Reckless (The Powerless Trilogy Book 2)

“Dor’s finest, I’m sure.”

She sounds serious, as though this is the best Dor has to offer. And I don’t disagree.

I lead Paedyn around the edge of the building to the line of windows accompanying the rooms inside. After already being captured once, I’ve determined that our safest option is to sneak into a room rather than show our faces to the innkeeper.

I test each of the windows, searching for one that may be unlocked. When one lifts easily, I peek my head in to find luggage scattering the floor. “Occupied,” I whisper to Paedyn, who’s standing on her toes in an attempt to see inside. We continue to the back of the building, pulling at latches until another slides open. I thank the Plague under my breath before turning to a wide-eyed Paedyn.

“Empty.” She flashes a smile that’s gone too quickly. I drop to a knee before her, reaching for her foot to unravel the excess chain from around her ankle. When I look up, it’s into widening blue eyes. “I’m not proposing, don’t worry,” I murmur. “Step on my leg; I’ll give you a boost.”

“Right,” she mutters, looking away quickly. “Is the chain long enough?”

“Probably not.” I shrug slightly. “I’ll figure it out.”

She nods before placing a dirty boot on my thigh. Gripping the window ledge, she begins pulling herself up with shaky arms. I place a hand under her thigh while the other pushes at her lower back. “Watch it, Azer,” I hear her whisper harshly from above me.

I smile. “Gentleman, remember? I’m simply helping you break into this inn.”

“How very noble.” She manages to drag herself over the sill and into the room beyond. The chain pulls taught before I have a chance to catch my breath. My leg is yanked upward, forcing me to jump and ungracefully grab the ledge. It’s a struggle to pull myself into the room with the chain tangled and taut between us, but I manage to make it inside fairly unscathed.

I’ve toppled onto the creaky floor, ankle throbbing. She peers down at me in the darkness, her expression smug. “Was that you ‘figuring it out’? Because it looked like it hurt.”

“Like hell.” I sit up slowly, running a hand through my messy hair. “Thanks for your concern.”

She smiles, stepping toward the bathroom until the chain is yanking my leg in her direction. “I was promised a bath.” She frowns at where I still sit on the floor. “Must I drag your ass all the way to the tub?”

“By all means”—I flash her a smile—“go ahead and try.”

She tosses her pack onto the floor, glaring at me as she unravels the wrap from around her face. Silver hair slips from the scarf, tumbling toward her waist. My eyes trail up the length of it before meeting her piercing gaze.

“I loathe you,” she says simply.

I blink. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“I just want to make that very clear in case something happened that made you think differently.”

I duck my head to shake it at the floor. “Like you kissing me?”

“Just so we’re clear”—she takes a step closer, pointing an accusing finger at me—“you kissed me.” A pause. “The first time.”

“And then you kissed me the second time,” I say, standing to take a slow step toward her, clearing the space between us in a single stride. “And I think you loathe yourself for wanting to do it again.”

She huffs dismissively, turning away from me. “And what makes you think I have any desire to do it again?”

I shrug. “You’ve already done it twice. So look at me and tell me you won’t again.” She opens her mouth to do just that, but I cut her off with a tug of the chain that has her tripping closer. “Without tapping your left foot.”

Her mouth snaps shut. I smile at the rare sight of her flustered. “I’m not doing this with you,” she huffs, turning toward the washroom. “I want my bath.”

I’m still smiling as she leads me to the rotting door separating us from the tub inside. She spins, jabbing a finger into my chest. “You’re staying out here.” Then she’s pushing open the door to peer around the corner. “The chain should reach if you sit outside the door.”

“How fortunate.” That earns me a swift backhand to the gut. She steps into the washroom, dragging the chain under the door.

“Sit,” she orders, giving me a stern look before swinging the door partially shut. I obey, sitting in the warped doorframe with wood poking into my back.

I struggle to ignore the sound of damp clothes hitting the floor. So, being the gentleman that I am, I trace the groves in the wood, attempting to occupy my thoughts with anything but her. I pause at the sound of her muttering. “Everything all right in there?”

“Other than the fact that I’m trying to bathe with a chain around my ankle?” She continues her mumbling, momentarily distracted. “I’m going to have to wash these pants with the rest of me, since they’re not coming off anytime soon. I think I have an extra shirt in my pack….”

The sound of sputtering water and creaking pipes drowns out her words. This must be the only inn in all of Dor with running water. Maybe this really is their finest.

I hear her splash into the tub, the action pulling my leg halfway into the washroom. Silence stretches between us, only interrupted by the occasional sound of sloshing water. I lean my head against the inside of the doorframe, listening to her. “I can hear your teeth chattering from here.”

“Yeah, well, the water isn’t exactly w-warm,” she grinds out.

I don’t contemplate my next words before asking them. “Why did you dive back into the sewer for me?”

I can’t see her face, but it’s not difficult to picture the look of surprise that is likely lighting it. “I… I couldn’t let myself take another life.” Her voice grows softer with each word. “I have enough blood on my hands.”

“Your fingertips, maybe. But not your hands,” I say evenly. “Three lives are hardly enough to stain your soul.”

I would know.

“You found the soldier in the desert, then,” she says slowly.

“I did. Though, I figured he deserved it.”

Water sloshes from behind the door. “That’s what I keep telling myself. But it doesn’t seem fair for one to decide their life is worth more than another’s.” I hear her take a shaky breath. “And that is exactly what I did.”

“I know the feeling,” I murmur.

She’s quiet for several, slow heartbeats. “I was on the roof, you know. Watched you find the Imperial I’d killed.”

My breath catches.

Swallowing, I attempt to keep my voice steady. “Really? Then why am I still alive?”

“Because…” A breath. “Because you were going to bury him for me. Just like you had with Sadie in that first Trial. And seeing you kneel there, seeing you carry that man over your shoulder for me despite everything…” She trails off, clearing her throat. “I just couldn’t bring myself to throw that knife.”

I can’t see her face, and a timid part of myself is thankful for it. “You could have been free of me twice now. You know that, don’t you?”

Her voice is small. “I know.”

“Do you regret it?”

My question silences her for several seconds before she whispers, “I’ll regret it in the morning.”

The sound of my words to her in the dungeon has a slight smile tugging at my lips. I shut my eyes, content to let silence stretch between us. It’s not long before she’s standing in the tub, leaving me to listen to the sound of water dripping from her body. “Would you grab the shirt from my pack and throw it in here?”

The idea of refusing is rather tempting, but I reach for her pack instead. I’d already emptied it of the numerous weapons she’d stashed in there, leaving it mostly unoccupied. I dig around until I find a thin, gray shirt wrapped tightly around a worn notebook.

Pulling both out, I untangle the swaddled journal before thumbing through the tattered pages. “What’s this book in here?” I ask as I toss the shirt through the cracked door.

She’s standing right outside the door now, her shadow painting the floor beside me. “It was my father’s. Mostly filled with the work and theories of a Healer.”

I can hear the hurt in her voice, however hard she tries to hide it. And I hate that I’m the cause of it. When I can’t find my voice, she speaks instead. “Yeah, I saved it from the house you burnt to the ground.”

She says it lightly, as though unaffected by the event. “About that,” I start, running a hand through my hair.

“Don’t say you’re sorry. Please.” When she speaks next, her voice is soft, delicate. “It’s easier that way.”

I nod, knowing she can’t see it. Knowing exactly what she means. Knowing that apologizing for what I’ve done to her only makes me more human. Makes it harder for her to hate me.

The door creaks open as she steps through it. The loose shirt hangs off her shoulder, growing damp from the tangle of wet hair falling down her back. With a frayed towel in hand, she steps back into the bedroom to dry her sopping pants.

After thoroughly wringing out her clothing, she wraps herself in the towel and plops down in the doorframe. “Your turn.”