Powerful: A Powerless Story
Powerful: Chapter 7

‘Stop laughing. This isn’t funny.’

She giggles again in a way that makes it hard to stay angry – even for me. But when the needle’s point finds the tip of my finger once again, I toss the fabric aside with a huff.

‘Oh, please, don’t give up.’ The look of disappointment on her face almost makes me reconsider. ‘Look at how far you’ve come!’

‘What, you mean the twelve crooked stitches?’ I lift the scrap of fabric for proof. ‘Yeah, I’m clearly a prodigy.’

She presses her lips together, fighting an aggravating smile. It’s become increasingly less so over the past couple of days. But I’d rather not think on that at the moment.

‘Look, it’s only fair that you try my thing after putting me through yours yesterday,’ she states while stitching a pant seam with ease. ‘For hours.’

‘Don’t be dramatic.’ I sigh. ‘Besides, at least my thing will help you defend yourself.’

Adena points her needle at me. ‘You haven’t seen me wield this thing yet.’

My eyes skim over the scraps of loose fabric beside the uniform she’s still assembling. ‘Is that not what you’re doing now?’

She ponders this for a moment. ‘I suppose it is.’

‘I’ll be truly impressed when you have me looking like an Imperial in two days.’

‘I know, I know,’ she huffs. ‘Only two more days until our fun little mission to the castle.’

I shake my head. ‘Don’t call it that.’

‘I am so excited to see Pae,’ she practically squeals, content to ignore me. ‘All that’s left to do is line the suit to mimic the padding that the Imperials have. Oh, and cut the leather for your mask.’

‘Great.’ I take a deep breath, relieved. ‘And you remember the plan, correct?’ Despite her incessant nodding, I figure it’s best to remind her. ‘We’ll leave early in the evening, giving us over an hour to make it to the Arena. There, we will—’

‘Sneak up the path to the east wing of the castle before phasing through the walls and past the guards.’ She smiles smugly. ‘See, I told you I remembered.’

‘Incredibly impressive,’ I counter dryly. ‘Now, we will stick together and phase into rooms when necessary—’

‘Wait, what am I wearing on our little mission?’

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache beginning to pound. ‘Please. Don’t call it a—’

‘I could dress up like a maid!’ She taps a finger against her lips in thought. ‘Though I’m not entirely sure what it is they wear…’

‘Just tie an apron round your waist,’ I say dismissively. ‘It will be dark anyway. It’s unlikely anyone will see you.’

‘Perfect.’ Then she nods to the pathetic piece of shit she’s forced me to work on. ‘Now, go on. You’ve got more stitches to do.’

‘You can’t be serious.’

She laughs lightly. ‘You should have seen my stitches when Mama first tried to teach me. It was a disaster.’ Her voice softens before trailing off at the mention of a life I know nothing about.

‘You don’t talk about her,’ I say quietly. ‘In fact, you don’t talk about anyone who isn’t Pae.’

She shrugs as though the past that brought her to this present is of little importance. ‘There’s not much to say. Besides –’ she glances up at me with those wide, hazel eyes – ‘you never talk about Hera.’

‘There’s not much to say,’ I counter.

‘That’s odd.’ Her voice is nonchalant, but her piercing gaze is anything but. ‘I figured she was pretty important for you to go through all this trouble to see her one last time.’

Right. I’m supposed to be seeing her one last time. Not attempting anything treasonous.

I let out an exasperated sound. ‘Your curiosity is exhausting, honey.’

‘Speaking of,’ she says enthusiastically while wearing a frown, ‘I’m afraid I don’t know much about you. Apart from your measurements – which I now have memorized, by the way.’

‘I hope you know that I find that slightly unnerving—’

‘Well, if you won’t tell me about Hera,’ she cuts in, looking slightly ruffled by my withholding of information, ‘tell me something else.’

‘I just did.’ A pause. ‘Your curiosity exhausts me.’

Rolling those hazel eyes, she pushes on valiantly. ‘What about your family?’

I almost muster a laugh. ‘Oh, just the friendliest bunch. You would love them.’

Apparently, she doesn’t sense the added sarcasm I’ve slipped into the syllables of each word. ‘Oh, how wonderful! I would love to meet them one day.’ Her face flushes suddenly before she’s adding, ‘I mean, if we still see each other after all of this.’

And there it is, that pang of guilt. Guilt at the thought of leaving her, of giving her hope of something that will inevitably fail. But I feel it nonetheless, the denial of my slow demise into Adena. Because caring for Hera was the only weakness I allowed, and this girl is dangerously even more so.

Tragedy follows me everywhere I go, and I’m not worthy of becoming her demise. Adena deserves a fairytale fate, a life worthy of her light. And that means I should stay as far away from it as possible.

I should.

‘I don’t think we should see each other after all this.’

Her eyes fly up from the path of stitches she’s laying along the pant leg. ‘W-Why?’

I shrug with a nonchalance I’m pretending to portray. ‘Because my unpleasantness may rub off on you.’

She lifts her chin, wearing that bright smile of hers. ‘I think you’re just worried that I’ll make you nicer.’

I frown. ‘That would be unfortunate. I have a reputation to uphold.’

Her eyes are back on the uniform draped in her lap. ‘How did you learn to fight?’

My throat tightens, forcing me to swallow before saying, ‘Self-taught.’

Persistence has her pressing for elaboration. ‘Why? Because you wanted to learn how to use the weapons you were making?’

Because I was afraid.

‘My father was a blacksmith.’ My voice is dull. ‘I learned everything I know from watching him. Most of the fighting, too.’

Before she can interrogate me further, I order, ‘All right, show me that you remember all of my hard work yesterday.’

‘Your hard work?’ She stands with a groan. ‘I’m the one who punched the air a couple dozen times.’

‘Yes, and it caused me a great amount of pain to watch.’

I place a hand on her back, feeling the sway of her hips with each step. Attempting to ignore that distraction, I guide her towards a padded wall, once concealed by a cluttered shelf of weapons.

I gesture towards the dusty mat I rigged up years ago. ‘No more punching air.’

‘Oh, perfect,’ she says less than enthusiastically. ‘Now I get to punch something that will actually hurt.’

‘I’ve punched this many a time, hun. It won’t hit back, I assure you.’

I take my usual position behind her, and she swings at the pad far softer than I’ve taught her. ‘Come on, Dena. You won’t hurt it.’

And there I go again. Claiming her.

The name slips past my lips for the second time, and once again, I’m regretting it. Regretting the familiarity forming between us.

After clearing her throat, she attempts another jab. I twist her hip in time with the movement, feeling my palm fit around her frame.

Curly hair continually whips me in the face, smelling of its usual honey. But I don’t dare complain at her closeness, for fear of her shying away.

‘I wonder what Pae will be wearing to the ball.’ Adena sighs, slowing her punches. ‘They better put her in something that won’t wash her out with that silver hair of hers. And she absolutely refuses to wear anything frilly or—’

‘Focus, Adena.’

It was an effort to ensure it wasn’t my nickname for her that escaped my lips.

‘I mean, it’s hard enough to get her into anything that isn’t that vest I made her,’ she continues as though I hadn’t even opened my mouth.

I sigh, desperate for a change of subject. ‘Is Pae your only family, or simply your only topic of conversation?’

She throws a look over her shoulder, subtle annoyance sketched into her features. ‘It was just my mama and me before she died.’

My hand tightens slightly on her hip before she takes another swing, this one much stronger than before. ‘I…’ Sentiments have never come easy to me. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

She shrugs, and my hand glides towards the movement. The sound of her sucking in a breath threatens to make me smile, but I hold my composure as I run a palm over the length of her stiff shoulder. I can feel the shudder of her body beneath my skin.

‘It’s okay,’ she breathes, her voice shaky. ‘She was sick. There was nothing the Healer could do.’

‘And you’ve been living on the streets ever since?’ I ask quietly.

‘Five years now.’ She nods in that reminiscent way. ‘Five years in the Fort with Pae.’ That’s when she whips around, slapping curls across my face. ‘Oh, I still have to show you the Fort! You promised you’d spend the night there.’

I push her jabbing finger out of my face. ‘Did I? I don’t recall.’

Now she’s crossed thin arms over her chest. ‘Don’t you lie to me, Mak—’ She stumbles over her scrutiny before fixing me with a defiant look. ‘How am I supposed to properly scold you if I don’t know your full name?’

‘Good.’ I brush a curl from her eyes so she can see me clearly as I say, ‘Let’s keep it that way.’

The sound that comes from her throat is comparable to a frustrated groan. ‘Am I allowed to know anything about you?’

‘Of course.’ I nod towards the uniform stretched out on the floor. ‘My measurements.’

Her eyes shut slowly, fluttering dark lashes against soft cheeks. It’s comical, watching the frustration flash across her features. But she smothers it quickly with a smile in that typical Adena way. ‘Fine.’ This smile has a sort of bite to it. ‘Then you don’t get to know anything about me either.’

I nod slowly, if only so I can conceal my slight smile with the strands of hair falling around my face.

Oh, I already know far too much.

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