Chapter 20
I stood in the training room at my father's estate. I'd trained for hours every single day of my life here; it should have felt natural. It didn't. The darkness in the corners stretched without end and a rotten smell permeated the air.
I spun around in search of the smell's source. Instead, I found my father. He towered above me, at least ten feet tall. He saw me and his nostrils flared, just like they always did when I angered or disappointed him. The ground trembled as my father took a step forward. I cowered.
"I brough you into this world for a purpose. Have you forgotten?" his voice echoed and boomed around me like thunder. The ceiling disappeared and rain fell in sheets. It soaked me within seconds. I slipped and landed on my knees.
"I haven't forgotten, I just need more information." I could barely make out my father through the torrent of rain..
"You know what you're supposed to do. You shouldn't need anything more than my command." He hurled the words at me like arrows. "Maybe you need a reminder of why we do this."
The rain slowed to a steady trickle and I could see him again. In his grasp, a ten-year-old girl struggled. She looked straight at me from underneath her chestnut bangs, brown eyes bright with tears.
"Zinerva, help me!" she called. Her voice cracked and broke over the words.
"Zimara," I screamed. I pushed myself off the ground and raced towards her.
"Not another step." My father pressed a dagger to Ara's throat. A bubble of blood pooled over the blade. Ara began to shriek uncontrollably. I froze. My father spoke over her shrieks and I could hear him as clear as if his voice were inside my head. "Now, Fallon, will you complete your mission?"
"I just need answers, please. I want to understand."
My father shook his head and disappointment turned his eyes red. "Wrong answer," his voice came out disembodied and demonic, like there were multiple voices instead of one. I couldn't move. My father slide the blade into Ara's neck deadly deep. I screamed and he cut until Ara's head fell from her shoulders and rolled to a stop at my feet.
"Fallon," A disembodied voice called. "Fallon!"
"Fallon, wake up!" Someone shook me from sleep. I bolted upright with a gasp and glanced around the unfamiliar room until I landed on Flynn. His eyes were wide and his hands wrapped around my shoulders. He'd launched through the wall of pillows and destroyed it. I tried to say something, but I could barely breathe, let alone speak. Flynn had plenty of words. "Are you ok? What happened? Should I get someone?"
"No," I wheezed. It was a dream, just a dream. None of it happened. My father did not kill Zimara, the Monik did. Or maybe he didn't. I wasn't sure anymore. But my father didn't kill her. He may have been cold, but he wouldn't take it so far. It was just a dream.
Flynn pulled me in and pressed me to his chest. I thought about pulling away, but the gentle thump of his heart against my ear stopped me. "I was so worried. I thought something happened," Flynn whispered into my hair.
I tried to chuckle, but it came out like a sob. "Just a bad dream. Nothing to worry about. You can go back to sleep."
"Can I stay with you? Just for a few minutes," he asked. A knot in my chest loosened. I didn't want to be alone so I nodded.
Silence drew close around us like a blanket. I slowed my breath to match his. He didn't push, didn't ask questions. He just held me. No one had ever done that for me. I breathed in the scent of rain that clung to him like a second layer of skin. My mind slowed until I could think.
"I'm sorry," I finally said.
His arms tightened around me. "Don't be sorry. I'm glad to help you, any time."
"Even in the middle of the night when we have a big mission in the morning?" I half laughed.
"Even then." His serious response startled me. His chest rumbled against my cheek as he said, "You can talk about it. If you want."
In the dark, as he flooded my every sense, I wanted to say something. I needed to explain why this happened. But I couldn't think about the dream without choking up. So I said, "They don't happen often. But when they do, they're bad."
His chin rested on my head. "I've noticed. Thank you for letting me help you this time."
"You're thanking me? I should be thanking you," I said as I fought a yawn.
He brushed back hair stuck to my forehead with sweat. His other hand stroked my back. I'd never been this close to anyone, and if it had been light or if I wasn't so distraught, I would been embarrassed. I would have pushed him away. But I let him hold me.
I was on the verge of sleep when he said, "Fallon?"
"Hmm?"
"What's your real name?"
"Zinerva."
"That's a pretty name. It suites you." My cheeks warmed and I smiled against his arms.
*****
A knock on the door tore me from sleep. Soft light spilled in through a high window. Something warm laid against my face. The warm thing sat up and I realized it was Flynn. I leapt out of bed, my face on fire. I couldn't even look in his direction.
A knock came again and Flynn said, "Coming!" The bed creaked under his weight; he must have gotten up. I snuck a peek at him. His hair was disheveled and his soft smile glowed. I couldn't believe I'd let him hold me like that! Well, I could believe it. It had been so, so nice. I may not like him, but I would fall asleep in his arms every night if I could. But it would never happen again. The embarrassment alone would keep the wall of pillows tall. He tossed a grin to me before he opened the door and a blush tinged my cheeks.
Arawn and Torin poured in, bags draped over their arms. Arawn stopped short. "Oh, this is small."
Torin raised an eyebrow at the single bed. "Very small." I had to quash the embarrassment or it would burn across my face.
"Yes, it's small. But we have more important matters to worry about," I said.
"I've heard something about a ball," Flynn continued. "A ball we're not technically invited to. So how are we getting in?"
Torin grinned, and it was so strange on his face it sent a pang of concern into my gut. He unbuttoned a bag and pulled out a big, poofy, pink dress. "This is how."
"You expect us to wear that?" I asked.
"It's the only way," Torin said.
"Seriously? How are we supposed to move in that?" I exclaimed. "It's got at least ten layers!"
Arawn frowned at the dress. "You think it'd be hard?"
I stared at him for a moment, sure he must be joking. He wasn't. Clearly, they had not given much thought to women's fashion and practicality. I might not wear gowns, but at least I could understand how ridiculous fashion expectations were for women.
Flynn studied the dress, his nose wrinkled. "It's a lot of fabric. If a fight breaks out, there's no way we'd be any help in something like that."
Torin shrugged to Arawn, as if to say these two. Arawn considered for a moment. "Alright, we'll find better gowns. But you have to blend in and the ball is the biggest event of the year, so you best look pretty."
I sat on the bed. This was going to a long day.
*****
An hour later, Arawn returned with gowns that we could actually move in. When he saw Flynn and me, he froze. "What the hell is wrong with your faces?"
Torin cackled and Flynn glared. "It's not like I have a ton of experience with make-up, excuse me if I can't do it well."
Arawn sighed and laid the gowns on the bed. "Wipe it off and get dressed. We can get a maid to fix you up, I'm pretty sure it's their job."
"Make sure it's not the one we saw last night or she'll know something is up," Flynn said. Arawn nodded.
I picked up a dark green dress. It was made of scratchy wool with dozens of buttons up the back, and the skirts fanned out wide. Still, it took up a quarter of the space of the pink one. It was better, but still far from comfortable. "It might be a little late to ask, but is there really no other way into the ball?"
"Nothing that won't raise suspicion. You two have to mix with the crowd and figure out the source of attacks. Two pretty women are the most inconspicuous disguises we have," Arawn said.
I rolled my eyes. "So you expect us to put a dress on and magically become pretty?"
Torin cut in. "Dresses, make-up, and wigs." He pulled two wigs from a bag and I groaned. This was getting ridiculous.
"Women take a long time to get ready, so you two better get started." Arawn gestured to the dresses. Did he expect us to change together, in front of them? That would not work.
Before I could protest, Flynn stepped in. "Alright, give us some space. We'll call you back to the room once we're dressed."
Arawn eyed the many buttons. "It'll be quicker if we help."
"We need to find a maid, anyway. Come on." Torin led Arawn from the room and I sighed. It was nice to have people who had my back.
I turned to Flynn, but he had already stripped down to his underclothes. A high pitched eep escaped me at the sight of his bare chest. I covered my face with my hands, half to hide the blush surely spreading.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice a bit shrieky.
"Changing."
"No, I got that. Give me some warning next time!"
I peeked between my fingers to find him smirking at me. "So there's going to be a next time?"
I pulled my fingers closed again. "Ugh, no! Just hurry up and get in the dress!"
He laughed. "Alright, alright." There was some shuffling fabric. "That better?"
He wore a light blue gown with short sleeves and a cape that ran down the back. The chest was high, which was good because his was rather flat. Flynn in a dress was a sight to behold. I couldn't help but laugh.
He shoot a mock look of offense. "Am I not pretty enough?" He did a little spin and a curtsy at the end. I doubled over in laughter, eyes watery. It was the most I'd laughed in, well, maybe ever. Flynn rolled his eyes. "Ok, I get it. Now help me button it."
I collected myself, wiped my eyes, and stood straight. But every time I saw Flynn, an uninvited giggle burst from my lips. He raised an eyebrow at me.
I raised my hands. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just not sure dresses really suite you."
"I'm sure they don't suite you either," he pointed out as he turned so I could reach the buttons.
"Then you'll have your turn to laugh soon enough," I said. I hooked the first button, and my knuckle brushed against his back. He shivered under my touch. I swallowed hard. After last night, this should be easy. But each time I brushed against his back, my fingers tingled.
When I finished, I cleared my throat. "All done."
He turned around. "Your turn." My eyes widened. I was not changing in front of him! "Don't worry, I won't peek." He turned toward the wall and covered his eyes with his hands. I hesitated a moment, but I did trust him. So I shed my clothes and struggled into the dress. While it was smaller than the first, it wasn't easy. There were multiple layers to deal with and the fabric scratched at my fingers.
I pulled the dress up and slipped on the sleeves. "Ok, it's on." When he saw me, his lips pinched together and he couldn't stop staring. I groaned. "Just say it."
He snorted. "You look so ridiculous, I've never seen anyone more uncomfortable in a dress!"
"Well, it is ridiculous! Where do you even put the weapons?"
"I don't think you're supposed to have weapons in a ball gown," he said. "But Arawn found some thigh straps, so we'll be the exception."
"It's so impractical. No wonder most women can't fight, if they're expected to wear this." I crossed my arms and the back of my dress split open wider.
Flynn chuckled. "Come here, let me button you up so we can add a wig and make-up to really complete the look." I heaved a dramatic sigh as I turned. He sucked in a harsh breath and I froze.
"What is it?" I asked, spinning around to face him. His face paled. I searched for the cause, but everything seemed normal.
"Fallon, your back…" he swallowed. Oh. There must be scars. I'd never seen them. I stared at the ground, unable to meet his gaze.
"Sorry, I hadn't realized they were still there," I mumbled. It had been years since my father landed any crippling blows during training. I thought time would've erased any evidence.
"Sorry? No." He grabbed my shoulders, his touch gentle. "What happened?"
I bit my lip. I couldn't quite meet his gaze. But I didn't want to lie. So I said, "Training."
"That…" He trained off and tucked me into a hug. The ruffle of fabric across his bosom scratched my cheek. I breathed deeply. He was so warm. After a moment, he said, "You're not alone anymore. I won't let that happen to you again."
Heat pricked my eyes. Zimara was the only one to protect me. I'd been alone since six years old. Not being alone…my mind could barely wrap itself around the concept. Even if I doubted he could protect me from my father, the sentiment was enough.
A knock sounded against the door. "Almost ready!" Flynn called. I pulled away and positioned myself so he could button my dress. I pressed my palms against my eyes and breathed. Flynn buttoned my dress with deft hands. Occasionally, he paused and traced a scar.
Once finished, he moved to open the door. I grabbed his hand before he could. "Thank you," I whispered.
He pressed his lips to my temple. "We're here for each other." He squeezed my hand and then slipped away.
*****
The maid painted our faces in no time. She mumbled about all the young ladies demanding her attention and left as soon as she finished the final stroke of paint.
Torin settled a black wig onto my head and pinned it in place. I got the black wig since it was closer to my natural hair color, though still a little too dark. It stretched down to my waist and pieces blocked my vision and pricked at my eyes. Such long hair was almost as impractical as the dress.
While they worked on Flynn's wig, braiding it or something, I decided to test out my mobility in this getup. I kicked my leg a little, like barely any, and the dress had so little give it wiped my other leg out from under me. I landed on my flat on my back with a loud SMACK. Well, that was unexpected.
Arawn rushed over. "Are you alright?" he asked, hand outstretched to help me up. I groaned and accepted his help. At least I wore a pair of underpants that came down to my ankles. In a fight, I could cut the side of my skirt in order to actually move.
"Done!" Torin called.
Flynn actually looked beautiful. Noble lady level beautiful. His round features complemented the attire. Meanwhile, I looked like an oaf in a dress. My wig lay unbraided, a tangled mess after my fall. My features weren't the delicate look of a lady, and the dress felt so foreign and odd I couldn't help if the discomfort showed on my face. Lucky for me, my reality involved demons and battle, not parties and dresses. I'd never survive.
"Wow. I think I make a much better lady than you," Flynn commented with a smirk.
Torin nodded. "A much prettier lady, at least." I groaned, but their teasing went right over Arawn's head. He frowned and studied me.
"Try to look a little more natural. Like Flynn," Arawn said. Yeah, I'd prefer demons and battle any day, thank you. He glanced at the window. "We're probably getting close to time. I'll go check." He left in a hurry, mind ever on the mission.
"Come here, I'll braid your wig," Flynn called. I shuffled over, hesitant to take too big a step-in fear of another fall.
"You can braid?" I asked as Flynn began. Torin nodded.
"Gwenn liked us to fix her hair. It was so wild it would always come undone, no matter how many pins we used." Flynn's voice was soft. I raised a hand to my wig and laid my hand on his. Torin watched with narrowed eyes, but said nothing.
Arawn popped his head in and I pulled my hand back to my lap. "It's time."