Powerful: A Powerless Story
Powerful: Chapter 8

‘Can I open my eyes now? Are you decent?’

There’s a rustle of fabric followed by a dry answer. ‘I’m clothed, if that’s what you’re asking.’

I peek open an eye that lands on the crisp white pants hanging from his hips—

My lips press together.

His hips are still bare.

He’s standing there with only half a uniform on, leaving his chest exposed and my eyes wide. My gaze skims over the scattered scars marring his skin before I finally muster the strength to look away. A handful of days ago, his bare chest would be less of an intriguing sight, but now… Now, I’m horribly enthralled by all of him.

‘What?’ he asks with a scrutinizing stare. ‘Don’t act like I’m the only man you’ve seen without a shirt on.’

‘Hmm?’ My cheeks burn. ‘Right.’

He stills, eyes narrowing. ‘You haven’t, have you?’

‘No,’ I blurt defensively, ‘there are plenty of men who walk around Loot without a shirt on…’

‘Right.’ He nods slowly. ‘And do you always stare at them this intensely?’

I didn’t think my face could get any hotter. ‘Whatever. Hurry up, I have places to be.’ I stumble through my words before turning round to curse myself away from his prying eyes.

‘Is that so?’ His tone is mocking. ‘And where are you off to besides the palace tonight?’

‘In case you’ve forgotten,’ I state with satisfaction, ‘I have a business to run.’

‘Ah, yes.’ I glance back in time to catch him tugging the top half of his uniform over the messy waves falling around his face. ‘You have clothes to sell. Now even those living in the slums can starve in style.’

I give him the new look I’ve developed – a cross between unimpressed and slightly amused. ‘Well, when you put it like that…’

He scoffs before raising his arms, surveying the length of my handiwork. ‘Do I look the part? In the dark, at the very least.’

I take a few slow steps toward his white-clad figure, eyeing every seam and panel along the fabric. Then I’m clapping my hands together, squealing slightly. ‘It’s perfect! You look more menacing than usual.’

His lips twitch. ‘It’s about time you gave me a compliment.’

‘Oh, wait, one more thing.’ I snatch the leather mask from the dusty work table. Stepping close enough to smell the starch I’ve doused his uniform in – for authenticity, of course – I look up into dark eyes already pinned on me.

I’m acutely aware that we are sharing the same air as I reach up to fasten the mask over his eyes and nose. The feel of his gaze roaming over my face has my palms growing sweaty. But I continue my admiration of his own features, following the curve of his cheekbones beneath the mask, the straight bridge of his nose in the center. When my gaze glides over the scar decorating his lips, I’m forced to fight the urge to run my finger over it.

‘Still menacing?’ he murmurs, his face hovering over mine.

‘More than ever,’ I assure breathlessly.

We watch each other for several shaky breaths before he clears his throat. ‘Don’t you have places to be? A particular blue shirt to sell?’

At the mention of my creation he so ruthlessly criticized, I gain the strength to take a step away from him. ‘Why, yes, I do. And if it doesn’t sell, I know exactly what I’ll be wearing on our little mission.’

He shakes his head in disbelief, crossing large arms over his chest. ‘You know, you are far more conniving than you look.’

I tip my chin up. ‘And how exactly do I look?’

‘Sweet. Unassuming. Pretty enough to get away with wearing that horribly blue shirt.’

My throat is dry, but I attempt a swallow anyway. He’s looking down at me in the same way I do my stitching. Admiration lights his eyes even while he searches for any sort of fault to focus on. As though he aches for a reason to rip at the seams of what it is that has slowly tethered us together.

‘Then wear it I shall,’ I reassure him.

After fumbling for the door – an action typically associated with when his eyes linger over me – I hurry out onto the alleyway.

Sun dapples my face, freckling my nose with warmth as I hurry down Loot. I replace the Fort thankfully untouched, seeing that to the untrained eye it is, in fact, a pile of garbage. I’m reminded of my decision to redecorate for Pae when she returns and add the task to my mental list of chores.

Lifting one of the many rugs, I replace clothing buried beneath, belonging to the bundle I’d thrown into the alley during my attempted robbery. After meeting Mak, I came back to properly collect and dust off my work before ensuring every scrap of fabric was hidden beneath the many layers of the Fort.

Once I’ve gathered the bundle of clothing in my arms, I set off towards the corner I’ve neglected for nearly two weeks now. But after tonight, I will no longer be fed for free or cozied up beneath the cover of his sheets – not that I wouldn’t want that to continue. But Mak has made it very clear that I shouldn’t be seeing him after our mission. Though, I have yet to replace a good reason as to why.

He makes me happy, for whatever absurdly odd reason. He’s not exactly a ray of sunshine, but perhaps something equivalent to moonlight. Mysterious and unnerving. Equally as beautiful, yet, soft enough to stare at.

With thoughts of Mak consuming whatever rationality I had left, I hurry down the bustling street. I’m nearly at my corner now and have yet to drop a single item of clothing. This is something I hope will become a regular occurrence. With that goal in mind, I hug the mass of fabric tighter as I hurry towards the mouth of my usual alley.

Most merchants have carts to sell from. I have other methods.

Years ago, Pae and I fastened a long wire across the opening of this alley, and I am shocked to replace the rusty nails still holding. While balancing the bundle of clothing in my arms, I begin draping them across the line to display my handiwork. It makes for a makeshift sort of banner, colorful enough to draw attention.

Once each piece is arranged to my liking, I plop down beneath the display and fight the urge to pick at my nails in boredom. Deciding to spend my time wisely, I begin fiddling with the bits of leftover leather from Mak’s uniform.

The display of his knife collection comes to mind as I run my thumb over the smooth material. He has no way to carry them on him without fear of being stabbed by protruding blades.

That’s when an idea begins to form. Patterns and measurements are suddenly swirling behind my closed eyelids, aligning into a tangible design. I begin tearing fabric and pinning corners, watching my idea come to life.

That’s when my stomach grumbles at me, the sound a reminder of the little money I have. And with that in mind, I smile brightly at each person who passes, as if that is enough to persuade them to buy something.

And just when I’m starting to think my attempts are scaring customers away, a man strolls towards me.

I stand, drape my project over the wire, and greet him with what I hope is a slightly less desperate smile. I watch him grow closer, watch fuzzy features familiarize with every step.

I know this man. His is one of the faces I see when shutting my eyes before bed.

This is one of the men that followed me.

‘Hello, pretty,’ he croons, closing the distance between us. ‘You’re even nicer to look at in the daytime.’

My eyes shift nervously, glancing at the passing people. With what may be a false sense of security, I attempt to keep things civil. Professional despite my discomfort.

‘Good morning, sir.’ His responding smirk is unsettling. ‘Is there anything in particular you’re looking for? Perhaps there is a missus you are shopping for? Because I have this beautiful blue top that—’

‘I’d like to see it on you,’ he cuts in, voice raspy and blue eyes burning. ‘Well, off of you, actually.’

I take a step back, feeling the grimy wall suddenly against my shoulders. My voice quivers, but I force the words out. ‘I think you should leave now.’

My eyes linger on his blossoming black eye as he runs a hand through oily brown hair. His smile only grows more crazed. ‘Oh, no, I’m not letting you out of my sight again, pretty.’

My lips part, allowing words to stumble out. ‘Please, I—’

‘Did I not take care of you properly the first time?’

That dry voice cuts through my own, full of challenge. My eyes lift to the looming figure now suddenly behind the man closing in on me.

Mak looks relaxed, bored even, as he waits expectantly with arms crossed over a broad chest. Most of his ebony hair is tied back with a strap, though several pieces fall around his face, blowing in the soft breeze. That strand of silver peeks out at me, glinting with familiarity and comfort.

Tears well at the mere sight of him.

The man whips round, eyes widening. ‘Shit.’

I’m not exactly sure how it happened, seeing that I chose quite the inopportune moment to blink. But the man’s face is suddenly shoved against the grimy wall beside me while the length of Mak’s arm presses against the back of his neck.

‘You are a pathetically slow learner,’ Mak says dryly. ‘I figured one black eye would be enough to get my point across. But it seems you’d like a matching one.’

‘I-I didn’t recognize her, I swear!’ The man’s voice is muffled against the brick.

Mak leans in, his voice a murmur. ‘We both know why that’s a lie.’

And then he’s grabbing the man by the collar to roughly turn him round, shoving his back against the wall. He sputters, forcing Mak to speak over him. ‘Dena, I think you should do the honors.’

‘W-What?’ I croak from where I’m gawking beside him.

‘It will be good practice.’ He says this simply, as though I have any idea of what he’s suggesting. ‘I would have let you punch me if it came to it, but this is a far more appealing option.’

‘You… You want me to punch him?’ I shake my head in protest. ‘No, you go ahead. I’m good.’

‘Dena.’

‘Really, I’ll leave this one up to you,’ I assure with an unconvincing smile. ‘This is more your thing.’

With a sigh, he reaches out a hand to close round my arm, dragging me towards him against my will. ‘Come on. This is part of your training.’

He squares my shoulders, positioning me for a punch. ‘Mak, I —’

‘Think of what him and his friends tried to do.’ His voice is a murmur. ‘Think of what he will continue to try with other women in the slums.’

I take a steadying breath, letting his words sink in. But it’s what he says next that has my fist flying towards the man’s face.

‘Think of what he would try to do to Pae.’

The man sputters, spitting blood from his mouth. Pain shoots down my arm, feeling as though my knuckles have been dipped in fire. My shout is strained. ‘Plagues!’

He raises his eyebrows at my exclamation. ‘Come on, tell me how you really feel.’

Hugging my hand, I glance around before quietly proclaiming what I’d bitten back. ‘Shit! That hurt like… like hell!’

I smile timidly despite the pain, feeling proud of my profanity. And when Mak musters the slightest smile, I know he feels the same. ‘Good form, hun. Maybe you have learned something.’ Then he turns to the cowering figure pinned against the wall. ‘Don’t let me ever see you again.’

He’s gone in an instant, sprinting down the street and shoving bodies aside. Shaking out my aching hand, I watch Mak track the man’s movements until he’s disappeared into the crowd. ‘Th-Thank you,’ I whisper before letting my head fall limply against his chest.

His arms hesitate before encircling me, and I don’t waste a second before doing the same. When I finally release him from my crushing hug, I clear my throat, earning his attention for my quiet question. ‘What did you do that night you went looking for those men?’

He brushes stray strands of hair from his face. ‘I found them.’

I lean in. ‘And after that?’

He looks at me blankly. ‘I thought I ensured that they would never come within your vicinity again. Clearly, I failed.’

I blink about a dozen times before finally replaceing my voice. ‘Why did you think he was lying about not recognizing me? I mean, it was dark that one night and—’

‘He was lying, Adena.’ His voice cuts through my own. ‘Just believe that.’

I open my mouth to spew several more questions when he suddenly steps away. ‘How about a sticky bun to celebrate your first assault?’

I smack his arm lightly. ‘And I don’t plan on ever doing it again. My hand hurts. And I kind of need that to sew.’ After a quick moment of contemplation, I add, ‘But I will never turn down a sticky bun.’

His lips twitch. ‘Oh, I know.’

I watch him vanish onto the street before allowing myself to slump against the wall. My heart still pounds against my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut as if that will slow it.

A firm tap on my shoulder interrupts my deep breathing.

It’s an Imperial my eyes open to, smelling of starch and frowning with indifference. I startle at the sight and stagger backwards into the wall. The man looks unfazed by this, only opening his mouth to recite the words he’s been given.

‘I am here to escort you to the castle.’

The stolen sticky bun flashes before my eyes, and right when I’m sure that I’ll be imprisoned for my crime, he says, ‘You have been summoned as a seamstress on behalf of a Purging Trials contestant.’

‘Pae,’ I whisper before he pushes on despite the drop of my jaw.

‘Yes, for Paedyn Gray.’ He looks very displeased that this is how he is spending his morning. ‘She is waiting for you in the coach.’