; he remained on the periphery of the lights.
What is Romani going to make us do? Sloan let go of Jared’s hand, taking steady breaths, waiting apprehensively.
Romani approached Jared, his hands folded behind his back. “Captain Dawson, pick a number between one and ten.”
Sloan watched Jared’s cold blue gaze fall on to the marshal. Sloan couldn’t imagine how Jared was feeling. Objectified? Humiliated? Sloan knew that whatever favor Romani was doing for Jared wasn’t worth undergoing this treatment, but what choice did they have? They couldn’t walk out; they couldn’t disobey their highest-ranking leader.
Jared exhaled slowly. “Seven.”
Romani smiled broadly. “Marvelous.” He turned from them, walking towards the closed door where the Academy guard stood. He spoke to the guard quickly, quietly, and then returned, taking a seat beside Ms. Beaumont.
Sloan glanced to Stone; he was staring at her with a look of concern and apology. Why are they doing this to us?
Before she could think on it further, the door opened. One by one, seven Academy guards entered the room, wearing their ivory shield uniforms—leg plates, white chest plates, bleached chrome helmets. Was this some sort of game for Romani, tricking Jared into choosing a number of guards to fight?
Sloan took a step back, and Jared moved with her until they stood side by side. They both knew what was about to happen. He began to unbutton his white coat as she pulled her hair back, tying it into a knot. She looked up to him, slowing down her breath, watching from her periphery as the guards neared. “I’ll take lead, you finish them?”
“Works for me.” He nodded, his voice low and angry as he took several steps back, leaving Sloan in the foreground.
Sloan took a slow breath, closing her eyes, feeling the adrenaline course through her veins and excite her muscles. As she entered her element she became deaf to any noises in the room. She opened her eyes, letting her tunnel vision take effect—when she fought, she had a singular goal, an entirely relentless concentration that nothing could distract her from.
There was a single second, when Sloan drew one final breath, when the room was entirely still, when she brought her hands up to guard and strike, and moved her feet to gain greater balance—and then the guards descended.
The first two charged her wildly—these were not unskilled junior students. These were Academy graduates. As one made an initial strike the other grabbed her arm, violently jerking her towards him. Sloan ducked her head, missing the guard’s fist, and viciously kicked at the guard holding her arm, her flowing dress whirling around her. He released her and she grabbed him in turn, bending his arm back and striking the back of his neck—sending him falling to Jared’s feet. The first guard spun, twirling around and connecting a backhand against Sloan’s face.
She recovered quickly, blocking his next assault. He was fast and had a formidable size. She needed to connect a hit quickly and pass him on to Jared—in the corner of her eye she saw the next guards preparing to make their move. One. She ducked, blocked and struck—connecting a hit against the guard’s exposed throat. He grabbed at his throat instinctively, suffering a loss of air and allowing Jared to make his move. Two. Sloan turned from him just in time—the third guard was about to hit her with a roundhouse.
She blocked, stepped into him, sciss
or kicking him and rolling to the ground with him. Three. She leaped to her feet, stomping violently against his abdomen before leaping on the next guard. Like a spider, she scaled his body, locking her legs around his neck and pulling him to the floor. As they fell, she pulled his helmet off and struck him against the head—knocking him out. Four.
Suddenly, she was being hauled to her feet, strong arms grabbing at her. She broke an arm free from his grasp, reached over her shoulder and grabbed the helmeted head. With a ferocious jerk, she slammed her body forward, flipping the guard over her. He rolled to the ground and she leaped on him, executing strike after strike on his body. Five.
“Sloan!” Jared’s voice drew her gaze upward—in time to be grabbed by the throat. The guard heaved her to her feet, strangling her.
She punched at the inside of his arm until his grip loosened, and then, grabbing his elbow and wrist, she wrenched him forward. He buckled at the waist. “Jared!” she called, shoving the guard at him. Six.
The next guard connected a solid kick to Sloan’s chest. She flew back, rolling in a backwards somersault as she fell. She got to her feet, her chest on fire, struggling for a breath. The guard wasn’t waiting for anything. She turned, grabbing Jared’s arm for leverage as she flung the guard away with a strong back kick. Jared pulled her upright, spinning around her. The guard he had been fighting was almost out—Sloan whipped an arm out, wrenching the helmet off the man violently. With a feral gasp of air and expense of energy, she struck the man with his helmet—sending him unconscious to the floor.
“You had to say seven!” she called over her shoulder, pivoting around. She stopped as her eyes fell to Jared. The guard couldn’t land a strike on him—Jared was too quick; he was too good at anticipating someone’s next move. He moved around the guard like a wildcat, executing strike after strike. Jared made a final hit and the guard fell to his knees. Sloan leaped.
She swung a leg around the guard’s neck, locking him in between her legs, and rolled to the floor, hitting the man’s head against the ground roughly. Seven.
Sloan took a slow breath—assessing her body for injury. Jared helped her to her feet. He had a cut lip but otherwise seemed fine. She took a deeper breath, testing her ribs. She flailed her arms and shook out her legs—she was okay.
The loud clapping drew her back to their audience. She turned, facing the Order and their guests. Mr. Franc was clapping animatedly, standing for emphasis. Romani stood, a wide smile painted across his face.
“I told you—lethal.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Degrassi agreed, standing, his eyes still lingering on Sloan. She looked around, the guards beginning to come to and get to their feet.
Ms. Beaumont stood. “The way these two move around one another, as though they share one mind,” she spoke, nearing Jared. She stopped inches away from him and stared for the longest moment before turning her cold gaze to Sloan.
“He truly loves you.”
Sloan didn’t know how to respond—if she was even allowed to respond. She said nothing, and slowly, the woman retreated.
“I want to leave,” she whispered to Jared. He nodded, closing his hand around hers.
“When can we discuss our options—” Ms. Beaumont began, but Romani raised a hand, interrupting her.
“Later, of course. My champions have a dance to go prepare for now, but we can discuss details after tonight’s ceremonial event.”
Sloan listened keenly, looking from Romani to his guests, wanting to ascertain the point of all of this . . . to no avail.
Romani turned to Jared. “Captain, thank you for your assistance here tonight. I will be more than happy to help you with your plans later this evening at the ceremony.”
What plans? Sloan felt so lost—so confused. She needed to get out of here.
“Sir, are we excused?”
His gaze fell to her and he regarded her with such unsettling contentment. “Yes, Lieutenant. Thank you for your marvelous display of talent.”
Sloan felt nauseous under his heavy gaze. How could he have treated them this way?
She pulled at Jared’s hand. “Come on . . .”
He nodded, following her out of the room.
Jared stormed down the hall, half dragging Sloan into the pod. He released her hand once inside and she immediately sat down. He remained standing, pacing the small space.
“Jare, what the hell was that?”
He ran his hands through his dark hair, pivoting back and forth. “He said he would leave you out of all of this . . . he said . . . Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he rambled as he turned his gaze to her, touching her chin to inspect her face.
She lowered his hand from her. “I’m fine—what are you talking about? Why would the Order do that to us and who were those people?”
“I don’t know . . . I wasn’t told. I didn’t think he would do that, but they said guests were coming . . . I should have known better.” He began to pace again, wildly talking to himself.
“Just sit down—talk to me,” she ordered, grabbing at his hand. He slowly sat down, watching her with wild eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“Sorry for what? Did you know we were going to be made to do that?”
He shook his head. “No, of course not . . .”
“Who were those strangers?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything, Sloan. All I know is—” But he silenced himself.
Sloan turned her body, getting closer to him. “All you know is what? What do you know that I don’t?”
He looked away from her. “I can’t tell you . . .”
She gritted her teeth in frustration. Of course you can’t . . .
“Jared, come on! Tell me what is going on here. We were just put on display for three total strangers and had to fight a handful of our own guards—what do you know that I don’t?”
He stood and knelt before her, grabbing her hands. “I swear I don’t know anything about that. I had no clue what we were walking into or who those people were.”
Sloan regarded his panicked face—the desperation in his blue eyes, the worry resonating through his voice. “Then what favor is Romani doing for you?”
“What favor isn’t he doing for me right now is more like it,” he sighed, sitting back up on the seat beside her.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He shook his head. “I have a gift for you . . . A present, he helped me plan something.”
Sloan studied him warily. What sort of gift?
“You’re saying we just got objectified and attacked over a gift?”
“No . . . that was over something else. He knew we couldn’t say no to him. He knows I can’t say no to him.”
Sloan shook her head. “You aren’t making any sense.”
“Can we talk about this later? We need to get to the Calling . . . the Order will be following us there any minute now.”
Sloan leaned back in her seat. She had never seen him in such a state. She didn’t know what he was talking about, what he was being honest about, what he did or didn’t know. She wanted to be angry, she wanted to demand the truth—demand more facts . . . but she couldn’t see him like this for a minute longer. It was her duty to protect him, her role in life to support him. But, looking down at her mangled hands and blood-speckled dress, she had to wonder how much more she would be expected to tolerate.
“Jared, I have always believed that everything we have done, we have done for one another. That we would do anything to sustain us. And lately, that isn’t how I feel you have been.”
Her words cut through him. His mouth fell slightly open, his blue eyes widened. He grabbed her hands. “Everything I am doing, I am doing for you—I am doing for us. I swear it.”
“Promise me. Promise me if I go to the Calling with
you now and we get through this night, you will tell me everything?”
He nodded slowly before speaking. “Swear to me that whatever I tell you, however I choose to proceed once you know everything, that you won’t ever leave me?”
They held one another’s bruised and battered hands and sat in silence—neither of them capable of answering the other.
Sloan let the cold tap water run over her knuckles, washing away traces of blood and soothing the tender ache of bruising. She didn’t have time to go to the Infirmary; she barely had enough time to duck into the bathroom to clean up before going into the Calling.
She had a million thoughts racing through her mind—who were those three people she was made to fight for? What did Romani have over Jared and did it somehow relate to his recent behavior changes? She wanted to sit in silence, to think out what had transpired this night—but the night was just beginning.
As group after group of giggling, white-dressed girls came rushing in and out of the bathroom, she couldn’t concentrate on tonight’s events—on Romani or the fighting or the way that Degrassi man had leered over her. Her mind was overwhelmed by a sense of déjà vu, bringing forward memories of her own Betrothal Calling.
She had been standing in the partitioned room, waiting to hear her fate. General Stone’s familiar voice had echoed out. “Sloan Radcliffe to be paired with . . .” Sloan was certain she was about to faint. There was no world in which she didn’t belong with Jared. “Sloan Radcliffe to be paired with Jared Jacob Dawson.” She felt her heart stop. Relief stole her breath away, paralyzed her muscles, slowed her senses.
Relief felt an awful lot like dying.
The auditorium erupted in cheering. She stumbled under the amber lights and all she could see was Jared. He stood there, hands in pockets, dark hair flicked to the side, his easy smile . . . He didn’t walk to the Order, like he should. He took confident, easy strides across the stage. Towards her. She willed one determined foot after the next until she was in his arms. He spun her round and she held his neck, kissing him as he lowered her. The students cheered and whistled and all she could do as he set her on her feet was look at the way he glowed golden. “I told you,” he whispered. “I told you that you were mine.”
