The Lotus Effect (Rise Of The Ardent) (13 page)

I sighed, knowing I needed the first beam again.

Reaching down while I straddled the metal, I realized tugging proved futile; the lower beam wouldn’t budge no matter how I pulled its center. With one angry growl and yank, the end suddenly came loose from the notch.

—The beam slipped and I had to catch it with both feet. The muscles in my thighs screamed as I carefully pulled it close enough so I could grab it with fumbling fingers.

Biting out curses, but determined, I continued this painfully slow process three more times before I had to rest, my chest heaving from the exertion, arms and legs shaking.
I’m doing it
.
I will get out of here. I will.
I had successfully moved up the well, if only but a few feet.

Looking up: I was only halfway there.

The muscles in my arms and legs were on fire as I stood to continue.

After another half hour of placing one beam after the other into their respective slots, I was only one notch away from reaching the top. I shielded my eyes from the glare of the sun as I looked hesitantly for the droids that may be waiting to prevent my escape.

There were none that I could see.

Unlike when I first entered, I’d gladly electrocute myself to get past them.

With trembling arms, I struggled to put the beam into the last notch. After a few choice words and some forceful coercion, it slid into place.

Stepping up onto it, I began slowly inching my way across it. I looked up to the rim of the well and my heart sank—the distance to the top was simply too great for me to reach.

I would have to jump for it.

My arms were so weak—I didn’t know how I was to pull myself up if I
did
manage to grab hold.

Narrowing my eyes, thinking of how angry I was with Xander . . . .

I jumped anyways.

~

Many say patience is a virtue. Apparently, I lacked the rationale to heed that particular proverb.

As I jumped, the force broke loose the beam I was standing on.

With arms outstretched as far as they could go, my stomach dropped, knowing I wasn’t going to make it. Like a spider that had suddenly lost her thread, I began to descend back into the darkness of the well.

Something darted into my blurring vision. And just then—I felt it. I cried out when a bright pain flared up the length of my arm as I was yanked to a swinging halt. Looking up, I saw a hand clasped firmly around my forearm. Cords of muscle and vein spiraled up the wrist that held me as it struggled to support my dangling weight.

“Hold on,” Xander’s voice ordered.

Our sweaty forearms began to slide apart. With a surge of strength, I reached up with my other arm and fisted my fingers into his shirt’s sleeve. “I’m trying!” I yelled. My legs twirled from the motion and I had to extend my boot to the wall to stop the spinning. Xander quickly clasped his other hand to the neckline of my undershirt, ripping the threads, the sound making my heart stop.

He grunted as he dug his heels into the sand and gave a powerful tug, finally pulling me up and over the lip of the well.

Once safe, he let go of my arm, allowing me to lay face down, both of us catching our breath in the warm sand. It scratched and clung to the side of my damp face and hair—which irritated me even more.

Rolling over onto my back, I cared not as I stared into the brightness of the sun while my chest heaved: In and out. In and out.

“I understand you hate me right now,” he said with a pause.

I looked into the sun, drawing fuel to the fire.

“You did very well, if that counts for anything,” he added at last as he gathered his own breath. He turned his face to mine. “This needed to be done—I’m sorry.”

Sorry?
My mind couldn’t rationalize the word
.

I looked away from the sun, my need satiated.

To my credit, I managed a deep breath before I snapped.

Chapter 12

Preparations ~ Raw Instincts

My entire face contorted into an angry grimace just before I grabbed a handful of sand and threw it straight at his face. Using my last bit of strength, I hurled myself at him, knocking his back and broad shoulders to the sand. I swung my clenched fist furiously, connecting painfully with his ribs and chest.

He didn’t even attempt to block my attacks. He tensed his abdomen, my strikes feeling like concrete to my fists.

Frustrated, I restrained my anger, and hesitated before striking his face—the look in his eyes said he wasn’t going to try and stop me.

I couldn’t do it.

I growled and un-clenched my fists, throwing them down by my sides. “
Why
?” I asked heatedly, unwilling to allow the frustrated tears to gather.

“I’m trying to prepare you,” he said as he gathered himself from underneath me. He hastily unrolled his sleeves and took off his outer shirt, placing it around my shoulders.

“There will be times when I may not be able to protect you. I need to trust that you will and can survive on your own.”

“And you know this by
electrocuting
me, throwing me down a well, and almost drowning me?” I spat. “The Barrage is a battle, Xander, fighting is involved. What you did was some sicko’s pleasure.”

“Fighting,” he corrected carefully, “is just as much mental as it is physical. The mental aspect is possibly even more important. You had to fight the urge to panic. The urge to give up. I needed to see how you processed your environment under duress—how you adapted to a situation.” He paused before he continued, “It was better to do this while you were still unfamiliar with your surroundings.”

“And with you,” I added coldly.

He winced. “And with me.” He stood there and sighed, looking to the ground in what I thought might’ve been regret. “Trust is also crucial.” His eyes rose, his gaze leveling on mine. “That’s why I promise—
I promise
—to never subject you to another training simulation without your prior knowledge or consent.”

“How kind of you,” I mumbled before wobbling and catching myself. I was so thirsty and hungry. I had not eaten sufficiently since the Coronation. I pretended to eat even then.

Xander supported me and helped me to my feet.

“There was a last notch at the top of the well you know? Impatience will get you killed in the tournament,” he said, speaking to me as if my every action had some lesson behind it. “And so will hesitation. You should’ve struck me in the face.” He sniffed slightly. “Besides, I’d deserve it.”

“I could indulge you now if you like?” I said, eyeing him harshly. Though I was still furious with him, it seemed I couldn’t stay mad at him for very long. Holding a grudge required so much energy. Energy that I did not have.

His eyes fell to the palm of his hand. He opened and closed it as if to work a bad memory from it. “You know, I’ve trained to be a fighter my entire life, and yet, there are still times when I find myself not prepared. You have less than a month. The armor won’t save you.” He walked in front of me and began backpedaling, his eyes meeting mine again. “You’re the only one who can save you.”

He slowed after seeing my face and stepped into place by my side, matching my pace as we both trudged through the deep sand. “I had to make sure you could discover those raw instincts for yourself. To latch onto them quickly.” He swallowed thickly. “Because without them, Lily, you’ll die.”

I didn’t respond. Only continued dragging each foot in front of the other.

After a moment of silence he said, “The sand trick however . . . very well done,” he added with a slight grin, swiping the clinging sand from above his brow.

I tried to think of a witty response, but instead staggered on my feet. Xander grabbed my arm before I fell to my knees.

“You’re bleeding,” he said with concern as he took in the sight of the pooling red that now bloomed starkly through the white tunic he had laid across my shoulders. His joking mood quickly gone—he brushed the tunic aside, revealing a sandy and blood-clotted forearm beneath. “Why didn’t you say you were hurt? Did the beam do this?” He looked past, to the droplets of blood that trailed behind us.

“No. You did this,” I responded dryly. Lifting my arm, I scowled weakly. “I didn’t know I was. I hurt all over.” I was just as surprised to see the gash below my elbow. It was caked with sand and no doubt full of virulent well water diseases.

“Come on. We need to clean this before it gets infected,” he said with a sigh.

I eyed him again. “Why? So you can just clean it again tomorrow when you toss me into another one of your filthy pits?”

Xander released a shuddering breath. His eyes met mine in apology. “Come on,” he said quieter this time. Xander lifted me to my feet and steered me back towards the building. His hands were gentle though firm as he held me steady—both of us now entering into a side entrance that I had not seen before.

We passed by a luminescent teal room with warm phosphorescent lights creeping out from beyond the doorway. Like an insect drawn to the mirage of radiance, I pulled away from his grip and approached the room. I gasped when I stumbled inside and was surrounded with an assortment of vibrant and lively plants: a jungle hidden among a city of fumes.

It had been years since I’d last seen a hydroponics greenhouse.

We had one once. At a time before my mother found out I’d rather spend my tutoring hours tinkering with the nutrient solutions than with my studies. Like anything else I enjoyed as a child—she promptly had it removed. And like any other edible item, now the Warehouse took care of our vegetation needs.

I breathed in the life of the room, a smell that was slightly damp, the smell of clean air. Mesmerized, I took in the assortment of colorful plants. Maybe I
was
delirious for I felt it necessary to wobble my bruised and sand covered body over to a lovely purple Gladiolus plant—as the label described—to run my finger down its waxy leaf. The feeling that sparked through my body at the touch enlivened my senses, restoring a certain comfort back into my weakened body.

“You’re practically dead on your feet. You can visit the greenhouse anytime you like,” Xander piped up behind me with a tinge of worry lining his tone. I suspected I was still bleeding, and all over his floors at that. I dropped my hands to my sides and ignored the sense of loss that edged its way inside my mind.

Returning to the hallway, all thoughts suddenly vanished once a succulent aroma filled the space, calling to me as we entered into a larger than expected kitchen. “Sit,” he said, leading me to a cushioned seat at the end of a rectangular dining table, its edges worn and surface scarred with little nicks, making me wonder if he’d ever brought his work into the kitchen before.

He fumbled with a few containers inside a large ice chest, found what he wanted, and returned to me. “I need you to drink this,” he said, handing me a tall copper mug.

“On whose authority?”

He ignored my defiance and continued to hold it before me. “Please,” he added.

“What is it?” I asked, looking uncertainly at the purple brew.

“It’ll help you rehydrate.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He looked at me pointedly this time. “It’s a concoction made from Elderberry Blossoms. They’re full of nutrients that will help you feel better. Though, if prepared incorrectly the glycoside in the stem can turn into cyanide. Helpful information if you’re looking to poison someone.”

Poison?
I raised an eyebrow at him.

Daring him with my eyes, I took the mug, hesitantly resting my lips around the rim before tilting the liquid back. It sent a shock straight to my taste-buds, making them stand on end as if imbued with energy. It was cool, pleasantly light with a sweet aftertaste. I downed half the mug on the second gulp before Xander could grab it away from me.

“Easy . . . glad you like it.” His brows pulled together before he shook his head. “Funny, I always dreaded the taste.” He sighed through his nose and turned away, reaching for something on the table. “Make yourself comfortable while I retrieve some supplies to clean that arm for you. And Lily,” He paused, making me look up. “I promise, no more tricks. You’re safe now.”

He hesitantly placed a plate of steaming grilled squab and vegetables in front of me.

 
“Comfortable. Safe,” I mimicked, testing the words in my mouth. I had just been herded by electric-wielding robots and tossed into a water well. I had just witnessed Mrs. Fawnsworth’s death brought on by my own rashness. And now, I was to be a fighter in the most dangerous of fighting tournaments. It would take some time before I felt ‘
comfortable
’ or ‘
safe
’ again.

I studied my plate.

How Xander managed to attain such expensive food from the Warehouse eluded me. Again, I did not question it nor care as I grabbed the fork and tore into the squab.

I had almost finished when I noticed Xander’s return with bandages and ointments cradled in his arms. I was so ravenous I hadn’t even realized he had left the room. I stared down at my dirty forearm, with its sand-caked wound, and felt queasy. The sight of blood normally didn’t upset me. But memories of the guard from the Wall . . . seeing him collapse to the ground . . . the blood pooling around him . . .
 
Mrs. Fawnsworth hanging helplessly limp . . . it all overwhelmed me with a new understanding of the fragility of life and how it can be snuffed out . . . so easily.

Xander crouched beside me with a steaming cleaning cloth in hand. “May I?” he asked, waiting for me to surrender my elbow.

I sniffed. “Might as well.” I thrust my arm towards him, refusing to look his way.

“You continue to eat,” he offered as he took my forearm. The cloth he held had a pungent aroma which didn’t mix at all with the squab. I transitioned my fork over to the vegetables, my stomach threatening to never settle.

“This will sting,” he warned.

I nearly choked as he placed the cloth on the wound. Though the sting was immense, I managed through sheer determination not to jerk my arm from his grasp.

“Sorry,” he said with a slight smile. His smile faded then as if expecting my next comment, a somber mood blanketing both our thoughts.

“You know, I may very well die out there. But it’s something I’m prepared to do.”

Xander’s eyes rose briefly to mine, but he returned them to my wound, his jaw tense.

“It was a rash decision. A stupid—suicidal decision—but it was the choice I made. And . . . I’ll just have to try my best. Prosper deserves better than having another idle Mistress.”

My forearm became numb from the ointment and no longer stung. Without looking, I could tell he was now removing the dirt and sand from the wound. He didn’t respond to my admission. Only focused more intently to cleaning the jagged cut. He didn’t respond because he agreed that it was stupid—he just didn’t want to make me feel more like a fool for saying so. With my hunger now satiated, I quietly placed my fork on the table and stared at him as he methodically went through the motions of tending to my arm. I blinked as I watched him.
Such a lonely soul,
the thought sprung to mind before I could stop it.

“Xander? Do you live here alone? Where’s your family?” I asked, trying to soften my mood towards him.

He glanced up at me as if surprised by my question. “Yes. I’ve lived here alone for quite some time now.”

“And what about your family?”

There was a hesitation in his eyes. “They’re gone.”

That was a bit intrusive,
I scolded myself.

“It’s no fault of your own,” he responded thickly, anticipating my apology.

I nodded, and decided not to push the issue further. He looked pained enough just by the mention of it. “About what happened to your automaton . . . Scottie is such—”

“—Lily, there’s no need to keep apologizing. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re nothing like them.”

He spoke of the Council, of my parents.

Silence draped us both as he finished cleaning my elbow and dabbed another antibacterial salve into the wound. “The cut is not too deep that you should require stitches,” he said at length, his eyes not quite meeting mine.

“Good,” I responded tersely. “I do not think I can handle much more of your poking and prodding. If I didn’t know a thing about you, I’d say for certain you were a blacksmith judging by the sandpaper-like quality of your hands.”
 
It wasn’t necessarily true. I was just in such an ireful mood; I wanted to send one last jab his way. A pretty pathetic one I realized with a small laugh.