CHAPTER 357: WRONG PLACE, RIGHT INFORMATION

The practice sword cracked against wood with a sound like breaking bones.

"No, no, NO!" Sirah grabbed the young darian’s wrist, adjusting his grip with her remaining hand. "You’re holding it like a club. It’s a sword, not your dick."

The boy, who couldn’t be more than fourteen summers, blushed furiously. Around them, other young warriors snickered.

"Sorry, Blood Sister."

"Don’t apologize. Just do better."

She stepped back, watching him run through the basic forms again. Better. Not good, but better.

[Why am I even bothering?]

Teaching had never been her thing. That was for the old warriors, the ones missing too many pieces to fight properly. But here she was, showing whelps which end of the sword went into the enemy.

"—gonna bleed him slow," someone was saying near the prisoner posts. "Make it last."

"Nah, quick and clean. Save the energy for important things."

"Since when is revenge not important?"

Sirah glanced over. Three warriors stood around the human boy, discussing his death like they were planning dinner.

[Still alive?]

It had been two days since his capture. Usually, prisoners didn’t last that long unless they had valuable information. And this one looked about as valuable as a broken sandal.

"Blood Sister!" one of the warriors called out. "Want to take a turn with the human? Might improve your mood."

"My mood’s fine."

"Sure it is." The warrior grinned, showing too many teeth. "Come on, might be fun. Been a while since we had a proper show."

The other warriors nodded eagerly. Nothing like a good execution to boost morale.

"Maybe later."

She turned back to the training, but her mind kept drifting to the prisoner. Scrawny thing. Probably pissed himself at least twice. Why keep him alive this long just to—

"Blood Sister, am I doing it right?"

The young warrior had managed to tangle himself in his own sword belt.

[How is that even possible?]

"Take a break," she told him. "All of you, take a break. And try not to impale yourselves while I’m gone."

The prisoner area stank of fear and piss. The boy sat slumped against his post, hands bound above his head. His uniform, what was left of it, marked him as "auxiliary corps". Whatever that meant.

[Pathetic.]

Sirah crouched in front of him. He flinched, eyes squeezing shut.

"Look at me."

Nothing.

She grabbed his chin with her good hand, forcing his head up.

"I said look at me."

Watery blue eyes met hers. Barely more than a child.

"Who are you?"

"P-please, I don’t—"

"Not what I asked. Who. Are. You."

"Corvo!" The name came out in a rush. "Corvo Fletcher, m-messenger corps, third division."

[Messenger?]

"You’re not even a soldier?"

He shook his head frantically.

"I was just... the patrol needed someone to carry dispatches. Wrong place, wrong time."

[Story of everyone’s life out here.]

She should leave. Let the others have their fun. But something made her stay.

"You know any nim named Melisa?"

The change was instant. His eyes went wide, fear replaced by something else. Recognition. Awe?

"Of course. Everyone knows her."

Sirah’s grip on his chin tightened.

"What?"

"The nim mage. She’s—" He swallowed hard. "She’s famous."

[Famous?]

That didn’t make sense. Melisa was just another nim. Special, yes, but famous?

"Explain."

"She’s the first nim to use magic. Ever. She saved the king’s life at the Royal Gala. Hunts Shadow Mages. She’s—" His voice dropped to a whisper. "They say she’s close to Queen Aria herself."

Sirah let go of his chin, rocking back on her heels.

[What the fuck?]

"You’re lying."

"No! I swear! Ask anyone in Syux. She’s... she’s like a legend. The nim who broke all the rules."

Her mind raced. Melisa hadn’t just been some talented nim. She was... what? Some kind of hero?

[No wonder she fought so hard to escape.]

"Tell me more."

And he did. Words tumbling over each other as he spoke about the mysterious nim who’d appeared at Syux Academy eight years ago. How she’d proven nim could use magic when everyone said it was impossible. Her battles against Shadow Mages. The night she saved the king with some impossible healing spell.

With each word, Sirah felt smaller.

[I had a legend in my bed and all I did was... fuck.]

Sirah stood abruptly. The boy flinched.

"Boy, are you important in any form?"

"What?"

"You heard me. Are you important? Would anyone care if you disappeared?"

Corvo straightened as much as his bonds allowed.

"I... my uncle is a merchant. Supplies the army. And I carry important messages! Confidential ones!"

Probably lying. Or at least exaggerating. But...

[A messenger would know how to get messages to people.]

The thought formed before she could stop it. Stupid. Dangerous. But once it took root, it wouldn’t leave.

"If you can get me a meeting with Melisa," she heard herself say, "I will help you escape."

The words hung in the air between them. Corvo’s mouth fell open.

"You... what?"

[What am I doing?]

But she was already committed. The words were out there, couldn’t take them back.

"You heard me. Get me a meeting with her, and you live. Fail, and I let the others have you."

"But I’m a prisoner! How would I—"

"Not for long." She leaned closer. "I get you out. You get back to Syux. And then you arrange that meeting."

"I... I don’t even know if she’d—"

"Can you do it or not?"

Corvo swallowed hard.

"My uncle. He supplies the Academy. I could... maybe I could get word to her through him. Say it’s important military intelligence or something."

[Probably lying. But it’s something.]

"Good enough." She straightened. "I’ll come for you tomorrow night. Be ready."

"Wait! Blood Sister, please! What if I can’t? What if she won’t—"

But Sirah was already walking away, her mind a chaos of half-formed plans and stupid hopes.

[What the fuck did I just do?]

She’d just offered to betray her clan for a chance to see the woman who’d cut off her hand. The woman who’d looked at her with pity before disappearing into the night.

The woman who was, apparently, some kind of legendary hero.

[I’m going to get myself killed.]

But even as she thought it, she was already planning. How to get the boy out. How to get word to Melisa. How to see those red eyes one more time.

That night, Sirah lay in her tent staring at the canvas above. Her phantom hand ached, fingers that weren’t there trying to clench into a fist.

Somewhere in Syux, Melisa was probably in a soft bed. Surrounded by admirers. Heroes and nobles and whatever else gathered around famous people.

Not thinking about the darian woman who’d held her captive for a few days.

[This is stupid.]

But stupid was better than empty. Better than going through the motions of a life that had lost its savor.

Tomorrow, she’d either be planning an escape or watching a boy get tortured to death.

[At least it’s something different.]

She closed her eyes, trying not to think about red eyes and black hair. About the way Melisa had felt beneath her. The sounds she’d made.

[Get me a meeting with Melisa.]

What would she even say?

"Sorry I kidnapped you, want to grab a drink?"

[Fuck.]