-33- 

Cerid slumped over his desk, looking helplessly at the volumes of papers begging for his attention. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, sighing. He had insisted that he be allowed to return to his rooms to heal, rather than stay in that stuffy room where the smell of orchids attempted to smother disinfectant. Besides, the memory of Vhiena walking out was too raw. He couldn't look at the door anymore.

He wasn't sure why he had told her his identity. It might have been a mistake—his father would certainly think so.

But now that he was able to sit at his own desk, in his own simple room, he felt more relaxed. As requested, his office was simple. Almost identical to the workrooms of DETRA's commanders. The feature he had insisted on was his wall of bookshelves from floor to ceiling. 

Priceless works taken from the Great Library itself found refuge in his little office. Dust wasn't permitted to land on the old volumes and his religious upkeep meant that no staff was allowed to tidy inside.

His formal clothes, hanging in his wardrobe were the only items allowed to collect dust.

In return for his workspace, his father's gaudy decor coated his bedroom. Insisting on a king-sized bed with a mountain of cushions he threw onto the floor every night and every morning he painstakingly smoothed the creases and tucked the corners.

Various loungers and coffee tables littered the room; the frivolous design not dissimilar to the infirmary. Cerid always had a stock of snacks and strong herbal drinks to keep him awake. If the staff were feeling generous he would get a few of his favourite vanilla pod biscuits.

His studious attempts were proving hard when his mind ran like treacle and his side ached with every movement. Beside the requisite papers lay a discarded letter, on the back he had written Vhiena. Each row marching horizontal, the letters precise and compact as a result of countless lessons to fix his scrawl. Rereading his words, Cerid scoffed and threw the thing into a bin.

Recalling his father's face, his mother squeezing his hand as he woke in the infirmary. The flowers' scent stung his nostrils. Holten hadn't waited two minutes before telling him that there would be a meeting with the Imperial Party present as to how to proceed and that the girl who fetched the healers had to be there. He hadn't known her name.

Disorientated, Cerid had nodded. The meeting would determine the repercussions of breaking the rules, risking his safety as the Heir and if Vhiena would be discarded from the running. His jaw clenched. He wouldn't let that happen—gods, he'd walk into his father's office and demand she remained in DETRA's recruitment. She had plagued his thoughts, following him around like a wisp since her visit to his room.

All he could see was her blue eyes, sharp and bright as she held her precious dagger. The scar across her cheek...he wanted to kill whoever had hurt her, to make them pay. She was beautiful with her laugh, her stubbornness and her wit. He liked her jagged nails and her jagged edges.

Dipping his quill into a pot of ink, he started over again, writing her name. He wrote his message on a peace of parchment, telling her the details of the meeting, detached and formal. His father could intercept it, and he had given up trying to express his feelings with ink. Cerid sealed it quickly and called for a servant to take it to Section 6.

#

The letter arrived unnoticed as they cooled down after one of Mather's gruelling sessions. Elle had thanked the carrier, a stiff looking woman, for her trouble. She had scanned the note, hoping for a more personal endearment. Instead, she received facts and timetables that there would be a council meeting later that day. Typical Cerid.

Now in the communal washroom she brushed down her leathers and checked if her teeth had anything in them. Blowing some hair out of her eyes, she sighed. Some of the shorter locks cut to frame her face had grown out to an awkward length. With no hair skills herself, she had to leave it with a discontented huff. When the mission was finished she would treat herself to an appointment in her favourite salon.

Elle drummed her fingers on the sink as the notion of a successful mission meant Cerid's death. No, not Cerid. She reminded herself. The Imperial Heir's death. The one who would spearhead DETRA's new generation into evil work and manipulation: hundreds of killers. The Order was dangerous, but DETRA's assassins followed them with such blindness that they, in effect, became weapons of the guild.

Tan's eyes rested on the back of her neck when the assassin slipped out of the barracks, burning through her skin. When Elle glanced back she could have sworn Tan wore a satisfied smirk, almost as if she knew about the council meeting. Her fingers fiddled with the dagger tucked into her waistband as she walked, tracing the etchings on the blade.

The same fire flickered and rose inside her as she neared the gate. Simmering in the pit of her stomach, sloshing and grazing her insides with its red-hot touch. If someone were to piss her off, blazing flames would erupt from her throat. She snatched her hand away when the dagger seemed to heat, burning her fingers.

It must have been her avid imagination that Ravaryn's flames burned with the same constricted fire inside her. Stalking through the halls, the assassin exuded an animosity like acid—slicing and potent. Her cold eyes narrowed into slits as people parted to let her through.

She could stride into the council meeting, demand there had been a mistake and swear she had nothing to do with the Imperial Heir. No, too many knew of their training and could testify against that. Her gaze drifted to her fingers, frowning as she noted that the tips were tender and pinked. Drifting under the archway, she saw Cerid leaning against the wall.

The heir leant against the wall. The man they had been sent to kill. She swallowed a painful knot in her throat, feeling as it sank in her stomach.

"You shouldn't be exerting yourself." She said after a moment of heavy silence.

Slowly, his grey eyes turned to her in the dim passage. "I took the lift."

Elle had heard murmurings of the council chamber, known as the green room. A lump lodged itself in her throat as they started to walk deeper into the Vault. The assassin didn't mention Cerid's pained walk, nor recommend that he rested again. 

Soon enough they strode along one of the covered walkways carved into the stone, on their left was the grand cylinder with that same beam shining in its centre. Another grand door waited for them.

"I hope you have a plan," the assassin said to the blonde man beside her, lofting a brow. "Don't speak unless spoken to and I'll try to get us out of trouble." No sooner had those words left his lips did the doors to the chamber creak open.

Cerid's posture changed as soon as they became visible. Despite his pain, he straightened and strode inside. The muscle feathering in his jaw was the only sign she picked up as proof of his tenseness. Elle realised that it wasn't her mentor Cerid who walked into the green room, but the Imperial Heir of DETRA. His effect surrounded him in ripples, commanding the space as he nodded to those present.

The floor had transitioned from stone to marble white with grey veins. Every available wall space had been decorated with splendour: portraits, banners, tapestries of battles. A wooden U-shaped table took up most of the space, some thirty chairs pulled up to it. The back table had been raised slightly and on it sat some members of the Imperial family and party.

Elle could see why it had been named the green room. Greenery crammed everywhere so that she almost felt above ground again, in golden pots and dropping from walls in hanging baskets. Manicured to perfection. These plants wouldn't last that long without sunlight; either DETRA was using a trained mage to keep them alive or payed for constant replacements.

Councilmen rose from their green-cushioned seats, setting down their glasses and conversation. Murmurs of 'welcome, Imperial Heir' as Cerid passed. Only Mather met her eye and nodded once.

Everyone surrounding her were older, wiser, shaped and smoothed by years of service. What would Mikel or Kade think of her now? Standing before those who orchestrated meaningless attacks on the innocent. If she could burn this room to pieces, she would have done. Only if she were able to sneak Cerid out beforehand.

The smile on her face slipped, falling to the floor like a dead-weight. She didn't bother to pick it up again. The assassin stood in the centre of the U, Cerid directly in front of her, beside his father on the dais. Now that she looked closely, she saw similarities in their cheekbones, in their hair and nose. The eyes were completely different. Elle bit her lip, kicking herself.

"Vhiena Portyr." She stood to attention as Holten spoke. "You and our Imperial Heir were training at the time of the attack, correct? Do elaborate."

Elle didn't need to look at Cerid to know his jaw was set and his fists clenched under the table. "Cer—the Imperial Heir is my mentor. He saw potential in my skills, but recognised that I was too undisciplined when I fought. I asked for lessons and he agreed. We were training when two figures attacked us—both of which we killed."

"You were in an unauthorised area." A commander interjected, his voice like gravel. "This is grounds for disqualification. Thrown from the recruitment program and banned from DETRA as states our no-tolerance policy."

Cerid's eyes flickered. "I took her there."

Holten sighed, looking at Elle. "However," he began. All eyes in the room swivelled to the man, leaning forward in his central chair. "You saved the heir's life with quick wit and fighting skills." He picked up a piece of paper in front of him. "You are on track to battle in the last two trials and earn your place in DETRA."

Elle didn't think Cerid was breathing.

"This puts you in a most unusual position. You have broken our rules, allowed the Heir's safety to be compromised. Then compensated slightly for this with the actions following." Elle didn't know what to say to the powerful man.

"Bloody hell, give the girl a chance." A familiar voice spoke. Mather's expression yielding nothing when he spoke again. "She is promising—one of the best in my section. And these mistakes will not repeat themselves." His harsh tone toed the border of authoritative to the Imperial Leader himself.

Holten didn't seem to mind the interruption, thinking over her section leader's words. The commander who had first spoke sat back, sulkily pushing around his goblet. As Holten conferred quietly with the Imperial Party Elle couldn't help but compare him to his portrait. More lines, a few grey hairs within the blonde but his eyes held that same edge of sovereignty.

She stilled as his piercing gaze landed on her. "We conferred before your arrival," he announced. "You will not be permitted to resume outside training with your Imperial Heir. You will keep your head down and compete in the remaining challenges. Your section leader will ensure you follow every rule and regulation. That means staying in recruitment levels, curfew, training. Am I understood?"

Elle nodded. "Yes, Imperial Leader." Mather dipped his head when Holten's eyes slid to him, leant back in his cushioned chair. Immediately, Cerid stood, thanking his father and the council before escorting her out of the double doors.

As soon as they slammed shut behind them, a cackle breaking from her lips.

They embraced, both grinning like fools. Cerid's eyes shone, "my father was surprisingly...generous. Alas, tonight we will have countless more meetings to ensure my safety."

"What would these be?" The assassin asked, making a mental note. Cerid sighed and listed, just as she had expected: more guards, no secret sessions, patrols on Lorel's outskirts.

"Thank you," she whispered after a moment. Elle found she truly meant it. She kissed him, squeezing his hand. For once, she didn't care if the shadows saw. Let them watch, she thought to herself wryly, it would provide some entertainment. Cerid shrugged at her words but the assassin could see his cheeks heat.

"It might have been fate," he mused.

Fate was mere luck and chance wasn't strung together by a greater force. The gods stayed out of their business. They must have better things to do up wherever they are. "How so?"

"You were my ward in Section 6. The Heir was only meant to oversee the sessions every so often of every Section. Somehow I gravitated towards the fire in your eyes. You piqued my curiosity from our very first session with your stubbornness."

She shook her head at him, lips tugging upwards. "You should go straight to bed, now. Enough exerting yourself."

Cerid winked, "as you wish, sawdust."