“Stupid,” she muttered darkly, glancing up at her opponents—really nothing more than linen sacks stuffed with straw in a vague approximation of a human shape. Nearby, the tennis ball machines Rob had devised to propel arrows at her clicked and whirled mechanically, having run out of deadly projectiles.
A lapse in concentration during training might cost her a little blood and pain, but if these opponents had been flesh and blood rather than cloth and straw, if this had been The Five Finals—she’d be lucky to escape with her life.
“Stupid,” she muttered again.
“I guess that’s one way to describe it,” a droll, languid voice suggested. “Personally, the words I’d choose would be inept, idiotic, and ungainly.”
Allyra gritted her teeth and bit back a sharp retort. Just what she needed—Laureline Singh, who could always be counted on to kick Allyra when she was down or provoke her when she was angry. Laureline’s words were poison disguised as honey, her actions barbs concealed in silk. Allyra plastered a smile on her face, Laureline thrived on conflict—it was best never to show any irritation or weakness.
“Laura,” Allyra said evenly. She couldn’t resist—Laureline hated the shortened version of her name, considering it unsophisticated.
Laureline narrowed her eyes—so fleetingly it was almost imperceptible. Allyra was aware she had to tread carefully; after all, Laureline was their contact to the Rising, the rebel group her father had been a part of, the one he had given his life for. Rob was also a part of the Rising, but he was low on the food chain compared to Laureline—she was second in command of the Rising. The right-hand man, or woman, as it were, of Rowan, the mysterious and as-yet-unseen leader of the Rising.
So, Laureline’s position commanded respect, but it didn’t make dealing with her any easier. Any interaction with Laureline was a game of strategy, all moves and countermoves. And no game was ever the same. But, if she had learned one thing over the last month, it was not to trust Laureline, who, despite her beauty and soft smiles, was about as friendly as an angry spitting cobra.
Laureline traded in the unhappiness of others, and she was good at it—she had an uncanny ability to hone in on weakness and push on it until she crushed it like a bug beneath her designer shoes. It was on this talent that Laureline had climbed the ranks of the Rising—she was their finest interrogator, and when she wasn’t practicing her craft on the enemies of the Rising, she honed her technique on just about anyone who should be so unfortunate as to cross her path—Allyra included. And recently, Laureline seemed to derive a special type of pleasure from Allyra’s pain though she claimed it was no more than an attempt to train Allyra, to ensure she was ready for The Five Finals.
Over the last month of training, Allyra had learned a few rules. First, don’t show any emotion—a poker face was the best defense. Second, never, never, rise to any provocation, no matter how on target it was—staying cool and collected was the only way to ensure Laureline lost interest and refocused her attentions elsewhere.
Narrowed eyes weren’t much to celebrate, but it was enough that Allyra felt an extremely childish sense of elation.
Laureline smiled, full, rouged lips curving upward in a smile that never reached her eyes. “Sloppiness like that will get you killed in The Five Finals.”
“So you keep telling me,” Allyra replied evenly.
“Why are you always so prickly?” Laureline asked, her eyebrows drawn in apparent consternation. “All I’ve tried to do is help you. Rob and Jamie are good people, and I’d hate for them to feel the grief of your loss, not when they’ve lost so much already.”
“Your concern is appreciated, but I learn from my mistakes—it won’t happen again.”
“Won’t it though?” Laureline replied with a smirk. “It’s a miracle this ground isn’t red by the blood you’ve spilt on it over the last month.”
“I’ll be fine,” Allyra said, anger rising like a rogue wave. “After all, I won the Elemental Trials.”
Laureline let out a huff of derision and shook her head. “You’re a fool if you think the Elemental Trials can be compared to The Five Finals in any way. The Trials are nothing but children playing with matches. The Five Finals will be wildfire—if you aren’t prepared, it will consume you and leave nothing but ash behind.”
As always, Laureline had chosen her target well. The doubt and fear Allyra had hidden deep in the darkest corners of her mind crested over her like a wave. She tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat, but her mouth was drier than desert sand.
Aware she was the victor of this particular iteration of the game, Laureline’s smile widened. Pressing her advantage, her gaze drifted over Allyra, and her nose scrunched in distaste. “Rob’s looking for you. He wanted to get an early start. But, I’m sure he’ll make time for you to get cleaned up.”
Allyra tried not to fidget under the scrutiny. She’d been training for the last hour, and suddenly, she was all too aware of the layer of dust coating her skin and the trickle of sweat running down her spine. The humidity here in the Lowveld was relentless, keeping the temperatures high even without the sun’s heat. The air was still and thick, pressing up against her, coaxing the sweat from her skin. Right on cue, the sweat gathered at her forehead dropped and ran down her nose. Allyra tightened her fingers into a fist. Do not brush it away!
In a perfect contrast to Allyra, Laureline appeared cool, fresh, and perfectly put together, almost as if she’d walked out of a high fashion photo shoot. There was no denying it—Laureline was beautiful. Tall, but curvy, with long, silken
