Azurael opened his eyes to a sterile-white room and a tightness in his right arm. He did not want to look down, fearing his words may have backfired on him this time. But as he gripped the bedsheet at his side, he resolved to believe it wasn’t a phantom limb touching a phantom sheet.

  It was a wonder, to be honest, he didn’t expect even the witch of the woods to be able to recover his arm, then again he’d never lost a limb before. He’d heard stories, of course, but for a healer to be so good to heal anyone? That was something beyond skill.

  “Had it been anything but a limb you’d be dead out of luck.” Her old raggy voice croaked to his side.

  His eyes widened at the sight of Kari lying in a black, crimson stained white bed at his side as the witch dug her slender fingers into the veins of the pale girl.

  “Do her a favor—save her life, won’t you?” He sprang from the bed, his heart racing as he looked around for something… nothing actually. “You throw yourself into deathmatches, but a little blood on your partner makes you freeze? Some hero. Just take the damn bottle and make her drink.” She kicked a flask that stood at her feet.

  He caught himself, his pulse still hammering. A sharp breath, then another. He forced himself to move, snatching up the flask with shaking fingers. Moving to tip the clear liquid into her mouth. A viscous, alcoholic smelling thing. The scent repulsed him, and roused a gag from the pale girl as it slid its way down. Sweat clung to her golden locks as shivers wracked her frail body, each breath a trembling gasp.

  “Will she be alright?” He asked, steading his voice.

  “She’ll live.” She twirled her fingers; flesh tore and healed as they moved. “You should be thankful.”

  “For what?” His voice sharpened. “Miss McNellie, we were attacked. What did this to her? What is this?” He stood, arms wide—one whole, one mangled; trembling companion beneath.

  “From what I gathered,” she pulled out her fingers, flesh joined seamlessly where it had been punctured. “Each of the eight first year groups was attacked– there were seventeen casualties total.” His arms fell to his side, shoulders sagging. She gave Azurael an appraising look. “Your group was the only one without casualties. Why would that be?”

  He stood silent, his stomach turned and sat at Kari’s side. McNellie’s gaze trained on him as he seemed to gather his thoughts. “I was attacked, while we were taking on the oppressor.”

  “They went for the greatest threat?”

  “I thought… Maybe it was just an assassin coming for me. But you say each group was attacked. Did they wait for me to get there to attack? Because they were alone on the Isle for about two and a half days.” He tightened his fists, his right arm ached from bicep to fingertips.

  “The child.” McNellie hushed.

  Azurael gnawed at his cheek. “What do you know about her?”

  “About her? Not a clue of her existence.” she stared at the bloodstains on Kari’s white sheets. “Though… Seven years ago, when the boy Astrea attended, after he escaped Asha. She broke protocol and chased after him, went directly to the Parmsien royal’s home and demanded he be handed to her.” Azurael met her eyes– a fragmented gold ring, specked with crimson. “That’s when she first met the girl.”

  His gaze darted, piecing together the few things he was sure of. “Was it her though, Alera, they were after? They only attacked after I–”

  “Don’t be such a narcissist, you think they intended to drag things out fighting you?” She scoffed. “That kid you brought back, you crushed his eye.”

  “He’s a royal.” A bead of sweat slid down his cheek.

  “Hardly– branch family… you killed him.” He stared at her, hoping there was more. “Never seen you go that far against an opponent.”

  “I got caught in a lockzone, nothing else to do in that situation. Is he… am I in trouble?”

  “Of course you’re in trouble,” she chuckled heartily. “But Asha would never hand you over, I’m sure. Not even if he were a main line royal.”

  “Could you not–”

  “Doubt?” She yelped, affronted. “Of course I revived him! With the body being fresh a two bit healer could stitch up his heart. Although, I left his arm off as punishment.” Azurael gave a sigh of relief, coupled with a perplexed look at the ancient lady.

  “Don’t get it wrong boy, if the main family learns about what you’ve done you will be hunted. They’re not fond of foreign agents getting involved in their affairs.”

  “They really make it easy to hate them, don’t they?” He rolled his eyes, landing them on Kari’s, who’s cheeks were beginning to flush with color once more.

  “Then, we let this one die?” Her eyes were sinister, wearing a cheeky smile.

  “She’s nothing like them.” McNellie laughed as she pushed off the bedside, short and stout. “Whatever you say. I replaced your blood, don’t be pushing yourself for the next couple days, you might find yourself blacking out.” She made her way to the door.

  “Replaced? Why?” Incredulity thick in his inquiry.

  “Fetid Scourge.” She said, waving away his look of bewilderment as she shut the door behind her.

  Fetid Scourge, the plague that tore through armies in the Before War. It was supposed to be gone, it killed every last person it infected and died with them.

  His heart pounded no less than when he had first awoken and spotted Kari bedridden.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  I infected her?

  He turned to Kari, the flask laid beside her head. The deep black and crimson sheets reeked of metal, it infected his mouth as he began to make silent pleas for her to recover. He squeezed her palm, soft and gentle, as she had done for him after his failed exams

  * * *

  The air still stung his lungs, familiar as he had been with it.

  “I’m less concerned about Azurael than what happened with the other groups, Marquis.”

  His chest ached from deep within, each beat tender and felt.

  “He was my only target ma’am.” Sweat soaked into his pitch-black coverings. His eyes wore dark circles and the edge of his oak-dark skin around them seemed drained of life– like faded wood. “I have no knowledge of any other events.”

  “You know I can tell a lie, yes? From your heartbeat, the way you breathe, how much you sweat, even the slightest involuntary twitch.”

  “Then you know I have not lied.”

  Her eyes met his, a strange calm crossed her face as she breathed out.

  “Why were you assigned to be the one?”

  “A guarantee that I would kill him sooner or he dies later.”

  “When the family learns he killed you.” She leaned forward, hand to forehead. “Would it still count if you’re alive?”

  “It’s a matter of pride ma’am.”

  “I thought you said you were only going to test him.” Her eyes looked past Marquis, to a slender man with long black hair, white fluffy down patching strands and matted.

  “I said… ‘He poses a significant threat and should be monitored or removed.’” Anaq coughed. “You know all too well what that room measures headmaster.”

  “You believe he’s capable of tearing through the wards of the institute?” Asha stared at him intently. “Regardless, I do not remember giving you the responsibility of guarding the institute.”

  “Perhaps not, but I will not leave the defense of Eternity to a fledgling like you.”

  “You old folk will never respect me it seems.” She sighed in defeat.

  “Well, if it doesn’t matter if you’re alive, I have no use for you. I should dispose of you.” Her eyes bore through him, the eerie calmness to her voice made him shudder. This must have been it, what others felt when confronted by the likes of him– by someone they couldn’t hope to fight.

  “I– have information.” Fear was something beaten out of him. Something that had saturated his body from the day he was old enough to talk, old enough to serve. It was a privilege, after all, to be part of the royal family, however removed. And fear was unbecoming of royalty, for they were the example, the ideal; afraid not even of other royals, for war could always be waged and billions would fall before a step could reach royal grounds.

  “What good would anything you have do for me?” She almost chuckled.

  “In my unique position, I have learned quite a bit.” His throat was dry. “He’d like you to know, he’s doing well. He would like you to reconsider your agreement. And… his offer is always on the table.”

  She turned her head to a corner behind her, her eyes locked onto a small silver knife. “I fear more than ever that agreement will be necessary.” Her voice was low, her eyes longing.

  Her lips moved, though he could hear nothing but a low hum. Anaq moved behind him and took him under the jaw and pulled his head back. His hand squeezing his face, he resisted the urge to fight back, assuring himself that if he would have been killed it wouldn’t be this slow; this was after all, Asha, the headmaster of Hristak, she who could dispatch the strongest catastrophes in minutes.

  Anaq stared at him with disdain. “You better not let that stump hinder you.”

  “It won’t.” Of course, he had no clue they were talking about. But for the time being, his life didn’t seem to be all that disposable now.

  “They know, don’t they?” Asha asked, “That you died.”

  Anaq released him. He gave a nod to the headmaster.

  “I won’t wait for the summit to clarify things.” Anaq stared at her as she pulled back her cloak and the sleeve of her battle suit beneath. Her body was a tapestry of intricate sigils, small and dark, dozens on a single forearm alone. She spoke silent words as she traced the sigils, cutting into her skin making the stained ones glow a faint bloody hue.

  “Asha!” Anaq yelled, his brows furrowed. It was something that had been avoided since the conflict seventy seven years ago, something for fear of war or legend becoming reality.

  “This is Songbird. I demand an audience with the Crowns.”

  * * *

  Her head thrummed, temples pained like a nail being driven into her skull. A faint smell of copper filled her nose as she opened her eyes to a sterile, near-blindingly white room. She could feel her palm being held, a soft massage like her mother used to give her. But she was not here, and she was not a child anymore.

  She squeezed her hand shut.

  “Kari?” Azurael stood to meet her eyes.

  She took him in, the young man she knew, tall and strong. He whose confidence could not even be shaken when facing the headmaster, stared at her with glossy eyes, his chest heaving. Like a crack in steel, something had put it there, she hoped it hadn’t been her. But she was glad it was. “Your arm. Why didn’t you let her complete it?” Her throat pained as she spoke.

  “She couldn’t do more for me.” He lied. She knew, but relented. “How do you feel?”

  “I taste metal and I can feel my organs. What happened?”

  “Fetid Scourge.” Kari stared at him with tired eyes. “Ms. Uvs’Hert said that.”

  She gave a defeated laugh. “Of course she’d recognize an ancient virus. She made it after all.” Azurael was none too surprised to hear that. For the creation of Biological agents was one of the many things the families had labelled her a war criminal for.

  “I didn’t even consider it, but I guess it checks out. All those stories, wounds that would not heal, blood that ate you from within, and organs that fought to leave the body.” He shuddered. “But if that’s what I was hit with, why didn’t it cripple me?”

  “My guess… those very stories are why. Those who crawled away alive built an immunity. I’m surprised two generations is all it took for people to be resistant to it.” She clutched her stomach and rolled to her side to face him. “Are the others alive?”

  His mind drifted to the memory of the moments of extraction. The ground shattering under his feet, a swift incantation and the sigil on his palm glowed through a bloody deluge. The cliff crumbling into the sea, him pushing off what he could to slam his open fist into the corpse of the black-clad man. Screams pierced the air as he turned and pulverized what ground he could get his feet onto. Closing the gap in moments, slamming his palm into each of the girls, feeling bones snap as he did. Going past them, slamming a mark on Mallo’s ribs and having to push through Arhen defense as he raised his rod to block the palm strike. Seeing a dozen more figures struggling their way to Oren who held Alera tightly and disappeared into the crumbling earth. The acid in his stomach rising into his throat as he pushed through burning muscle and intense cramps, his head light and hardly even conscious. Sinews snapped as he launched himself, kicking off crumbling rock before it even knew he had stepped onto it. Driving his fist into the ground and slapping Oren across the face, as his incantation slipped from his tongue the moment his bloody palm bumped Alera’s forehead.

  “I owe them all an apology.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I could barely hold back when marking my sigil.” He stared at his palm, clean and tough with a single raised line where the ceaseless cut had been drawn. “My blood infected you— it probably infected them too.” His face was solemn, mournful eyes held back tears.

  “You saved us,” she pushed the stained sheets aside without so much as looking at them and slid her legs over the bed. “But if it will make you feel better. Let's go.”