Her father approached in a slow stride, building the trepidation that now had her stomach clenched tight enough to match the hurt vibrating up her back. “Because you have nothing of a Dragonian in you and the arrival of your thirteenth year without developing psychic powers proves you have nothing of the Meeta in you either.
You are worthless to me and have failed to show sufficient gratitude that I allow you to live unmolested under my roof.” He paused and glanced over to the discarded plate her sandwich had rested on then faced her again and spat, “eating my food.”
This time, he picked her up by her hair and twisted the long length in coils about his wrist before he dragged her to her feet and flung her again. The force propelled Saedra across the room and into the hard edges of the cold kitchen counter. She bounced into the corner of the adjacent wall then fell to the floor on all fours.
Cheers rang out from his men and an undercurrent of laughter filled the kitchen. Panicking, Saedra pushed up despite the pain echoing through her body only to have her hands slip. She looked down. Red smeared across the white diamond patterned floor. More red trails ran from a jagged wound across her palm. Beside her trembling fingers was the knife she’d used to prepare her food. It must have sliced her hand when she tried to brace on the counter.
Laughter built around her. Bets rang out and jeering calls urging Maurin to punish her more. In a daze, Saedra pressed her face to the floor, her body one ball of hurt and vowed she’d escape this mad man one day. Just as her mother wanted her to.
“Get up!” Without giving her a chance to respond or comply, Maurin jerked her from the floor by her shoulders and shook her hard enough Saedra saw stars. Hard enough she feared he’d truly end her life as her head bobbled on her neck.
With a roar that singed her ears, he tossed her again. Saedra flew across the room and slammed into the wall. The back of her head cracked as it made contact and she vaguely felt the snap of the bone in her right leg as it crumpled beneath her weight. Maybe she was wrong and he did plan to kill her after all.
Pain exploded moments later. Then everything went dark and she didn’t hear any more.
***
Garik- age 18
“Do you take this oath to hold above all others, Garik Denikon?”
The Master of the Guild waited patiently for his response. The oath was a contract and vow one couldn’t give up on a whim. Three solid years of mental and physical training culminated to this moment he’d longed for. It was worth the pain and hurt he’d gone through to get to this point. Garik inhaled calmly and let the breath out on a balanced sigh as he agreed. “Yes.”
Jodhan didn’t quite smile but he clasped both of Garik’s arms below his shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “Then you are ready.”
Another squeeze before he released Garik to step back and wave his arm at the silver jewel-covered chalice. It rested on a pedestal beneath the gleaming overhead light of the vestibule where the ceremony was taking place. The holy area had been prepped specifically for this moment and the flickering flames from the candles surrounding the space added to the serious nature of the commitment he was about to take.
Garik reached for the chalice and stared into the gleaming contents. Bluish liquid swirled inside. One of the earlier lessons drilled into him was caution about accepting drinks. Poison was a simple but effective means of killing.
A week of being in screaming pain curled on the floor of his room and evacuating the contents of his stomach had cured him of accepting any food or drink he hadn’t prepared himself or watched being prepared.
This was different, though. He was finished his training protocol. Drinking from the chalice was a symbolic act of trust. Nothing more or less. He tossed back the contents and swallowed in one large gulp. Overly sweet, but the liquid went down without resistance and none of the familiar pangs that often accompanied consuming poison.
Garik set the chalice back in its prominent place and turned to face the audience of over a dozen dark-clad men standing around them in a circle. Assassins who had also completed training this cycle. Like him.
There was no applause, no warm cheers but there was pride and respect in the stoic gazes that had witnessed the proceedings. It soothed a place inside of Garik, which had ached long before he joined the Guild as a confused teen of fifteen. Orphaned by the death of his parents in a mining accident and abandoned by what remaining family he had left, Garik had hooked up with a band of miscreants thieving and looting.
It was an unreliable lifestyle and one that would have seen him dead sooner than later if not for the night he’d tried to fleece a man clad all in black as he’d left a drinking establishment.
As soon as Garik and the others had closed in on the stranger, their target had spun on his heels, kicked Phinneas hard in the chest and delivered two rapid-fire punches to Ward’s face. Garik hesitated, the long blade he held in his hand feeling inadequate in the face of the clear experience of their mark.
“Do you really want to do this?” the stranger asked, his face partially shielded by the hood of the shirt he wore beneath his ankle-length duster.
Garik’s two partners leaped to their feet and darted off into the dark of night, abandoning Garik and leaving him to face the consequences of their joint actions—alone.
He lowered his arm brandishing the blade and shook his head. He wasn’t a fool. He knew he stood no chance.
“Does your family know you do this to get by, or is it a lark with you and your friends?”
The question was tossed his way as Garik backed up one slow step at a time in hopes of fleeing as well. Garik stopped his retreat and bit off a bitter laugh. “I don’t have a family any more. And those weren’t my friends.”
Just a crew he’d hooked up with to survive.
“Then I suppose you do this because you need credits?”
Garik didn’t answer as he calculated his odds and which direction to run.
The stranger blew out a rough breath. “Either I’m feeling really generous, a rarity I assure you, or I didn’t drink nearly enough.”
The man’s clothing rustled as he shifted about and Garik’s fingers tightened on the weapon he still held. Through sheer luck and skill, he’d managed to eat at least once a day and avoid this particular option. Today wasn’t the day he planned on succumbing either. He wasn’t desperate enough to sell himself. Yet.
“No, thank you,” manners compelled him to say as he glanced around the empty alley and wondered at his chances of escape. Obviously, he planned to fight but after seeing how this guy handled Phinneas and Ward, Garik’s chances of getting away were probably slim.
Silence filled the short space between them. Then the man shoved back his hood and met Garik’s gaze with an incredulous one. “Not that, little one. Never that.”
Garik was young but not little. He was fifteen if his recollection of dates and times weren’t too far off. From what he could make out, he and the stranger were probably the same height except Garik had none of the bulk and muscle. In a fight, he’d lose. Garik firmed his lips and took another determined step backward.
“Fuck my life.” The stranger let out a rough chuckle and grasped the back of his neck. He came forward and a sliver of light from the drinking establishment displayed the angles of his face. Dirty blond hair and eyes of an indeterminate color. “I’m offering you a chance for something worthwhile. A purpose if you’re interested.”