Powerless (The Powerless Trilogy)

Kitt hasn’t stopped pacing since the moment we were shoved into this stuffy safe room. I fight the urge to yank him to the floor, make him explain to me what is going on. Instead, I’ve watched him mumble and circle the room for the past hour. Watched his fingers ignite like flickering candles when his burning fury seeped out of him, displaying that Dual ability of his.

A thin layer of sweat has slicked my body, likely giving me the appearance of a glazed sticky bun. I’m slumped on the floor of the stone-encased safe room, the cold wall against my exposed back the only slight relief from the heat of the room caused by the dozens of bodies crowded together, all wearing heavy gowns and starchy suits.

The safe room is sealed shut by a hefty metal door, guarded on either side, and trapping the suffocating humidity in here with us. Kitt and I were stuffed into the same room that the king and queen occupy, as well as most of the other contestants and whatever other guests made it in here. It’s fairly large, plain, and packed with people.

Out of the large throng, only two Healers are among the crowded room. They buzz about, tending to the wounded and injured after ensuring that the king, queen, and Kitt were taken care of. After a while, a stout lady in a deep, green gown finally waddles over to me, saying nothing as she mends the knife wound on my arm. Her brows knit together in concentration as I feel a wave of warmth seeping into the gash and look down to see the wound nearly gone, leaving only a thin, pink scar remaining.

But it’s my heart that aches more than the wound did, feeling more cut and sliced than my body has ever been. I’d watched my father do that very same thing to so many people. Watched him save lives. Fix wounds. Fix my wounds. I wish he was here to fix the broken, mangled object that is now my heart. The heart that broke when he left me.

When he was murdered by the man sitting in this very room.

My eyes flick to the king and queen, talking in hushed, urgent tones with each other and the few trusted advisers around them. No doubt discussing what the Plague just happened out there and what to do about it. Kitt has been summoned to his father’s side countless times to speak silently with the advisers, but afterward, he always finds his way back to pacing around the room.

I unwedge myself from Jax and Andy who are sticky with sweat on either side of me and step into Kitt’s path.

“Hi,” I say stupidly, unable to think of a better introduction.

He almost smiles before sighing, “Hi.”

If I want him to talk to me, I need to play the part.

I take a deep breath before putting a hand on his exposed arm, his suit coat long forgotten, and the white sleeves of his shirt now rolled up to his elbows. His skin is scolding, and I snatch away my hand with a small hiss as my eyes drop to the faint flames licking over his knuckles.

I blink and the fire is gone, leaving only rough skin behind.

“Did I burn you?” Kitt blurts out, looking alarmed. He reaches for me but thinks better of it, raking his hands through his messy hair instead. “I can’t even keep my damn power in check,” he mutters, turning away from me.

“No…no, I’m fine.” He won’t look at me. His hands are running through his hair, down his face. “Hey,” I say, but my words fall on deaf ears. He’s about to start pacing again.

I need him to focus.

On an impulse, I reach up and cup his face in my hands, feeling only the natural warmth of his skin beneath my palms. I prepare myself to meet those eyes, knowing I need to do this in exchange for an answer. His gaze snaps to mine, green and crisp like dew clinging to freshly cut grass. Like a lucky four-leaf clover, an emerald sparkling in the sunlight.

Like the eyes of a murderer. The eyes of the king.

“Talk to me.” The words tumble out of my mouth, sounding more like an order than I intended. So I quickly add, “Please.”

He sighs and ducks his head before gently grabbing my wrists and lowering them from his face. Then, he guides me towards the least crowded corner in the room, his warm hands pulling me to the floor beside him before resting his arms on his raised knees. “I’m sorry that I’m so…flustered,” Kitt finally says. I’ve never seen him so serious, so stern, so kingly. “I don’t like people fighting my battles.” He bites out the words like he hates the taste of them in his mouth.

“I guess that is something you will have to get used to when you’re king,” I say softly.

He scoffs. “You mean, get used to my brother constantly risking his life while I sit back and watch?” Heat seems to ripple off him, and I suddenly wonder if he is partially to blame for this stifling room.

I see it then, the green of his eyes that matches the jealousy, the envy. I can see the part of him that wishes he could run into battle and save the day like his brother. Wishes he could earn his father’s favor through brawn and not brains. Wishes he could be the hero, rather than the one the hero is protecting.

And yet, I feel no pity for the boy before me. To envy Kai is to envy a murderer.

Play the part. Play him.

“What I mean,” I say, slowly, “is that you have your duties, and Kai has his. You’re both fighting for your kingdom, just in different ways.”

I can see he’s not convinced, but he offers me a smile anyway, one that almost reaches his eyes. “You would make quite the adviser, you know that?”

“Well, maybe if I survive these Trials, you can hire me.” He chuckles softly at that, and I give him a small smile in return. “Although,” I say with a sigh, “advisers are supposed to know what is going on, and I sure as hell don’t.”

Come on. Tell me. Trust me.

“Sly,” Kitt sighs. “Fine, you deserve to know what’s going on, seeing that one of them nearly sliced your arm off.” He brushes a thumb over the thin scar on my exposed arm, his eyes tracing it. I shrink away from the touch, and the action doesn’t go unnoticed.

Kitt clears his throat and leans away from me. “They call themselves the Resistance.” His voice is low and steady, intended for only me to hear. “They are a group of Ordinaries that have been banding together for years. Fighting against the king and the kingdom because of what was done to their kind.”

Their kind. My kind.

I force myself to swallow my disgust and listen as he continues. “At first, they were barely a threat, a joke of a revolution. We’ve kept this little group a secret, kept it hidden from the people for a few years now. It hasn’t been hard to do till recently. But clearly, they are bigger and stronger than before.”

I think I stopped breathing. All I hear is the blood pounding in my ears as I take in the weight of his words.

A group of Ordinaries fighting against the king and the kingdom.

“How?” The word is raspy, almost drowned out in the chatter of the room. “How is there such a large group of Ordinaries? How are they such a threat now?”

“Apparently, there were a lot more Ordinaries hiding in Ilya than suspected after they were banished, and as long as they repopulate here in the kingdom, their numbers will continue to grow.” He heaves a heavy a sigh. “But the Resistance seems to be more of a cause than a group. They are spread out all over the city, hiding in plain sight. Which makes things far more difficult since they aren’t all gathered in one place. And what’s worse, we don’t think they are working alone.”

I raise my eyebrows in question, and he continues. “They have Elites working with them. Powerful ones. Ones that are also pissed off at my father, at the kingdom.”

My forehead crinkles in confusion, trying to figure out what he means. And then it clicks, right as Kitt voices what I’ve just pieced together.

“The Fatals. The Silencers, the Mind Readers, and the Controllers. Father banished them alongside the Ordinaries during the Purging because of how dangerous they were, even to other Elites, and he only keeps one of each in his court who are loyal to him. But there are still some out there, and we currently have one in the dungeons beneath us.” He nods at me with a small smile. “We have you to thank for that.”

The Silencer.

“Wait,” I say slowly, trying to puzzle everything out, “if the Fatals are truly working with the Resistance, then why wouldn’t they fight in the attack? They would have done a lot more damage if they had.”

Kitt runs a hand through his hair. “We aren’t sure. Maybe they weren’t intending on attacking. They were unprepared and incredibly outnumbered, which makes me wonder why they came here in the first place.”

Words fall out of my mouth, and I can do nothing to stop them. “And what do you think about this Resistance?”

“What do I think about these criminals?” He sighs through his nose, shaking his head. “I…I understand. I think it’s wrong, but I understand why they are doing it.” He looks me dead in the eyes. “But if they are allowed to live, then the Elite race will slowly die. Who knows how many Elites have already been infected by the Ordinaries hiding among them? I’m sure people have already begun to feel the effects, the weakening of their power.” He pauses, sighing. “The Ordinaries’ sacrifice is necessary for the greater good of the kingdom.”

Right. I forgot that I’m diseased.

I study him, taking in the strong features of his face now etched with tension and stress. “And that is what you believe?”

I know I should shut my mouth, should nod my agreement instead of risking speaking treason. But something about this boy brings out a recklessness in me, a need to show him how wrong he is, how twisted his kingdom is.

“That is what I know,” he says softly, looking me in the eyes until I tear mine away, unable to unsee my father’s murderer in them.

“And yet, you can know something and not believe it.” My voice sounds shaky, and I hope he believes it to be from fear and not anger. “You have a choice, Kitt. You always have a choice.”

He chuckles, but it’s void of humor. “If I always had a choice, then I wouldn’t be in this safe room. I’d be out there, fighting alongside my brother.”

My eyes fall to the flames flickering over his fingers, betraying his frustration. I lift my head and take a breath before looking him in the eyes. “Do you not want to be king?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I do not want to be a coward.” I force myself to hold his gaze, seeing all the confusion and consideration reflected in it. “No one has ever asked me that before.”

“Yes, well, you’ll find that I often ask questions that I shouldn’t,” I say, looking away from him.

“Don’t stop,” he says quickly, quietly. My gaze slides back towards him to rest on the top button of his shirt. “Your questions, your thoughts, your contradictions—I want to hear them all.”

I open my mouth to reply when a gust of cool air breezes over my face, and the thick metal door swings open with a clang. My head snaps to the handful of Imperials pouring into the room, heading for the king and queen.

“The ballroom is secured, Your Majesty.” The guard’s voice is gravelly, his head bowed towards the king who nods curtly.

If I wanted to look into his eyes, I’m sure I would see all the questions swimming in them. Questions about how many dead, how many Ordinaries captured, how much damage. But he doesn’t dare voice his thoughts, not in front of an audience and especially not when he’s still trying to conceal what is truly happening.

The king stands from his large, wooden chair and clears his throat, further quieting the already hushed room. “What happened today was unfortunate, and I can assure you it will not happen again.” I nearly snort at the empty promise. “But we will not let this incident scare us, cripple us, control us. And for that reason, the Trials will continue as scheduled.”

At that, shocked murmurs ripple through the crowd, though I can’t say I’m surprised. He needs to keep up his strong facade, show no fear. “We are Elites. We are power.” The king pauses, scanning the crowded room with that green gaze I avoid. “Honor to your kingdom. Honor to your family. Honor to yourself.”

The cluster of people around me echoes his words, reciting Ilya’s motto. My lips move with them, playing the part of the contestant, the one who is honored to be here. The one who is an Elite just like them.

The guards begin ushering guests and nobility out of the sticky room, and I’m nearly trampled by pointy heels and polished shoes from where I still sit on the floor before I scramble to my feet.

“I wish I could walk you to your room, but unfortunately, I’ll be trading this stuffy room for another one. Father will likely have Kai and I in meetings right up until the first Trial begins, discussing the events that occurred tonight.” Kitt’s voice is strained, tired.

“But the guards will make sure you arrive safely to your room, not that there is any real threat now.” His eyes slide down to the dagger hugging my thigh, on display for all to see. “And if there was a threat, I’m sure you could handle yourself just fine.” He offers me a smile that I barely manage to return.

His eyes drift from me to land on something else near the back of the room. I follow his gaze only to find that the king and queen are staring right back at me. The king is watching through narrowed eyes, and it takes all my strength and training not to throw the same look his way.

“I’ll see you after the Trial.” Kitt’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “I will see you after the Trial. You expect to survive this, remember?”

I duck my head and smile despite myself.

If I make it out of this first Trial alive, I know exactly what I’m going to do.

I’m going to find the Resistance.

And thanks to the curly-haired boy and the note I nicked off him, I know exactly where they will be.

“See you then,” I say to that top button of his shirt before briefly meeting his eyes. They hold a certain warmth and worry, looking less and less like his father’s with every blink.

I’m shoved towards the door in a current of human bodies and swept out into the hallway. The corridors are teeming with guards and guests, all scurrying from one place to another. I’m herded down the hallway, swallowed by the sea of people around me. We pass the cracked doors of the ballroom, and through them, I can see rubble and red painting the floors.

My curiosity refuses to release me from its clutches.

It’s not hard to slip away from the Imperials, the group. I’ve mastered the art of going unnoticed and overlooked. Soon I’m pushing open the ballroom doors, the guards completely oblivious in the mayhem.

I’m greeted with gore. Well, the remains of it. Dark blood still splotches parts of the floor, most of it already scrubbed clean with jets of water by the Hydros milling about, leaving nothing but pearly stone in their wake.

Teles are clearing the ballroom of the heavy chunks of rubble, and Gusts wield the air around them to blow all the debris and dust from the floor. In no time at all, the room will be fixed, restored to its pristine state. As if nothing happened.

I’m about to slip back out the door when a mass of messy black hair catches my eye. He’s sitting—no, slumping on a large slab of stone near the far end of the ballroom, dirty and drenched with blood.

My heart hammers against my ribcage.

He’s hurt. And more importantly, why do I care?

I stumble down the steps, taking them two at a time. I nearly twist my ankle in the deadly contraption that are my heels before ungracefully flinging them off my feet, letting them tumble down the stairs before I nearly do the same.

I’m suddenly in front of him, having cleared the ballroom in a matter of seconds. I drop to my knees, looking up into his bloody, dirt-streaked face. His gray eyes only look startled for a moment before they begin roaming over me, searching my body for injuries as I do the same to him.

Words spew from my mouth. “What happened? Where are you hurt?” I look around, scanning the room. “And where are those damn Healers?”

“Ah, Gray. Just the person I wanted to see.” He grinds out the words through gritted teeth, though he’s still acting like his cool, collected self.

“What happened?” I demand, taking in his ripped clothes and the exposed chest beneath, now covered in gashes. His hands and most of his body are coated in blood, though I’m sure most of it doesn’t even belong to him.

“Before we get to that,” he fights to keep the grimace from gracing his features, “did a Healer get to you?” He’s suddenly serious, pain forgotten as his eyes sweep over me yet again.

I’m both confused and annoyed with him—a common occurrence, it seems. “What? Yes. I’m fine.” I dismiss his question and scoot closer, hands slightly outstretched. “But clearly, you’re not.”

“And here I was thinking you hated me and my stupid dimples. I’m touched you care so much about my well-being, Gray.” Even while in obvious pain he still finds a way to smirk. Along with being a total ass.

“Oh, don’t mistake my motives, prince. I only want to keep you alive long enough so I can punch that smirk off your face. Again.” There’s little bite in the words, and he huffs out a laugh as he shifts on the stone, exposing more of his back to me.

I gasp. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Darling, that is a very loaded question.”

I ignore his comment, unable to tear my eyes from the throwing knife buried deep into the flesh of his right shoulder blade. “You’ve had a knife in your back this whole time and you just let me talk?” I’m sputtering.

A dimple accompanies his crooked grin. “Oh, but the sound of your voice was such a welcome distraction from the pain.”

Once again, I ignore him before standing to my feet to inspect the knife slicing deep into his back. Sighing, I mumble, “Yeah, well, now you get to hear me telling you that you’re a complete idiot.”

“That’s still one of the nicer things you’ve said to me, so, I’ll take it,” he says smoothly, seemingly undisturbed by the piece of metal impaling his body.

I can’t even imagine what pain he’s been through to make this wound seem so bearable.

“Okay,” I say slowly, “tell me what to do.”

His laugh is strained. “You say that like you’ll actually listen to me for once.”

“Kai, I’m about to add another knife to your back if you don’t—”

“I just need you to pull it out.”

I blink. He says this so casually that I almost think he’s joking. “Then we need to have a Healer here, ready to mend it as soon as the knife is out.”

He breathes out a strained laugh, the muscles beneath his torn shirt shifting. “I’m offended you doubt my abilities so much. There’s a Healer not too far from me. I can feel their power. I’ll heal myself.”

“Right. Okay.” I take a deep breath and grip the handle of the knife. “This is going to hurt.”

“You know, it’s a shame we never got to finish our dance,” he says. “It was the first time I could actually focus on you rather than dodging your stomping feet—”

I yank the knife out in one fluid motion. He grunts and doubles over on the stone. I smile slightly, having gotten revenge on him for what he said about my dancing, however true it may be.

I step around the rubble and crouch in front of him, my face close to his as I watch the pain crowd his handsome features. I flip the knife in my hand, still slick with his blood. “Tell me, did that hurt as much as my stomping feet?”

His laugh is gruff, pained. I stand to my feet and watch as he reaches a hand around his shoulder, pressing it atop the wound now steadily gushing blood. I stare as the shredded skin stitches itself back together. Stare as flesh and muscle reform before my very eyes, leaving nothing but a jagged scar to join the others across his back.

The tension eases from his stiffened shoulders and he sighs in relief. “Much better. Thank you.” I’m wondering how rarely those last two words leave his mouth when the corner of it lifts, and he uncoils to his feet. “Who knew that you’d be the one to pull a knife from my back and not the one to bury it there.”

“There’s still plenty of time for that, don’t worry.”

He grins, white teeth flashing against his filthy features. Then he rolls his neck and stretches, acting as though he wasn’t just impaled a few moments ago.

His palm is suddenly extended towards me expectantly, and I stare at the callouses blankly. When I make no move, he slowly drops his hand to the one at my side, his rough fingers closing around my wrist.

My heartbeat quickens and I curse the stupid organ. He pulls my arm, my hand, towards him—the one still clutching the throwing knife. Then his other hand brushes against my palm, gently prying the handle from my fingers.

“You have enough of these to bury in my back, don’t you think?” he says softly, his hand still wrapped around my wrist where he can likely feel my stupid, stammering pulse beneath his fingers. “So, I think I’ll hold on to this one.”

I step out of his grasp, needing to put some space between us. “Don’t you have an important meeting you’re supposed to be in right now?” I ask because I simply can’t think of anything else to say.

“Probably.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m assuming Kitt filled you in.” I nod before he says, “Father will go through with the Trials. A power move, of course. And he’ll need to finally inform the people of what is going on. He can’t hide who and what the Resistance is after tonight.”

“What happened?” I breathe before I’m suddenly annoyed with him, remembering what he did. “What happened after you bodily removed me from this room like an ass, even though I could have helped?”

Now he’s laughing at me. “You seem to keep forgetting who I am, Gray.”

“My apologies, Your Highness. What happened after you bodily removed me from this room like a royal ass?”

“Well, that’s progress, I suppose.” He smiles, looking me over again with that piercing gaze of his. “And to answer your question, that wasn’t your fight. Not to mention that I couldn’t risk a contestant dying before the first Trial even began.”

My laugh is bitter. “You know damn well that I can take care of myself—”

“And you know damn well that I could take care of it, myself.”

“You got stabbed, remember?”

“Occupational hazard.”

We stare at each other, faces close. I can smell the sweat, blood, and dirt on him, along with the underlying scent of pine still lingering on his skin. I’m breathing heavily, and after a moment too long, I finally take a step away from him.

“How many casualties?” I ask slowly.

He looks away from me, sucking in a breath before saying, “Only two Elites dead, multiple injured. Four Ordinaries dead, and only two prisoners.” His eyes trail back to mine as he says, “There were less than a dozen Ordinaries to begin with, which makes me wonder what their real mission was since I don’t believe it was to attack a ballroom full of Elites.”  

I nod absentmindedly, taking in the information. “So, some escaped?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw. “Unfortunately.” With that, he begins to back away from me, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gray.”

“See you tomorrow, Azer.”

He finally turns, making his way across the ballroom as I watch his retreating form.

Then he calls over his shoulder. “Do me a favor, darling?”

“And what’s that?”

“Promise me you’ll stay alive long enough to stab me in the back?”

I laugh loudly. “That’s been my goal all along, prince.”