Page 84 of The Incendiary

TWENTY-TWO

ARYELLA

You know, you called me crazy once or twice. You always said it in jest, I think, but we both knew it was true.

I decided a long time ago that if crazy keeps you safe and ensures you get everything you deserve, I’ll be the craziest motherfucker this world has ever seen.

—FROM THE BUTCHER OF NYRIDA’S LAST KNOWN LETTERS TO QUEEN ARYELLA I

Every morning after breakfast, the cadets gathered in the main courtyard or training hall to spar. This morning, Elias once again paired me with someone eager to snap my neck. Someone who I’d handily embarrassed during the first test.

Draven Finch.

We were outside, and the heat of the morning sun was a welcome contrast to the chill of spring frost in the air. Finch stood opposite me on the mat, scowling.

“Ready to spar, sea witch?” he taunted.

I snorted. “Did you come up with that nickname on your own?” My attention shifted high and to the right, where Elias observed from a watchtower, leaning casually over the rail as if sticking one of the strongest cadets on me was merely a product of happenstance. Gravel crunched beneath my feet when I stepped closer to Finch, my voice low. “Cadets cannot kill other cadets. You know that’s the rule, and you were going to violate it.”

Finch’s responding laugh made me ill. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He glanced left at where Alec Gerard, Otis Stoll, and the Sharpe brothers stood watching us spar, like they were waiting for something. Their presence was beyond unnerving. I suspected they were just waiting for the right moment to retaliate for the way I’d humiliated them outside the fortress the day I arrived.

I reached up to tighten my black hair from a ponytail to a tight bun. “You can try to kill me, Finch. But touch Mina Reed again, and I will be the one that guts you in your sleep. Believe me, I learned that from the best.”

Confusion flashed through his hateful eyes.

The Butcher taught me nearly everything I know, I wanted to say, and I don’t think I’d hesitate with you.

But saying that would get me a one-way trip to the jail cells. Or a grave.

Finch lunged at me. I dodged twice, but he faked me out on the third and landed a strike to my face. I lost my balance just long enough for him to grab me by the collar of my leathers, jerk me toward him, and wrap his arm around my neck.

His arm tightened as he growled, “Yield.” “I don’t yield,” I hissed back.

“Yield or I will kill you.”

Based on experience, dying was unlikely. Then again, my injuries had killed me in Brinnea. Could I heal from suffocation?

“Killing me isn’t a good idea.” I dug my fingers into his thick, sweaty arm.

“You’re probably right.” Finch’s breath was damp and hot on my ear. “The commander doesn’t like to lose his playthings.”

I strained my eyes to look up at the watchtower. Elias stood there, eyes wide and locked on me. I expected to see at least a smirk, then perhaps a joke with Valda or another soldier as Finch snapped my neck.

But Elias wasn’t smiling. In fact, was that worry I saw?

Finch’s arm pressed tightly against my trachea until darkness crowded the edge of my vision. I had time, but not much, so I reached into the reservoir of all the things I had been taught. His guidance, always at my disposal whether I wanted it or not. What to do when on the brink of death?

You take whatever weapon you have and you stab, beat, slice, or bite the life out of them. You do not hesitate.

Damn him and his relentless way of never letting me give up, even when he wasn’t here. My mouth was less than an inch from the skin of Finch’s forearm. There was only one feasible way out of this without using magic.

Disgusting.

I inhaled through my nose and counted to three before clamping my teeth down on his forearm, until I broke through flesh and the taste of wet, hot copper seeped into my mouth. Despite the urge to vomit, I bit harder, easing up only when the brutal hold around my neck released. Finch yelped and shoved me to the ground. Gravel sliced into my palms, drawing blood, but I would take some cuts over death by Draven Finch any day.

“What the fuck!” Finch gawked at the bloody teeth marks in his arm. “Crazy bitch!”

I pushed off the ground and quickly regained my footing before he could lunge at me. I thought he might, but his blood dripping down my chin might have been a deterrent.