As the instructor unhooked a barbed rope from the belt of his robe, Four fought the urge to safeguard his friend. He knew better. He’d made this mistake once before, with another student. The moment he had intervened, he’d made everything worse. At least Five wasn’t being given an animal to raise and later kill.
The first strike landed with a whoosh. Relief sparked as silence stretched. The second and third strikes fell. Five did well, his face remaining a blank mask.
Headmaster leaned down, putting himself at eye level with his victim. “With every lash, you are being rid of your secret shame. Thank me for this opportunity.”
“Thank you, Headmaster.”
Whoosh. Crack.
Whoosh. Crack.
After the seventh strike, Headmaster slowly slid his attention to Four. He canted his head, staring hard. The symbols in his skin glowed brighter and brighter.
Four revealed nothing.
“Tell me what you think of Five’s situation,” the evil male cajoled.
“I cannot.” The calmness—the coldness—of Four’s tone chilled even him. “I think nothing of his situation.”
“Is that so?”
Whoosh. Crack. Whoosh. Crack.
Calm. Steady. Breathe in, out. “That is so.”
After searching Four’s face, Headmaster withdrew a dagger from a hidden pocket of his robe and offered the hilt. “Kill him.”
Four blinked twice. “Sir?”
“You will kill Five, or I will kill you. The decision is yours. You have one minute to decide.”
As Four held the male’s gaze, he knew two things with absolute certainty. If he hesitated to do this, he would die today. If he revealed a single emotion, he would want to die.
With iron resolve, he accepted the weapon, his grip steady. He stepped backward and to the right, moving between the instructor with the whip and Five. Staring at his back—at the blood wetting his tunic.
I can do this. Four had delivered many deaths the past two years, his kill list more than double the length of anyone else’s. But then, he was born for this. And yet...
He felt as if a part of him died each time he stole another’s life.
Would he act anyway? Oh yes. Without hesitation.
Four stepped forward. Mere inches separated his chest and the ravaged back of his newest target. He reached around and gripped the boy’s chin, angling his head to the side. With his free hand, he pressed the tip of a blade into the upper dip of Five’s sternum.
A mewl of fear escaped his friend, and the churning in his stomach intensified.
“Your time runs out,” Headmaster stated.
Four blanked his mind, a grueling skill he’d worked hard to perfect. One by one, his thoughts faded to the background, his emotions dulling until he felt nothing. Only a cold, gnawing void. He calmed, and his breathing evened out. This? This was nothing. A single death among hundreds.
As the boy opened his mouth to protest or plead, Four met Headmaster’s obsidian gaze—and plunged the dagger deep. He twisted his wrist at the end. Bone cracked.
Five stiffened against him, choking sounds leaving him. In seconds—an endless eternity—he collapsed, crashing to the floor.
Blood spurted from the wound, splattering the motionless body, the floor. Four...didn’t care. He survived, whatever the cost.
One day, things would be different. Until then, Four could only bide his time...
Warm liquid pooled around his feet, and his inner cold thawed fast. The sickness returned to his belly.
“What is this I smell on you, hmm? Fear?” The headmaster swooped in and ran the tip of his nose across Four’s neck while inhaling. “No, not fear, but something.” He straightened and motioned to the instructor with the whip. “Give him twenty lashes.”
Reveal nothing. “Thank you, Headmaster.”
Already in position, the instructor struck without delay. Whoosh. Crack.
Pain splintered through Four, shooting across each of his limbs.
Whoosh. Crack. Whoosh. Crack.
He held Headmaster’s gaze until the end—and smiled. “Thank you again, Headmaster.”
Scowling, the male grazed two black claws across his cheek. “Whatever you’re feeling will boil over as soon as I turn up the heat.” Walking away, Headmaster spoke to the instructor. “Give him twenty more.”
2
Harpina, the harpy realm
6:00 a.m.
Day 1
“Get your lazy butt out of bed. Operation Lady O Be Good commences in thirty.”
The beloved but evil voice preceded the sudden ripping away of Ophelia Falconcrest’s trio of comforters, leaving her with only a sheet. Although she wore neck to toe flannel, frigid air enveloped her in a hurry, and she groaned. Even the most sedate temperatures affected harpymphs like Ophelia. Not that there were many harpy-nymphs in existence.
As she roused slowly but surely, she became increasingly aware of a great and terrible hangover and groaned louder. Her head throbbed, her stomach roiled, and her mouth tasted like a broken garbage disposal. Never drinking again. Maybe. Probably.
“Go away,” she muttered. “Let me die dramatically and in peace.”
“The motto you stole from Survivor is outwit, outplay, and outlast. Unless you’ve decided to go with a new one. Give up and give in.” Vivian “Vivi” Eagleshield, her best friend and favorite tormentor, clapped her hands twice and commanded with an exaggerated Russian accent, “Up, up, Lady O! Today is big day for you. Meaning, yes, it’s big day for me. You know I take my big days seriously.”