Текст книги "Intermix Nation "

Автор книги: M. Attardo

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Six

Nazirah falls to the floor hard, air crushed from her lungs. She cannot breathe, cannot move. Someone hovers over her threateningly. Her arms are scratched and bruised. Blood drips into her right eye from a cut above her eyebrow, blurring her vision. One side of her face swells. From the corner of her unaffected eye, Nazirah sees Cato move to help her. Lumi puts a firm hand to his chest, stopping him. Grimacing in pain, face strained, Nazirah slowly rises to her feet.

Combat training.

It started two weeks ago and has been torture ever since. On the first day, a rainy Monday afternoon, the recruits shuffled lethargically into the old gymnasium with their fighting instructor, Grum. Grum is an exceptionally cranky, middle-aged intermix. He takes every chance he possibly can to beat his students down, both physically and emotionally. Not much is known about him except that he was a rum-runner in his adolescence. Caught by Medi soldiers, he was brutally maimed for it. They left him alive, horribly scarred, as a warning to other bootleggers. His scars mar an already vile face, most notably with a thick keloid that runs from lip to eyebrow.

When Grum told the class they were to start learning actual fighting techniques, the recruits didn’t take him seriously. They laughed and joked and practiced mock karate moves on one another. Nazirah got into plenty of fights in Rafu, but always with bullies who tried to mess with her. She never started fights, and the thought of battling her fellow recruits was disturbing. Nazirah hoped they would practice on dummies, like when they learned to throw knives or shoot guns – or maybe just watch Grum perform a move and follow his directions.

But that was not the case.

Grum made them form a semicircle, selected two recruits at random, and forced them to battle each other. Only when they both were bruised, bloody, and crying had Grum said it was enough. If the recruits viewed rebel training through rose-colored glasses before, well, the glasses are definitely off now. They are being groomed to win. And in order to win, they have to fight and kill.

For the last two weeks, Nazirah has been losing touch with reality.

Nazirah slowly faces her opponent, an Oseni named Anzares. Nazirah has never spoken to her before today, but she knows from watching Anzares fight in class that she is vicious.

Anzares doesn’t give Nazirah even a moment to prepare. She kicks her full in the stomach, sending her sprawling onto the floor again.

“Enough of this!”

Cato yells at Grum from somewhere to Nazirah’s left. Cato has defended Nazirah each time she has to fight, but Grum never lets her off that easily. Nazirah holds her hands over her stomach protectively, the blood rushing to her ears. Anzares stands over her, looking up at Grum, seeking his approval to end the fight. But Grum shakes his head.

“Either she learns to fight now,” Grum says to the class, pounding his clipboard, “or she dies on the battlefield. The same goes for each and every one of you! Is that what you want?”

It’s certainly not what Anzares wants.

Anzares kicks Nazirah hard in the leg with renewed intensity. “Bitch, get up!”

Many of the recruits feel Nazirah receives special treatment because her brother is a Commander. They are practically begging Grum to pair them up with her. Nazirah rises to her feet once more, standing passively in front of Anzares, waiting for the next attack. It won’t be long now. Won’t be long until Nazirah gets what she’s been waiting for.

It’s been like this for two weeks.

On the first day, even though Nazirah had fought plenty in the past, she froze up. She was unable to move, unable to strike out at her opponent. It was like when she met Adamek at the prison. She wanted to kill him so badly, but pulled away at the last moment.

Is she a coward? Had it started then?

Nazirah thinks it probably started four months before that, on the night she found her parents and everything changed. She changed; she isn’t that same carefree girl she was. She feels sick at the thought of hurting another person, feels unbearable guilt at the sight of another’s blood. She doesn’t even see her opponents before her anymore, but rather the haunting faces of Riva and Kasimir. She sees their hollow, accusing eyes asking Nazirah the same question she has asked herself for months.

Why didn’t you save us?

It overwhelms her. So she stands there, reveling in her guilt and shame, and feels salvation in the punches. She embraces the pain that comes with the blows and beatings, and the blissful relief that follows. Because this is what she deserves. This is what, if just for a moment, makes her feel something besides guilt … besides nothing at all.

But Anzares doesn’t see this.

Grum doesn’t see this.

The rest of the class doesn’t see this.

All they see is a girl who won’t fight. Who won’t even try. And this enrages them.

Anzares throws Nazirah a final punch to the cheek. Nazirah sees the blessed stars for a second before collapsing to the floor on her knees.

Like she’s in prayer.

Because isn’t she?

And isn’t this her salvation?

“Enough,” Grum says, shaking his head. He holds his scarred hands up, indicating that Anzares can stop and that class is over. “Enough,” he repeats, more to himself.

Anzares spits on the floor and cracks her neck before walking out the door. The rest of the class quietly follows. Taj and Lumi look hesitantly at each other, knowing that Nazirah doesn’t like to be helped. Cato gives them a reassuring nod. They both shrug their shoulders and walk outside.

“Come on,” Cato says, helping Nazirah to her feet and supporting her weight. “I’ll take you to Bilungi.”

They make the short journey to the compound’s hospital, which they could both trek in their sleep by now. The walk is longer than usual since Nazirah is hunched over, needing to lean on Cato for support. The first day this happened, two weeks back, Cato picked Nazirah up to carry her. Nazirah screamed at him and threw a fit. She doesn’t want his help any more than necessary. This is her burden and hers alone.

Cato doesn’t try to pick her up anymore.

Several minutes later, they hobble into the makeshift emergency room. It’s a small room, narrow, with several hospital beds lined side-by-side. Thankfully, only one is currently occupied, partitioned by a sheer white curtain in the far corner.

The head healer on duty, Bilungi, is speaking to someone softly behind the partition. Bilungi is a pure Deathlander from Rubiyat. She has ebony skin and wears a perpetually harsh expression. She also has extremely unorthodox methods of healing.

Cato gently leads Nazirah to the nearest open bed, forcing her to sit down. “Healer Bilungi!” he yells loudly, one hand cupped to the side of his face. “Your afternoon walk-in is here!” Cato gives Nazirah a searching look. He must be itching to know why she’s suddenly unable to fight, after a lifetime of scrapping with nasty Eridians. But Cato doesn’t ask.

And Nazirah doesn’t offer.

She doesn’t know how to explain this self-inflicted karma – this all-consuming guilt she feels all the time and the release that comes from the pain of getting beaten up. She can tell it’s wearing on him.

“Give me a moment, Miss Nation,” Bilungi says, her voice muffled behind the curtain.

Nazirah lies back on the hospital bed, gingerly touching her swollen cheek and bloody forehead. Her abdomen burns, and the metallic taste of blood in her mouth makes her queasy. From Cato’s worried looks, Nazirah knows she’s in bad shape.

“You really should have come to see me about this earlier,” Bilungi says, characteristically ominous, behind the partition. Nazirah watches Bilungi’s silhouette through the sheer curtain as she tightly bandages someone’s shoulder with a roll of thick gauze. She finishes wrapping quickly, hands the person their shirt, and says they are free to go. Nazirah wishes she were so lucky.

Bilungi appears from behind the partition, looking at Nazirah with her usual mixture of concern and derision. “That’s the fourth time this week,” she says, as if she doesn’t believe it. She walks over to Nazirah, inspecting her injuries methodically.

“Well, we didn’t have class on Tuesday,” Nazirah says, trying to make light of the situation.

Both Cato and Bilungi glare at her. Bilungi prods Nazirah’s abdomen, causing her to hiss in pain. “You have internal bleeding,” she says.

Nazirah and Cato share a concerned look. Bilungi rifles through a cabinet, pulling out a muddy-looking vial of liquid. She hands it to Nazirah, who inspects its contents. It’s slightly chunky, like mud and grass in bloody water. She has gotten used to Bilungi’s odd range of concoctions and brews, but this is a first. “What is it?”

“Drink it and I’ll tell you.”

Bilungi is a coy old bitch.

“What if I’m allergic?”

“Then you die.”

Closing her eyes, Nazirah tips the vial back, gagging as the muddy liquid slides down her throat. Swallowing and grimacing, she thrusts the vial back into Bilungi’s hands. Almost immediately, she feels relief spreading across her abdomen, like tiny warm hands stitching her insides back together.

“That’s incredible,” Nazirah says, “and incredibly disgusting. What was it?”

“Just silt, some holy water from the River Syx, and chicken blood.”

Nazirah holds back another gag. “Oh, is that all?” she snips.

“And, of course, some embezzled MEDIcine.”

“MEDIcine?”

“Medicine from Mediah. It’s extremely expensive.”

“And you don’t think that maybe, just maybe, I only needed to take that last ingredient?”

“No,” she says. Bilungi disposes of the empty vial and Nazirah bites her tongue. She wonders if the MEDIcine has come from one of Adamek’s connections. Bilungi picks up the jar of healing salve, needle, and thread that Nazirah is much more familiar with. Bilungi looks up at Cato, as if just realizing he is still there. “That will be all, Mr. Caal,” she says firmly, nodding towards the door. Cato is about to protest, but Bilungi cuts him off. “Miss Nation is greatly in need of rest and I need to address her wounds. The faster she is allowed to heal, the faster you can see her again.”

Cato looks like he’s thinking about arguing, but from the look on Bilungi’s face, knows it will be pointless. He leans over and gives Nazirah a gentle kiss on her uninjured cheek. She smiles up at him lazily, head a bit foggy from MEDIcine and chicken blood. “I’ll see you later, Irri,” he says, before leaving.

Bilungi goes to work immediately, stitching up the cut above Nazirah’s eye expertly. She is beginning to apply the healing salve on Nazirah’s cheek when someone storms into the room. It is Nikolaus, and he is pissed.

“Nazirah, what is wrong with you?” Nikolaus yells, towering over the hospital bed.

Bilungi’s lips narrow into a thin line as she continues applying the salve to Nazirah’s cheek. She clearly doesn’t want Nikolaus agitating her patient, but she doesn’t say anything to stop him. Bilungi is probably wondering the same thing herself, since Nazirah has visited her almost every day for weeks.

“I guess you’re back, then,” Nazirah replies.

Nikolaus has been away with Aldrik, Lord Grigori, and Adamek for over a week, on some impromptu reconnaissance mission in Osen. Nazirah didn’t find out he was leaving until after he was already gone.

Nikolaus rubs his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. He clearly doesn’t want to deal with this right now. “Cut it out,” he says. “This is my job. Sometimes I have to leave at a moment’s notice, especially now, when everything is starting to fall into place. God, you look like crap.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Nikolaus is pale and is limping slightly. Nazirah doesn’t know exactly what happens during these recon missions, but for Nikolaus to get hurt, they must be seriously dangerous.

Seeing the clear panic on her face, Nikolaus walks closer to her, making sure not to limp. He sits down beside her on the bed, taking her hands gently.

“I’ll just put this away.” Bilungi quickly finishes applying the salve and leaves them to speak privately.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says calmly. “I have a good team.” He smiles, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Nazirah can tell something is bothering him. No doubt it’s her.

“When did you get back?”

“Last night,” he continues. “And imagine my delight when Mather Grum cornered me in the hallway, ranting about how, for the last two weeks, you’ve refused to participate in any of his training sessions.” Nikolaus shoots her a curious look and Nazirah stares out the window. “He says that you’re making a fool of him and a mockery of his class. He says that you just stand there, allowing yourself to get beaten up, without trying to protect yourself.”

“He says a lot.”

“Nazirah,” Nikolaus warns, “I’m worried about you. I’m really worried.”

She looks into his eyes, finds deep sadness there.

“I’m pleased that you’ve started attending classes more and that you’re being somewhat proactive,” he continues, “but you need to be able to fight. It’s unlike you to shy away from something like this. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I just can’t do it, Niko.”

“Is it Grum?” he asks. “Is it your classmates? Are they picking on you or something? Do you want me to –”

“No it’s nothing like that,” she interrupts, shaking her head.

Nikolaus doesn’t seem convinced. “Look, I get that you’re small,” he says, trying to understand. “And that’s fine. You can’t help that; you’re built like Riva.”

“I’m not weak, Niko,” Nazirah says, through gritted teeth. “I just can’t do it.”

“Why not, Nazirah?” he asks, pleading with her now. “Let me in! Tell me what you’re feeling!”

“That’s just it,” she mumbles. “I don’t feel anything, anymore.”

The partition curtain slides open, revealing Adamek buttoning up the top of his shirt. Nazirah looks at him, bewildered. Again, he has been here the entire time? He has heard everything? He must have stayed deliberately … it can’t take that long to button a shirt. Nazirah is annoyed, but she’s secretly grateful to no longer be the sole focus of Nikolaus’s attention. She hasn’t seen Adamek in weeks, not since the night he and Cato almost got into a fistfight. His left shoulder is bandaged heavily under his shirt, but his face is completely healed.

“Morgen,” Nikolaus greets him swiftly. “Taking care of that shoulder?”

Adamek nods, raising an eyebrow at Nazirah. She must really look like crap. A second later, he’s gone, out the door, greeting Bilungi as he leaves.

“What a jerk,” Nazirah huffs. How Niko could act so civil with him, go on missions with him, is completely beyond her.

“You’re truly unbelievable.”

Is Niko actually defending him? Not only is Nazirah supposed to magically accept Adamek’s amnesty and tolerate his presence, now she has to also rejoice whenever he walks into the room? Her brother is a real piece of work.

“Thank you,” she snaps.

“Do you know what happened to his shoulder?” Niko asks quietly, taking a steadying breath. “We’ve spent the last week on the Oseni border, spying on Medi training camps. Near the end of the mission, we got caught, in a real bad way.”

“I don’t want to hear this!” she cries, covering her ears.

“You have to hear this!” he says, pulling her hands away. “I almost died, Nazirah! Morgen saved me. He got shot in the shoulder and stitched himself up on the battlefield, for God’s sake! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“That’s gross.”

“That’s not the point.”

“And what is the point?”

“In the past few weeks, Adamek has proven countless times that he deserves to be here. He has risked his life for us, has helped our medical team, has given us detailed information and contacts.…” Niko trails off, looking out the window before refocusing on Nazirah. “The Medis, vicious though they are, are much more advanced than we. They have technology we could never even dream of, would not think could possibly exist. Without his help, we would have no chance of winning this.”

Nazirah crosses her arms. “Doesn’t mean I have to like him,” she argues. “And since when do you call him that?”

“What?”

“That.”

“… Adamek?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s his name, isn’t it?” asks Niko gently. “And no, you don’t have to like him. Contrary to what you may think, I’m not asking you to. But at least try to be civil, okay? Try to understand someone besides yourself, for once.”

“We have nothing in common.”

“Do you know that the Chancellor has renounced him? Has called him a brainwashed blood traitor? There’s a huge bounty on his head. His father wants him dead.”

“That makes two of us.”

“People can change, Nazirah.”

And don’t you forget it.

“Not him,” she whispers.

They stare sadly at each other, brother and sister at perpetual odds. Bilungi clears her throat from the far side of the room, indicating to Nikolaus that it’s time for him to go. He gets up to leave, but stops, speaking to Nazirah but facing the door. “Nazirah, I don’t know exactly why you’re against everything that I do,” he says. “I blame myself for a lot of the mess we’re in, but you’re the only family I have left. Our time, after hundreds of years of oppression, is finally coming. I don’t want to see you get hurt. I’m not sure why you’re refusing to fight, but I will get to the bottom of it. I need you to try … for me.”

Nazirah is finally alone. She watches the open door for a moment and then lays her head on the hospital bed. She stares at the ceiling. Nikolaus is right, for once. She can’t keep doing this to herself. And he doesn’t deserve any more pain, especially caused by her. She will try. For Niko, she will try. She doesn’t know if it will work, but it’s worth a shot. Nazirah doesn’t want to die, but she isn’t sure she wants to live like this, either.

Chapter Seven

A day later, it’s the blessed weekend, and Nazirah doesn’t have to worry about combat training for forty-eight glorious hours. She sleeps in on Saturday, letting her body fully heal. She doesn’t get out of bed until the sun is high in the sky. Rested and rejuvenated, Nazirah takes a long run outside. She lies in the overgrown meadow for a while. It’s nearly fall, but the Eridian heat never falters.

Nazirah meets up with Cato and the others for dinner, in unusually high spirits. Cato tells her that he and Taj have stolen some tequilux from Aldrik’s private stash, and that they plan to throw a party on the boys’ floor tonight. Nazirah promises to come, but says she has some work that she needs to do first. No one questions her, not even Cato, because Nazirah has had so many extra assignments due lately. And she’s not lying to them … not exactly.

Nazirah does have work to do.

Late that night, Nazirah puts on black sweatpants. She laces up her old tennis shoes and throws on a worn jersey top. Pulling her hair into a high ponytail, Nazirah looks at her reflection in the mirror. She is surprised and encouraged to see the determination on her face.

On Riva’s face.

There are traces of her old self, but they are concealed by new stitches and bruises.

Quietly, Nazirah exits her room and tiptoes downstairs. She pauses, listening to the raucous sounds coming from the boys’ floor. She smiles a little, wishing she could join the fun.

There will be time for that later.

Reaching the bottom of the stairwell, Nazirah pulls open the door to the basement. She walks with determination down the hallway. Eventually, she turns into a room she has been in only once before, during the brief tour Nikolaus gave her first week here.

The workout room is old, musty, and reeks of sweat, but will suit Nazirah’s purpose just fine. There are the dummy she knows Cato likes to practice knife throwing on, the weights Taj has told her about, and even the mats that Lumi uses for stretching. Her friends have all made a concentrated effort to improve their combat skills. Now it’s Nazirah’s turn to catch up.

If she could find a way to actually hit something.

Nazirah walks past a rack of boxing gloves and some throwing knives. She sits down at a bench. She ties her sneakers and then reties them. No one else is here, because really, who would want to train on a Saturday night?

But solitude is exactly what Nazirah has been hoping for. She briefly considered asking Cato to help her train – she knows he would have eagerly volunteered. But this is one fear Nazirah must face alone.

“Animals.”

Nazirah wrinkles her nose at the sweaty rags and towels piled around her. She isn’t the tidiest person, but really, this is ridiculous. Nazirah has no idea how Lumi even walks through the door, the princess that she is.

Satisfied she won’t fall out of her shoes, Nazirah steps over a rag pile and stands under a small window high in the wall. She struggles with the latch, jumping a little and eventually reaching it on her tiptoes. Nazirah cracks the window open, hoping for wind or rain or hurricane to wash the rancid odors away.

Nazirah spots some protection tape lying on a nearby bench. She picks it up, attempts to tape her fingers like Cato has done for her countless times in class. Nazirah holds up one complete hand and scrutinizes it. It looks more like the hand of a mummy than anything else, but it will have to do.

Taping the other hand, Nazirah hums an Eridian melody. It’s off-beat and out of tune, but it fills the silence.

Nazirah does what she thinks is some preliminary stretching, trying to drag out warming up for as long as possible. Rolling her shoulders, Nazirah decides she’s as ready as she’s going to get.

Then the clapping starts, and her good mood flies right out the open window.

Adamek leans against the punching bag in the far corner of the room. He wears a white wife-beater that prominently displays both of his black tattoo sleeves in their entirety. His left shoulder is still bandaged. His face is slightly flushed from working out and a pair of boxing gloves hangs from his neck.

“That was quite the little show,” he says.

“I didn’t realize I had an audience.”

“I didn’t realize Grum was teaching recruits how to bandage opponents to death,” he shoots back. “It doesn’t seem very efficient.”

Nazirah flushes in anger, looking at her overly taped hands. Even from here she can see that his are done the right way. Her first instinct is to run and her eyes dart to the door. But she is no coward! Where is the Nazirah Nation who jumped off the cliffs of Rafu? Where is the Nazirah Nation who tried to beat up bullies twice her size? Where is that girl, who was once so fearless, and is now so scared and lost? And all because of this boy, who is probably expecting her to run anyway.

Nazirah is tired of running.

“Well, you would know, wouldn’t you?” she says. She meets his gaze evenly, cocking her head.

Adamek’s eyes darken. Two could play this game. “Yes, I would,” he says.

Adamek steps away from the punching bag, giving her full access to it. Nazirah straightens her shoulders in defiance and cautiously approaches it, keeping an eye on him the entire time. They haven’t been alone since the day she met him in the prison. She feels out of sorts in his presence, apart from the obvious reasons. He is always just there, just watching. Like he’s trying to figure out what makes her tick; like she’s his pet project.

Nazirah stands before the punching bag. She breathes deeply, zoning Adamek out, trying to remember the reason she came here in the first place. She can’t back down now. She can’t let Niko down. She has to figure out how to fight without freezing up. She has to figure out how to channel this guilt.

Hit it. Hit it. Hit it.

Her muscles lock. She sighs in frustration, resting her head against the bag and closing her eyes. She clenches her jaw, willing the images of Riva and Kasimir away. She opens her eyes, breathing hard. It’s just a bag, she thinks. It’s just a bag.

But suddenly, it’s not just a bag anymore. Nazirah imagines that it’s something entirely different … someone entirely different.

Just hit it.

And she does.

Her fist slams into the bag with a dull thud. It hurts her wrist and the bag barely moves an inch, but Nazirah wants to cry with joy. She hits it again, harder this time – and again and again. She feels a hand firmly grip her back, correcting her posture. And another, repositioning her arm. Nazirah whirls around, her heart pounding out of its ribcage.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Adamek is only a foot away. The gloves that were hanging around his neck are gone. He stares at the stitches above her eyebrow and at her bruised face. “I think you could use a few pointers,” he says.

“I don’t need your help!”

“I beg to differ,” he says. “The first rule, Nation, is to always know your enemy.”

“Oh, believe me, Morgen,” she says, laughing coldly, “that is not my problem.”

“So why have you been ballroom dancing with this bag for the past five minutes, when you know I’m standing right behind you?”

“You admit you’re my enemy?”

He shrugs. “You certainly seem to think so.”

“Yes, I certainly do!”

“You’re so tense, Nation.”

“Leave me alone.”

Adamek looks irate. He takes a determined step forward. Nazirah steps backward, past the bag, trying to put more space between them. “Why won’t you fight?” he asks.

Nazirah wasn’t expecting that. And she doesn’t want to go there. She takes another step backward, but he matches her.

“Why won’t you fight?” he asks again, more harshly. He is quickly becoming unhinged and Nazirah thinks she should have left when she had the chance. She takes another step backward, her back hitting the wall. There’s nowhere left to retreat. Adamek is just a few inches away now, eyes burning in anger. “Why won’t you fight?” he shouts. He slams his fists into the wall on both sides of her. She flinches, can see it written all over his face. He already knows why.

“Go away!” she yells.

“Fight back!” Adamek shoves her shoulders into the wall, lifting Nazirah up so he can look her in the eyes. Her feet dangle uselessly a foot off the ground. She struggles against him and he laughs. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that, princess.”

Nazirah slaps him with her left hand. Adamek growls, releases her shoulder and catching her hand in his. He pushes her entire arm back against the wall and Nazirah goes to slap him with her right hand. He anticipates the move this time, catching that one as well.

Nazirah seethes. She attempts to knee Adamek’s groin, but he presses his body up against hers, pinning her to the wall.

“I’m particularly fond of those,” he says, tracing the stitches above her eyebrow with his fingers. “So let’s not try that again.”

“Fuck off!”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“You’re a bastard!”

“That’s funny, princess,” he says. “Your father called me the same thing … before I shot him in the heart.”

Nazirah screams, throwing all of her weight onto Adamek and slamming her head into his face. He staggers backward, but she holds onto him. She chokes him with one hand, digging her fingernails into his wounded shoulder with the other. The pain in her head is blinding and her stitches have reopened. Blood drips into her eye and she feels about to blackout, but all she can think about is spilling the blood of Adamek Morgen.

Adamek hisses, wrenching her fingers away from his shoulder. He pulls her off him. She lands hard on the ground.

Nazirah jumps up and stands in front of him, gasping. She notices with satisfaction that his throat is covered with her claw marks. Nazirah glares, wiping blood from her eyes. He looks angry, yes. He looks like he’s in pain, good. But he also looks relieved. Like he has proven something to himself. Like he wanted this to happen all along.

Was this his intention in the prison as well? Had he wanted her to attack him, to fight him, to face him?

The guilt that’s eating Nazirah up inside is still there, but it’s different, somehow. She has finally confronted him. And somehow, she knows she won’t choke anymore. Somehow, she knows she can fight. And that’s a powerful feeling.

She hates him more than ever, but she’s also grateful.

“Why?”

He rubs his throat and rotates his shoulder gingerly. “You needed to be able to fight. You needed to let yourself fight.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

Nazirah sees the recognition in his eyes. “Don’t ask a question, if you don’t want to know the answer,” he says.

“Why did you do it?” she cries angrily, tears streaming down her face. She is letting him see her cry, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care at all. She holds her stomach in her hands, completely losing it. Then, she pulls hard on his shirt. “Tell me why!”

His gaze is distant. “There’s nothing I can say that will bring them back. It was an order. I followed it. End of story.”

“End of story?” she sobs, hoarse. “If only my story ended there!”

“I warned you not to ask.”

“I hate you,” she says, completely raw. “I hate you so much.”

She walks away.

He lets her.

And she doesn’t realize, until much later, that she never asked him if he regrets it.

#

The next day, Nazirah makes excuses for why she never showed up to the party. She says she wasn’t feeling well, that she was swamped with extra work. And, thankfully, no one pushes the issue. When she shows up at the emergency room, early Sunday morning, even Bilungi says nothing. She only looks at Nazirah staunchly, closing her reopened stitches.

Monday afternoon, Nazirah walks into the gymnasium to find three additions to the class. Nikolaus, Aldrik, and Adamek stand in a small circle with Grum, speaking privately. Nikolaus seems to be reassuring Grum, who looks even more irritated than usual.

The remaining recruits slowly file into class, glancing curiously at them. Even Lumi, normally so aloof, flashes them a troubled look.

Nazirah tries to ignore them completely, increasingly nervous. She’s sure Niko wants to observe combat training to figure out exactly what’s wrong with her. But Nazirah already knows what’s wrong with her. And, judging from the livid look on Grum’s face, Niko’s good intentions will backfire spectacularly.

“What are they doing here?” whispers Cato.

Nazirah shrugs her shoulders. She has no idea what excuse Nikolaus has given Grum, Aldrik, or Adamek. She doesn’t think Niko would tell them the truth … that he’s worried his baby sister is losing her mind.