They’d won.
Chapter 10 – Allyra
Restlessness raged beneath her skin. They had come so close to failing. A single bad decision, one misstep, and perhaps just one second slower—any one of which might have resulted in Don and Clara winning.
The very idea of it left her ill at ease, and sleep was proving elusive. She glanced across the room, and by all appearances, Jason wasn’t troubled by the same anxieties. Their recent brush with failure did nothing to disturb his sleep, and in the stillness of the night, she could hear his low, even breathing.
Her mind circled back once more to the challenge. Why had the Tigers failed her?
She had avoided calling on the Tiger Swords since the Second Trial. It had been a conscious and deliberate decision. She had come close to killing Rosalie that day. Too close. The Tigers’ bloodlust had been pumping in her veins, their voices screaming for her to kill, to make Rosalie suffer, to make her pay for Pierre’s death. Allyra had nearly given in; the truth was, she had wanted vengeance. Worse still, she didn’t know how much of the desire to kill had come from the Tigers and how much of it was hers alone.
It scared her more than Allyra cared to admit. And so, she’d avoided calling on the Tiger Swords—until today.
Today, they failed her. Why?
Why? Why? Why?
Just another question to add to her already massive list.
Allyra ground her teeth in frustration. She needed to get out of here. She needed to move, to burn off some of this excess energy. She took another glance in Jason’s direction to reassure herself that he was truly asleep. No sign of movement. She made her decision.
Silently, she slipped from the bed, pulling on a light jacket. One last check on Jason before she crept from the room.
The sparring room wasn’t far, and there were no rules confining her to her room. Yet, in the eerie silence of the empty corridors, Allyra felt out of place, the force of unseen eyes heavy on her shoulders. She moved quickly and silently, like a wraith through the halls, the marbled floor cool beneath her bare feet. A left turn and then another, past two doors, and she was at the sparring room.
Closing the door behind her, she let out a small breath of relief. Reassuring herself that the room was empty, she wasted no time. Concentrating on the delicate, silvery tattoo winding its way around her wrist, she called on the Tigers. Even though she was expecting it, the wave of weakness hit her like a sucker punch directly to the gut. She doubled over, falling to her knees, panting as she tried to overcome the sudden wave of nausea. A few long minutes passed before the faintness receded.
Unsettled, but determined, Allyra tried again. This time, she built barriers around her mind, isolating herself until all could see was the tattoo of the two silver tigers on her wrist. She gathered her will and shoved as much energy as she could muster into the Tigers. This time, the wave of weakness rose and crested, breaking against the barrier she’d constructed. She could still feel it, but the strength of it was muted and distant.
Droplets of sweat gathered at her brow, and more trickled down her back. She took deep, haggard breaths and turned the dagger she’d formed in her hand. It was perfect—light and balanced, built to fit her hand. No other dagger in the world would fit better. The Tigers were still the best, and most powerful, weapons for her, but if calling on them left her shaking and on her knees—how much use would they be if she was fighting for her life?
She closed her eyes and tried to swallow down her confusion and disappointment.
The sound of a footstep startled her, and the tigers snaked back up her arm and settled around her wrist. Allyra lifted her eyes—and met Alex’s crisp blue ones.
Allyra’s heart thudded in her chest. He was standing in front of her. Alex was standing there—whole and solid, so much more real than most of her visions of the past. So real she could almost reach out and touch him. He looked at her in consternation, apparently at a loss on how to react, and stumbled forward as Mandla bumped into him.
“What are you doing just standing there?” Mandla asked good-humoredly. When Alex didn’t reply, his eyes still fixed on Allyra, Mandla frowned. “What is it?” he asked, his voice suddenly gentle and filled with concern. “What do you see?”
Alex shook himself free from the reverie. “Nothing,” he replied with a smile that held only a hint of being forced. “Nothing at all.”
Allyra’s hold on the memory wavered, and Alex became fuzzy and indistinct, while Mandla disappeared altogether. Alex was trying to shove her away, deliberately releasing his hold over his Gift. Instantly, she understood that it was only the combination of her Gift for the past and his for the future that allowed them to see each other so clearly. With her Gift alone, she struggled to stay in the moment.
But, she was tired, she was frustrated, and more than anything, she wanted to stay with Alex, even if it was just an echo of him. She was being selfish; it was obvious that he didn’t want here there. But damn it, she needed him now.
She held on tighter, forcing the memory back into focus. Alex watched her, his fathomless blue eyes widened in disbelief, and he turned away, stubbornly trying to ignore her.
“Want to get started?” Mandla asked.
Alex nodded. As a warm-up, Alex and Mandla settled into the Sequence, their bodies relaxed, slipping from one form into the next
