Chapter 11 Lenny fails to notice Death's sudden presence beside him on Loot's uneven cobblestone. She finds herself a bit disappointed by this-Mara was hoping her absence was felt-though unsurprised. Alas, the Imperial is far too engrossed by the Tele accompanying him. He watches Blair take in the moonlit slums, disdain carving a path through her stony expression. This does not sit well with Lenny. "If you hate the slums so much," he remarks curtly, "why did you want to come here?" Blair flashes him a look of disgust. "I don't hate the slums." "Oh, really?" The Imperial chuckles dryly. "Everything about you says otherwise." "I've pretended to hate it here," she snaps. "Even now, I'm only angry because I never got to have this." "This?" Lenny gestures toward the street, littered with meandering souls. "Blair, these people would give anything to have what you were handed." Mara, who knows most things and feels a great deal more, adamantly agrees with this. "You think I don't know that?" The words aren't nearly as biting as she intends. "Still, I would give anything to live how I please, love who I please. But I can't, and I don't, because I'm trapped." The Imperial stares at her. Death does the same beside him. "Blair-" A looming figure steps before them, blocking the path. The man can't be any older than Lenny, though it is clear which one of them was blessed with a towering physique-in Mara's trivial opinion. His broad shoulders lift with each breath, muscles straining beneath his black tunic and vest. Moonlight sharpens his cheekbones and highlights the scar slicing through his lips. A silver streak mars his wavy black hair-and, distantly, Death thinks one of his arms is the size of her leg. Lenny clears his throat, perhaps intending to take charge as the Imperial in this situation. But Blair beats him to it, sounding rather bored, in fact. "Can we help you?" "Yes." The stranger's deep voice chills the air. "I've been looking for you, Blair Archer." "Damn, he even sounds cool," Lenny mutters in awe. Death's lips twitch, though the gesture is seen by no one. Curious, she takes a peek at this man's soul. The dull orange she's greeted with is surprising. Blair looks magnificently unimpressed, so her Imperial attempts to follow suit. "Look," Lenny starts, "you seem lovely, but we have somewhere to be. So, if you don't mind-" An invisible force knocks him aside, suddenly. Mara's brows lift in surprise (this is a rare show of expression from her). Lenny stumbles back, nearly losing his footing, as the man says, "I'm not here for you." Another Tele, then. This should be rather interesting. Blair stands her ground, as condescending as ever. "If it's money you want, I suggest trying to rob someone else." "Not money." The man's menacing form towers over her. "But a debt is owed." "Blair," Lenny warns as he scrambles back to her side. "Don't do anything-" "And what are you going to do about it?" "-stupid," the Imperial finishes weakly. The man's nostrils flare in response to Blair's condescension. For a moment, his dark eyes seem to cut right through to her swirling soul. And within that pocket of time, Death thinks he might just walk away. Then she hears a soft gasp. Mara's gaze flicks back to Blair, finding her still wearing that stony facade. But her skin begins to pale; her eyes water. Lenny swallows. "Blair?" A sickening gasping sound slips past her lips. She lifts a hand to her neck. The stranger is choking her. And yet, she refuses to break the man's stare. Death can feel it in her chest, the hum of a life thread splintering, right where a beating heart would be. She feels drawn to Blair, as she does when an endangered soul is in her vicinity. A connection is being forged between them, something tangible and final. "Blair!" Lenny is shaking her shoulders now. Then he turns to shout his desperation at the man. "Why are you doing this? Let her go!" With a thought from the stranger, Lenny is thrown back several feet to collide with a merchant's cart. He curses, crashing into a display of fabrics before toppling to the ground. Groaning, the Imperial braces his palms against the cobblestone to push himself into a more dignified position. A rasped cry has him stiffening. Mara turns to find Blair hovering several feet above the ground, struggling against a fellow Tele's power. "You killed her." The man looks up at Blair's hanging body, his hand outstretched. "You used this very power to drive a branch through her back. Her back!" Hmm. He, too, must wish to avenge the mysterious, murdered friend. Lenny limps toward him. Death is unsure as to what he could possibly do, and the Imperial looks to be thinking the same. Yet, he does not stop. "She is gone because of you," the man breathes. And despite the darkness, the grief that consumes him is visible. It dwells in his hollow gaze, his trembling voice. He didn't just know this woman. He loved her. It all makes sense to Mara now. Loving is the gravest danger one can put themselves in. Those you hold dear will inevitably slip from between your grasping fingers. Death isn't pessimistic. She is experienced. It is revenge-an inescapable blight-that drives the stranger to hurl his lover's killer into the wall of a crumbling building. "Blair!" She does not move at the sound of Lenny's cry. He runs toward her, limping as fast as he can. Death follows with the Tele in tow, now plucking a small knife from his belt. The Imperial can do nothing to stop this vindictive stranger as he sends that blade cutting through the dense darkness. A heartbeat later (Mara assumes) it tears through the flesh of Blair's shoulder, right below the birthmark hidden by her tunic (Death only knows this intimate detail because she caught Lenny's gaze tracing it the night before). The Imperial trips in his haste to reach her, skidding to a stop beside her slumped form. She stirs in pain, her face pale and peppered with cuts. Lenny drops to his knees. She is troublesomely limp against the wall-though, still alive. Death's connection to her has not yet fully formed. "You're okay," he reassures, likely to himself. "You-" Steel sings from behind, cutting through the Imperial's words when the stranger pulls a sword from its sheath. "You killed her," he growls. "Now I will kill you." "No!" Lenny stands to his feet, looking ready to throw himself at the towering man. Perhaps their reaching souls aren't entirely absurd, Death thinks reluctantly. This Hyper seems ready to risk his life for the one he has deemed a Tele tyrant. How annoyingly fascinating. The stranger raises a hand, intending to throw Lenny from his feet. The Imperial braces himself for another mental shove-one that never comes. Instead, it is this new Tele who is thrown backward. The pommel of his sword sinks into the soft skin beneath his eye, hard enough to promise a bruise. Mara watches him hit the ground with a thud. Disturbing the darkness, his large body sprawls atop the cobblestone. Lenny stares down at his hands in astonishment. "It was me, idiot," Blair pants, wiping blood from her nose. "Right." Lenny crouches beside her. "Of course it was." She lacks the strength to roll her eyes at him, but the sentiment is there. Breathing heavy, she calls out to the Tele now picking himself up off the ground. "This is between you and me. Leave gingersnap out of it." The Imperial winces slightly. "Well, that was almost really touching-" "Shut up," Blair rasps. They do make the most interesting pair. Obediently pressing his lips together, Lenny helps pull her into a more comfortable position before the Tele is standing over them once again. Mara leans against the wall, having found the perfect vantage point to continue observing the chaos. Her services may yet be needed. The stranger's eye waters, but the gaze he pins on Blair is unwavering. "If that is your final wish, so be it." Moonlight glints off the steel sword. It arcs through the air, flashing above them. Blair doesn't move. She only stares up at the face of revenge. Death feels her lifeline grow taut. The Mors will happily welcome another soul. But it is the Imperial, presumably weak and woefully bearing the brunt of every joke, who dives in front of the swinging blade. "Get out of the way!" It's the stranger who bellows this after barely being able to redirect the steel. Lenny, his eyes still squeezed shut, is practically sitting in Blair's lap in a bewildering attempt to shield her body. Slowly, he peeks up at the fuming man. That gleaming tip of steel is now steadily aimed at the Imperial's heart. "I said," the man growls in frustration, "get out of the way." "No." Lenny swallows. "Death is too kind for her." Mara tilts her head. Is she too kind for Blair? She does not think too long on this. Death is simply pleased to be included in the conversation. "You want her to suffer, just like you're suffering," the Imperial continues in a rush. "And she already is. Hell, she's stuck with me every day." The man doesn't lower his sword. "If you kill her, she will be free from this life she hates more than anything. And besides," he breathes, "I didn't know Adena personally, but I think she would have objected to you killing people on her behalf." Adena. Death remembers the name of every soul she has ever gathered. Now she knows exactly of whom they speak. Mara recalls scooping the vibrant soul from a stretch of bloody sand. She was quiet, Adena, in a way that suggested she often wasn't when alive. But most memorable of all, she was not afraid. Peace itself was relieved to find her. "Let Blair live," the Imperial murmurs. He holds the man's gaze. "It's the most pain you could offer her." A long moment passes. Death thinks fondly of that sunny soul. There is sudden flash of steel. The sword drops from Lenny's throat. "For Adena," the man chokes. And then he disappears into the night. Lenny is much sturdier than Death previously gave him credit for. He carries Blair with little sign of strain, her head lolling against his starchy shoulder. "Almost there," he murmurs. "Almost where, Lenny?" The Tele's question is more slurred than assertive. "No insulting nickname?" He picks up his pace (Death is then forced to do the same), thoroughly jostling the wounded girl in his arms. "You really are hurt." Blair tries again, these words more biting. "Where are you taking me?" Mara has been wondering just that. She looks to Lenny, awaiting his answer. "To my house." "You mean," Blair begins hoarsely, "you live with a bunch of sweaty Imperials by choice?" Death follows her escort around a corner as he says, "Those sweaty Imperials are worth the luxury of living in a castle." Blair groans with as much scorn as she can muster. "Yes, but you have a curfew. Do you get tucked into bed, too?" "I know you're making fun of me right now, but I would not object to a nightly tuck in." "Of course you wouldn't," Blair mumbles. They turn another corner and- Death comes to an abrupt halt. In another lifetime, her heart would have been pounding. Mara drags her gaze over the cluster of gnarled trees that crowd a rickety house. Their branches are intertwined, weaving around one another in an infinite embrace. This is that patch of earth-the one Death has been avoiding since her return to Ilya. Those trees were once thriving, so tall they seemed to scrape the sky with their branches. Now they curl with time, decay from the horrors they have witnessed. But the flimsy home Lenny strides toward is mercifully unfamiliar. Mara forces her feet forward. She stops before the worn door. A pile of sand adorns the step beneath. Death refuses to feel. Just as the living assume of a heinous creature such as she. "Whose house is this?" The Imperial kindly answers Blair's question. "It's mine now. But Ma and I used to live here. Now"-he sets the limp Tele down-"can you stand for a second?" "Yes, I know how to stand, gingersnap." "Ah. Sounds like someone is already feeling better." Lenny tugs at a faded pink ribbon around his neck. Mara, to her dismay, had failed to notice it peeking out from beneath the collar of his uniform. An iron key hangs at the end of it, intricate and decorated with swirling metal. After shoving it hastily into a lock, he then shoulders open the door. "Home sweet home," Lenny sighs. He moves to slide an arm around Blair. "Don't," she snarls. "I don't need your help." Palms raised, the Imperial steps aside. "Suit yourself." The Tele lifts her chin. This must make her terribly dizzy, because she immediately stumbles into the doorframe. Lenny clears his throat. "Sure you don't need-?" "Just get me inside," Blair seethes. He swiftly obeys, wrapping a hesitant arm around his assignment's waist. She leans heavily on him as they step into what is generously deemed a home. It's a glorified shack, really, with its slatted roof and lack of furniture. Mara surveys the shadowed space and finds only an inkling of relief. No piece of the past lingers here. "Where is your mother now?" Blair asks, easing herself onto a stiff cot decorating the floor. Lenny visibly shudders as he crouches before her. "It feels wrong to think of her as 'Mother.' Seems so cold and formal." "It is," she responds dully. "Not all of us are blessed with a 'Ma.' " "Right." He nods slowly. "I guess I'm pretty lucky, then. But Ma is in Dor now, sheltering Elites whose powers are too weak to safely remain in Ilya. Because of multiple Ordinary ancestors," he clarifies. Death thoroughly enjoys talk of these Elites and Ordinaries. It is quite fun, as though she is the only one laughing at an untold joke. Lenny rifles through the bundle of clothing beside his bleary-eyed assignment on the cot. "Okay, nothing is broken, right? I feel like you would be even less pleasant if that were the case." "No. Nothing is broken." Hmm. Mara is a bit disappointed by her lack of retort. In fact, upon further study, it seems the Tele is rather defeated. If Death were to wager a guess-and, of course, she will-it would be that Blair Archer is unused to pain. She doesn't let anyone get close enough to hurt her. That borrowed ability is the only defense she knows, and when that is stripped away, she is weak. Or rather, just as she was meant to be. "Good," Lenny says, relieved. "Now, I just need to bandage you up until we can discreetly get a Healer to your room. I'm not really sure how to go about doing that, but-" "Are you capable of thinking these thoughts inside your head?" Blair grinds out between her teeth. "Because you're making mine pound harder." "Ah, yes, let's start there." He is completely unbothered by her biting words. This only annoys Blair further. His fingers brush her forehead, startling the Tele. "What the hell are you doing?" "Trying to help," he says slowly. Hesitantly, he swipes a strand of tangled hair from her eyes. "There. Now I can see that gash on your temple." Mara takes a seat on the lumpy cot. They may be here awhile. "Why are you helping me?" Blair demands. Lenny tears a strip of fabric from the pile of abandoned clothing. "Aside from it kind of being my job?" His eyes flick over a glaring Blair. "Why didn't you fight that Tele?" She grinds her teeth together. Death can hear it. "I did." "No," the Imperial corrects. "You didn't-not really. I could hear your heart. It only slowed, like... like you-" "Accepted my fate," Blair finishes curtly. Her voice is steady. "That man is the second person who wants me dead for what I did in that arena. Maybe it's time to admit they have a point." Lenny stares at her. The moon slips through those slits in the roof, trickling dull light across his face. He wears the type of look that begs to be analyzed, picked apart until each layer of emotion is on display. But even Mara does not know what it is he's thinking, feeling-is or isn't. "Are you just going to let me bleed out over here?" Blair blurts harshly. Her words cut through the concern on the Imperial's face. "Right." He clears his throat and lifts that strip of cloth to Blair's forehead. "Is that"-a look of repulsion pinches her features-"sand?" "Oh, yeah." After wrapping her head with the makeshift bandage, Lenny ties a knot against her hair. "I just recently got back from the Scorches." "What?" "I was a part of that Resistance that failed," he says casually. "I even rescued Pae from the Enforcer and took them to Dor. But then they vanished from our camp-it was a whole thing." He sighs. "That's why I came back to Ilya, actually. I was going to smuggle Paedyn out of the kingdom before I found out Kitt had no intention of killing her." Hmm. Death had not expected that. Over the years, she has collected more than a few martyrs and radicals and those ravenous for justice. But Lenny does not look like the rest. No, he is still a boy with a heart much too soft-a luxury that revolution cannot afford. Kindness is rarely jarring enough to instill change, you see, so cruelty is often justified by pure intentions. Casually, the Imperial lifts that worn tunic again to rip more fabric from its hem. Blair stares at the sandy garment, her voice lethal. "Are these the sweaty clothes you wore in the Scorches?" Lenny has the audacity to snort. "I tell you I was a Resistance member, and that is the first thing you ask?" "I don't care about your treason," she declares. "It's honestly unsurprising, considering you're a Hyper and your best friend is an Ordinary. What I do care about, however, is your filthy clothing on my open wound." He winces. "It's not ideal, I'll admit. But I don't have any other clothes." "I could strangle you." "Save your energy." Lenny leans in to examine the slice on her forearm. "Besides"-he flashes her a smile she happily scowls at-"I did just save your life." He had. Death notes that this does not sit well with Blair. "Did you mean what you said?" she asks, her tone indifferent. "About how me living is more torturous than Death?" Mara perks up at such a direct mention. When Lenny glances at his assignment, moonlight splatters his face with pale freckles of its own. "Was it true?" Blair seems to be at war with herself. "I wanted to be a baker," she finally blurts. Hmm. Yet another unexpected discovery this evening. Unlike Lenny, the Tele seems entirely too cutting and cruel for such an admission of self. Wisely, Lenny does not laugh. "What?" "Since we are admitting things," she forces out, "you should know that I always wanted to be a baker." The Imperial blinks. This is then followed by the predicted laughter. "I'm sorry, I just can't imagine you wanting to make anyone feel warm and fuzzy inside." "Well, there are only about four occupations you can have in this Plague-forsaken kingdom," she retorts, though the venom in her voice begins to fade. "And when I was a little girl, baking was the only thing in my life I could control. Every measurement, every spice-it was mine to manipulate." Death can understand this. In another life, she, too, yearned for control. Now Mara is at the mercy of the Mors. Lenny tenderly wraps the gash beneath her torn tunic sleeve. "So..." He sounds hesitant, as though at any moment, Blair might run away from this sudden vulnerability. "Why are you not a baker, then?" She exhales slowly. "My mother wanted a boy-a strong male to take my father's place as general one day." Both Mara and the Tele roll their eyes. "So, from the moment of my birth, I was a disappointment. Mother knew I would have to work extra hard to earn my father's position, because for whatever reason, being a woman is perceived as a disadvantage." Death is beginning to understand this difficult human-perhaps even like her. Lenny holds his assignment's gaze, silently urging this spilling of honesty from her lips. "By the age of four," she continues curtly, "Mother had me training for half the day. My power was the only thing she'd ever really liked about me. So, she forced me to become what she never could be-lethal, harsh, a condescending bitch. Or so I've heard." A shadowed smile lifts the Imperial's lips. "We are both allowed an insulting nickname." Blair smothers him with a flat look. "Anyway, it became Mother's sole mission to mold me into her perfect creation. She taught me to intimidate, never show fear. The princes were viewed as my competition, an obstacle I needed to conquer in everything." She pauses, looking annoyed by her own unsolicited admission. "And I couldn't help but resent them. Not because my mother wanted me to, but because they were allowed to live. They had so much power, and yet, the boys got to be just that-boys." She is tearing at the skin on her palm now. "I was never allowed friends, or fun, or food that I enjoyed. My life was not my own. And when I grew tired of forcing the same tasteless slop down my throat, I decided to make that the one thing I could control. I would sneak into the kitchen, stealing spices, fruit, anything I could get my hands on." "I wondered why Gail seemed to know you so well," Lenny murmurs. "She knew I was taking her supplies." The Tele almost smiles at the thought. "And yet, she never tried to stop me. Maybe she realized it was my escape from the callous girl Mother required I be. But then"-her voice grows chilled-"the sergeant caught me." "Sergeant," Lenny echoes in understanding. "So, it's your ma-sorry, mother." "She hates when I call her that, which is precisely why I do," Blair says simply. "It's fitting, though-she spews more orders than my father ever has. So, when she discovered I had a passion that didn't benefit my fate as a general, she declared that baking was nonsense and ordered I never do it again. Continuing my family's legacy is all I'm meant for." Again, Death feels a pang of sympathy. Lenny leans in, listening closely. Mara is surprised he can go so long without speaking. "So, I made a deal with her that day," Blair continues. "If I won the Purging Trials, bringing more honor to our family than any general could, she would have to let me go." She looks down at the angry skin on her palm. "That was four years ago. And I spent every day after becoming the harshest, most lethal version of myself." "You had to win," the Imperial murmurs. "It makes sense now. But... why didn't you just run away?" "I was young," she retorts. "I knew Mother would find me and call off our deal. But now... I have nothing to lose." Her words are clipped. "In those Trials, it was my life I was playing for. And if I won, I wouldn't have to live under the sergeant's control or the king's command. I could start over-be who I want, who I would have been before Mother made me this way." It is like looking in a mirror, Mara realizes, regrettably. Without ever seeing her, this girl knows Death more intimately than most. For they both burn with a passion that Fate laughs at. Words continue to pour from Blair, threatening to drown her. "So when I killed that girl in the Bowl-Adena-I thought it would be all worth it in the end. I was supposed to win those Purging Trials. I had calculated my score, knew that if I finished that maze first, I would be free." Lenny hangs his head. "But the Resistance attacked." Yes, Mara did remember collecting the sea of limp souls from that sandy arena. They were all quite content to be dead, she recalls. For most possessed a certain calmness that only accompanies purpose. Hope. "And there was no winner for the sixth-ever Purging Trials," Blair muses. "Mother refused to hold up her end of the bargain, so it was all for nothing. All the malice I met the world with, all the blood I spilt in the arena." Her voice sounds oddly strained. "That was my first deliberate kill. I really thought she was a criminal. But Adena's death didn't even let me live. So, yes," she states plainly. "What you said to the Tele was true." A stiff silence swells between them. For the first time, Death feels as though she should not be intruding on this moment. The pale moonlight peeking down on the tense scene paints Lenny's lashes silver. Blair must notice this too, because she is staring rather intently at him. That would be a first. "So now you have nothing to say?" she finally spits. The Imperial smiles thinly. "'We are made this way.' That is what you said to me about... well, bitches. And I think I understand that now." He looks at Blair, as though this is his first time truly seeing her. Mara is quietly envious-she has never been on the other side of such a stare. Not on this side of eternity. The Tele nods distantly. "My mother was made too. With a weak power, she was forced to feign strength. It's why she hates me for wanting to waste mine on passion." "I'm sorry," Lenny offers slowly. "About all of it. I'm sorry you had to go through that." His words only remind Blair to slam that stony facade back into place. She straightens with a wince. "I don't need your pity." "No, you don't," he agrees. "That's why I'm offering you my help instead." The Imperial nods, his mind elsewhere. "You're going to get out of here. And I won't let my reputation get in the way of that." "But"-Blair's facade is crumbling again-"you were going to find a way that didn't make you look even more weak-" "Thanks, yeah, I remember," Lenny cuts in swiftly. "But that attack earlier... That was a reminder." He swallows. "It's time to cut the shit and face it-I will always be weak. You were right. No one expects me to actually protect you." There is a forced tone of hilarity in the words, one Death is certain he has honed over the years. He is likely used to diminishing himself before others get the chance, hiding behind his humor. It's a sad cycle, Mara decides. "Fine." Blair folds her arms, wincing yet again. "Then I'll teach you how to be powerful." The Imperial finds this funny. "Shit, are you being nice to me? How hard did you hit your head?" "I can demonstrate with your skull." "Look"-Lenny lifts his hands defensively-"I appreciate the shockingly kind offer, but I'm a Hyper. 'Powerful' just isn't a word that applies to me." "That's because you're only relying on your ability," the Tele drawls lazily. "Real power resides in how you're perceived. It's all an act." "And you?" the Imperial asks slowly. "Are you all an act?" Blair is drenched in moonlight when she lifts her chin. "The act is all I've ever known." Yes, Death decides. It is like looking in a mirror. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...