Reprise

CHAPTER ONE

Malia

In preparation for the upcoming raid in the nearby town, my father forces me to complete more grueling workouts than usual. It’ll be my first official mission with the Dark Fraction, and whether it’s his attempt to weaken me beforehand as a security measure, or him just trying to push my limits, I’m not sure.

If it’s the former, it won’t work. If I wanted to flee while on a mission with Dark Fraction soldiers, miles away from myparents, I’d manage. There’d be no stopping me. But as it is I’m not planning on doing anything of the sort just yet. I don’t want to beon the run for the rest of my life, always looking over my shoulder and expecting my parents to be there to take me back to that cursedcell. No, when I get out of here once and for all, there’ll be no one left to come after me.

For now, I push all thoughts of running aside as I face the half-dozen men I have to fight this round. It’s an excessive number, especially considering I’m not allowed to use my powers, only weapons of my choice. I find myself questioning whether this is a fight I can win, but I hate the thought passionately, so I bury it. If I can’t win against six well-trained men twice my size, then I’m definitely not ready to fight my parents in the heart of their camp with all means allowed. There’s a reason they run the Dark Fraction,and it’s not because it was decided democratically.

I move so that I’m on the opposite side of the circle from the crowd of men facing me, unsheathing my beautiful twin daggers from my belt. They’re the one good thing that have come from living here. There’s no better place to find intricate weapons than the camp of a lawless militia, after all. Thanks to their smuggling, raiding, and stealing, the most beautifully crafted weapons known to mankind are here.

My parents let me have the daggers after a year of training. I was given a broad selection of weapons to choose from, ranging from crossbows to longswords, from throwing stars to my darling daggers. I have other weapons stashed in my room––a girl’s got to have options depending on her mood––but the blades in my hands are my favorites.

They’re made of high-carbon steel, the handles wrapped in rough black leather to allow for a solid grip, and there’s a royal-blue sapphire embedded in the back of each hilt. They’re every fighter’s wet dream and were absolutely made for me.

When I get into position, my weapons gleaming in the sun as I hold them at the ready, the fight begins. A few men come at me at once, forcing me to go on the defensive first. I twist and turn away from their grabby hands, finding ways to attack in between, and my uniform soon sticks to my sweaty body. The training area is surrounded by thick trees and crumbling ruins overgrown with vines, blocking out any possible breeze accompanying this hot September day.

Shallow cuts and blooming bruises start to pepper my body, even as I eliminate the first opponents. The fight is so grueling that I curse the black mask covering my mouth and nose. It makes it harder to breathe, and only adds to the stifling heat as the middaysun burns down on us, but I refuse to take off any part of my uniform around camp.

By the time only four men are left, my moves are becoming more sluggish, my strength slowly waning. But still I grit my teeth against the tremble in my arms as I lift my daggers to swing at one of the soldiers. By the Stars above, how much more strength training do I have to do to be able to keep up with these men that sit on their asses more than they don’t?

As I fail to put so much as a scratch on the nearest man, I can see in my peripheral vision that the twins are approaching me quickly, each of them armed with a longsword. I jump away from the three men closing in on me, only noticing my mistake when a wooden staff flashes before my face. It comes down against my throat and presses into my airway, the fourth man now behind me and gripping the staff at each end to pull me back against his chest.

I choke, with half a mind to escape by stabbing him. But as I consider it, a memory creeps up on me: I’m fifteen, locked in the same position with Keahi at my back. He taunts me, breathes against my neck, pulls me closer.

I’m ripped out of the memory when my body slams into the ground. I could only have been out of it for a second, and I’m glad to see that the man who triggered the unwanted flashback is now clutching his bleeding side where my dagger is buried. My body must have acted on muscle memory even as my mind was otherwise occupied. I like that.

My head is swimming now, the lack of oxygen taking its toll. I roll over and sit back on my haunches, regarding the three remaining men. They’re hesitant, regrouping as the fourth man collapses next to the healer outside of our circle. I slowly get to my feet, gripping my remaining dagger with my left hand since an earlier cut is making my right arm throb. It’s inconvenient, and I’ll certainly have to get a new uniform tonight, but I let the annoyance of it fuel me.

The twins finally exchange a look before they both charge at me. I wait until the last moment before dropping into a tuckedroll, passing between their legs. As I untuck, I cut one of the men’s Achille’s tendons. A spray of warm blood hits my exposed cheek,covering my mask. I get to my feet and throw my dagger into the other man’s thigh.

The third man looks stupefied as he watches, unmoving. It’s the perfect opportunity for me to come at him even with no weapons left. I tense my lower half and jump up to wrap my legs around his neck, using my momentum to wrench his body back as Itwist on top of him. I could break his neck at this point, but it’s not my job to kill these men, so instead I yank his body down with me, rolling off of it as he drops like a bag of rocks. He groans as his head hits the dense earth.

Meeting my father’s pleased expression, I accept another win. I want to choke him for ruining my small moment of victory by being happy about it, but I content myself with the reminder that it’s this exact arrogance––thinking he can weaponize my strength to his advantage––that will eventually get him killed. I walk past him, teeth gritted to hide my limp, and head toward my room to heal my new wounds before tonight’s mission.

The training area is secluded, away from the rest of the camp. It’s located in what probably used to be the main square before the town fell victim to the war between the Dark Fraction and Arcane. The war’s been going on for centuries, and while Arcane does their best to avoid significant conflicts these days, and the Fraction contents itself with terrorizing people without powers, there aremany ghost towns like this one that show what can happen when powerful Handlers meet their counterparts in battle.

Many of the stone buildings are in shambles—either because time’s taken its toll on them or because they were destroyed in the battle that must have happened long ago––and everything here is halfway to being reclaimed by nature by now. As much as Iwant to hate everything about this horror-filled camp, I can’t deny that it can be beautiful when the sun comes out and spreads a warm hue over the entire area. The miles of trees that surround the ruins give the place a feeling of utter seclusion.

I wonder if this town was one of the first casualties back in the eighteenth century when the two sides of this war were onlyjust being formed, when the wounds of being hunted and burned at the stake were still fresh. If it is that old, it would explain the openconcept of the small town and the stone buildings.

The closest sign of civilization is probably Arcane Academy. I figured that out not too long ago by following the small streamnearby until I reached a part of the woods that I recognized from the day I was taken by the Fraction. Being in the same woods meant it should’ve been easy for Arcane to find me, which confirmed that they never tried looking.

As I enter the busier part of camp, where the living quarters and common areas like the kitchens are, I pull my hood lower over my face and keep my head down, swinging by the seamstress to get a new uniform. She doesn’t bat an eye at my appearance: The bloody, ripped clothes, or the mask hiding my face even though everyone takes them off here at “home.” She just hands me a spare in my size and dismisses me.