Powerless text © 2023 by Lauren RobertsMap © 2023 Lauren RobertsCover © 2023 Lauren RobertsCover designed by Seventhstar ArtEdited by Michelle RosquilloFormatted by Whimsy Book Cover GraphicsMap designed by Jojo ElliottAll rights reserved. No part of this book or any portion thereof may be reproduced, transmitted in anyform or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or anyinformation storage or retrieval system without the express written permission from the author. Thescanning, uploading, and distribution of this book is considered theft of the author’s intellectualproperty.This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of theauthors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,events, or locales is entirely coincidental.www.laurenrobertslibrary.comPublished January 2023ISBN 979-8-9873804-2-0 (ebook) ContentsChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32Chapter 33Chapter 34Chapter 35Chapter 36Chapter 37Chapter 38Chapter 39 Chapter 40Chapter 41Chapter 42Chapter 43Chapter 44Chapter 45Chapter 46Chapter 47Chapter 48Chapter 49Chapter 50Chapter 51Chapter 52Chapter 53Chapter 54Chapter 55Chapter 56Chapter 57Chapter 58Chapter 59Chapter 60Chapter 61Chapter 62Chapter 63Chapter 64Chapter 65Chapter 66Chapter 67Chapter 68EpilogueAcknowledgmentsAbout the Author For every girl who has ever felt powerless. Chapter OnePaedynTHICK, HOT LIQUID RUNS DOWN MY ARM.Blood.Funny, I don’t remember the guard nicking me with his sword beforemy fist connected with his face. Despite being a Flash, he apparentlycouldn’t manage to move faster than my right hook to his jaw.The smell of soot stings my nose, forcing me to clamp a grimy handover it to stop a sneeze from slipping out.That would be a very pathetic way to get caught.When I’m sure that my nose won’t alert the Imperials lurking beneathwhere I’m hiding, I return my hand to the filthy wall my back is currentlypressed against with my feet planted opposite me. After taking a deepbreath that nearly has me choking on soot, I slowly begin my climbupwards once again. With thighs burning almost as much as my nose, Iforce my body to continue shimmying while stifling the sneeze.Climbing up a chimney isn’t exactly how I thought I would be spendingmy evening. The small space has me sweating, swallowing my fear beforescrambling to the top of the cramped corridor, eager to replace grime-cakedwalls with a starry night. When my head finally peeks over the top, Igreedily gulp down the sticky air, then climb up and over, immediatelybombarded with a new concoction of smells far more unpleasant than thestench of soot clinging to my body, my clothes, my hair. Sweat, fish, spices, and I’m quite certain some sort of bodily fluid, blends to create the aromathat surrounds Loot Alley.Balancing atop the chimney, I strain my eyes on the shadowed roof toinspect my sticky arm. I’d nearly forgotten to examine it without the usualbiting pain that accompanies a sword slash to remind me.I rip off a strip of cloth from the sweaty tank that clings to my body,dabbing at the gash with it.Adena’s going to kill me for ruining her stitching. Again.I’m surprised when I don’t feel the familiar twinge of pain as I rub atmy arm with the rough fabric, impatiently sopping up the stickiness.And that’s when I smell it.Honey.The same honey that belongs to the sticky buns oozing out of the manypockets in my ragged vest and dripping down my arm—mistaken for blood.I sigh, rolling my eyes at myself.It’s a welcome surprise, nonetheless. Even honey soaking my clothesbeats trying to wash blood out.I take in a deep breath and look out over the crumbling, rundownbuildings cast in shadows by the flickering lampposts dotting the street.There’s not much electricity here in the slums, but the king generouslyspared us a few lampposts. Thanks to the Volts and Scholars using theirabilities to create a sustained power grid, I have to work exceptionally hardto stay in the shadows.Farther from the slums, the more the rows of shops and homes slowlyimprove in condition and size. Shacks turn into homes, homes turn intomansions, leading up to the most daunting building of all. Squintingthrough the darkness, I can just barely make out the looming towers of theroyal castle and the sloping dome of the Bowl Arena that resides beside it.My eyes flick back to the wide street stretched out before me, scanningthe surrounding sketchy buildings. Loot Alley is the very heart of the slums,pumping crime and trade throughout the city. I trace the dozens of otheralleys and streets jutting off from it, getting lost in the maze that is the citybefore offering a sigh and small smile to the familiar street beneath me.Home. Sort of. Technically, a home implies that one has a roof overtheir head.But stars are far more fun to stare at than a ceiling. I would know, seeing that I used to have a ceiling to stare at every night,back when I had no need for the stars to keep me company.My traitorous gaze sweeps across the city to where I know my formerhome lies wedged between Merchant and Elm Streets. Where a happy littlefamily is likely sitting around the dinner table, laughing and discussing theirday with one another—I hear a thump, followed by the murmuring of voices that drag me frommy bitter thoughts. Straining to hear, I can just make out the muffled, deepvoice that belongs to the guard I so kindly relieved of his duties a shortwhile ago.“—came up right behind me, quiet as a mouse, and then ... then the nextthing I know, I get a tap on the shoulder and a fist to the face.”A very irritated and very shrill female voice echoes up the chimney.“You’re a Flash, for Plague’s sake, aren’t you supposed to be fast orsomething?” She takes a deep breath. “Did you at least get a look at his facebefore you let him rob me? Again?”“All I saw were his eyes,” the guard mumbles. “Blue. Very blue.”The woman huffs in irritation. “How helpful. Let me just stop everyperson on Loot to see if their eyes match your vivid description of veryblue.”I stifle my snort as something creaks from the other end of the room,followed by a chorus of muffled footsteps. From the groan of rotting woodshifting beneath several new pairs of boots, I immediately deduce that threemore guards have joined the hunt.And that’s my cue.I hop off the chimney and grab onto the raised ledge of the roof,swinging my legs over the side to dangle above the street. Blowing out abreath, I let go and bite my tongue against a yelp as gravity yanks metowards the ground. With a soft thud I drop ungracefully into a merchant’swagon brimming with hay. The stiff straw pokes through my clothes likeone of Adena’s pincushions, and a cloud of soot and hay rises on the nightbreeze when I jump out onto the street.Passing the time by plucking straw from my tangled hair, I begin myjourney back to the Fort, weaving through beat-up merchant carts, allabandoned for the night, feet dancing over trash and broken trinkets.Looters slumped against alleys or tucked in between buildings whisperamong themselves as I pass. I feel the weight of the dagger tucked into my boot and relax at thecomfort of the cool steel as I pass groups of fellow homeless huddlingtogether for the night. I can see the faint shimmer of purple forcefieldsshielding some, while others don’t even have an ability strong enough toallow them to sleep peacefully, which is the exact reason they call the slumstheir home.I keep my steps swift and sure as my eyes sweep back and forth acrossthe alleys, never letting my guard down. The poor don’t discriminate. Ashilling is a shilling, and they don’t care if they jump someone worse offthan them to get it.Several guards cross my path as I zigzag down streets, forcing me toslow down to steer clear of them. Every shop, corner, and street has beenbestowed the gift of leering, white-uniformed law enforcers. These brutalImperials have been stationed everywhere along Loot Alley by decree ofthe king due to an increase in crime.Clearly has nothing to do with me.I slip down a smaller alley, making my way towards the dead end.There, tucked in the corner, is a mangled barricade of broken merchantcarts, cardboard, old sheets, and Plague knows what else. Before I’m evenhalfway to the pile of garbage we call home, a face obscured by wildshoulder-length curls pops up over the Fort.“Did you get it!?”Untangling her long legs from where she sits, she effortlessly stands andphases right through the three-foot wall of our trash barricade without asecond thought, and then she’s bounding toward me with so much hope inher eyes that you’d think I’ve offered her a real roof over her head and awarm meal. And though I can give her neither of those things, I do havesomething far better in her opinion.I sigh. “I’m offended you doubted me, Adena. I thought you’d have alittle more faith in my abilities after all these years.” I sling my pack frommy back and pull out the crumpled red silk from within, unable to suppressmy smile as a look of awe settles on her face.She greedily claws the silk from my hands, running her fingers throughthe soft folds of the fabric. Peeking up through the curly bangs hanging inher hazel eyes, she looks at me as though I’ve just singlehandedly irradiatedthe Plague rather than steal fabric from a woman not much better off thanwe are. Like I’m the hero and not the villain.Adena’s smile could rival the sun over the Scorches desert. “Pae, youand your sticky fingers work magic, you know that?”She throws her arms around my neck, pulling me into a crushingembrace that causes more honey to ooze down my vest and pool in mypockets.“Speaking of sticky fingers ...” I peel myself from her hug to fisharound in my pockets. I retrieve six smashed sticky buns, only slightlyunappetizing with the hay now decorating them.Adena’s eyes go wide at the sight before snatching one from my handjust as greedily as she did the fabric. She turns mid-bite and strides rightback through our fort without a second thought, plopping herself down onthe colorless, rough rugs that lay on the inside of the barricade. She pats thespot beside her expectantly, and unlike her, I ungracefully leap over the wallbefore I can take a seat.“I bet Maria wasn’t too happy about her shop being looted. Again. Poorthing should really up her security,” Adena says between bites, a crookedsmile joining the crumbs on her face.Despite my robbing the woman at least once a month for the pastseveral years, she’s still only managed to conclude that I am a he. At leastshe’s trying.“Actually,” I say with a shrug, “she had two more Imperials stationedaround her shop than normal. She must be getting tired of all the stollensticky buns over the years.”Adena narrows her hazel eyes at the sight of my smile. “Thank thePlague you didn’t get caught, Pae.” As soon as the familiar phrase slips pasther lips, my jaw sets instinctively while hers falls open mid-bite. Shevisibly cringes, her brow crinkling and throat clearing. “Sorry. Bad habit.”My fingers drift to the thick ring on my thumb, spinning it mindlesslywhile I muster a weak smile. This topic is one we typically try to avoid,though it’s my fault the subject became suddenly awkward to speak of inthe first place.All due to a moment of weakness that I wish I wasn’t so relieved about.“You know it’s not the words that bother me, it’s—”“It’s the meaning behind them,” she cuts in with a smile and ashockingly accurate imitation of my voice. I nearly choke on my laugh and a piece of sweet dough. “Are youquoting me, A?”By way of answering, she takes a bite of sticky bun before declaringbetween mouthfuls, “And it’s not the Plague that makes you sick, it’s whatcame after.”I nod slowly while absentmindedly tracing the rug’s worn patternbeneath us, the feeling familiar beneath my finger. The idea of thanking thePlague that killed thousands of Ilyans makes me lose my appetite for evensticky buns. Thanking the thing that caused so much pain and death anddiscrimination.But all anyone cares about now is who the Plague didn’t kill. Thekingdom was isolated for years to keep the sickness from spreading to thesurrounding cities, and only the strongest in Ilya survived the disease thataltered the very structure of humans. The fast became exceptionally faster,the strong became unbeatable, and those who lurked in the shadows couldbecome the shadows. Dozens of supernatural abilities were bestowed uponIlyans alone, all varying in strength, purpose, and power.Gifts given as a reward for surviving.They are Elite. They are extraordinary. They are exceptional.“Just ...” Adena trails off, poking at her sticky bun while struggling toform words for once. “Just be careful, Pae. If you get caught and aren’t ableto talk yourself out of it—”“I’ll be fine,” I state far too casually, ignoring the worry that washesover me. “This is what I do, A. What I’ve always done.”She sighs through her smile, waving a dismissive hand. “I know, Iknow. You can handle yourself with the Elites.”I feel that rush of relief once again, making me feel both guilty andgrateful that she truly knows me. Because not all those who survived thePlague were fortunate enough to be gifted with abilities. No, the Ordinarieswere just that—ordinary. And over the next several decades following thePlague, the Ordinaries and Elites lived in peace.Until King Edric decreed that Ordinaries were no longer fit to live in hiskingdom.It was over three decades ago when sickness swept through the land.Due to the outbreak of what was likely a common illness, the king’s Healersused the opportunity to claim that Ordinaries were carrying an undetectabledisease, saying it was likely the reason they hadn’t developed abilities. Extended exposure to them became harmful to both Elites and their powers,and over time, the Ordinaries were dwindling the abilities Elites are soprotective of.I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the thought.My father believed that was bullshit, and I think no differently. But evenif I had proof of the king lying through his teeth, it’s not as though a girlfrom the slums is in any position to be believed.But the king couldn’t allow his Elite society to be weakened or worseby mere Ordinaries. Extinction was not an option for the extraordinary.And so began the Purging.Even now, decades later, tales of the bodies that scattered the sand underthe scolding sun are casually passed around campfires, scary storieswhispered among children.Sticky fingers close over mine, the honey coating Adena’s hands assweet as the spreading smile she shares with me. My secret is stowed in theglint of her eyes, in the loyalty lining her expression. I’ve spent so much ofmy life resigned to the fact that nothing would ever be real. Everyfriendship false, every kindness calculated.“Hide your feelings, hide your fear, and most importantly, hide behindyour facade. No one can know, Paedy. Trust no one and nothing but yourinstincts.”My father’s gentle voice is oddly jarring as it echoes in my head,reminding me that every part of my life should be a lie and the girl sittingbefore me should be as deceived as the rest of the kingdom.Selfishness only stole my sanity for a single night, but that was all ittook for me to endanger the both of us.“Alright, enough talk of the Plague,” Adena says cheerily, scanning thealley before adding, “and your ... situation.”I don’t bother stifling my snort. “It seems that two years haven’t beenenough time for you to practice subtlety, A.”I doubt she even heard me. Doubt she can focus on anything other thanthe fabric now gliding between her fingers. With hazel eyes scanning oversewing supplies, Adena abandons our previous conversation to rambleabout what pieces she’ll be making with the new silk. Her warm brownhands dig through scraps of fabric in the flickering lamplight, beginning tofold edges, pin corners, prick fingers, curse relentlessly. We fall into the type of easy conversation that only comes afterspending years surviving on the streets together, making it easy to interpretAdena’s garbled words around the pins pressed between her lips. I roll over,finally falling quiet as I watch her steady fingers and furrowed brow, tooengrossed with her work to sleep.A stabbing pain in my side has my drooping eyes flying open,drowsiness forgotten. The jagged stone jutting up from the alley floor hasme groggily grumbling, “Mark my words, I’m going to steal a cot one day.”Adena rolls her eyes at me, just as she does every night I make the sameempty promise. “I’ll believe it when I feel it, Pae,” she singsongs.I’ve rolled over about a dozen times before a scratchy, balled-up blanketcollides with my head. “If you don’t quit your squirming, I swear I’ll sewyou to the bloody ground,” Adena says with all the sweetness of a stickybun.“I’ll believe it when I feel it, A.” Chapter TwoKaiA BALL OF FIRE SKIMS PAST MY FACE, NEARLY SINGEING MY HAIR OFF. Ibarely have the time to duck when I feel a second wave of heat ripplingtowards me.Plagues, Kitt’s in a lovely mood today.Dancing on the balls of my feet, I watch as another sphere of fire comeshurtling in my direction as the familiar feel of adrenaline floods throughme. I throw up a shield of water, hearing the fire hiss before it melts intonothing more than a thick cloud of steam. Kitt squints, attempting to see methrough the smoke before his eyes widen when I suddenly collide with him.We tumble to the ground as I pin him down, raising a flaming fist aimed athis face.“Yield?” I can’t keep the smile from twitching my lips. He coughs out alaugh, his gaze flicking between my face and the blazing fist raised besideit.“If I say no, are you really gonna punch me, little brother?” Despite thefire burning mere inches from him, Kitt’s green eyes glint with amusement.“I’d think you would know the answer to that by now.” I smile slightlyas I cock my fist back farther, posing to strike.“Alright, alright, I yield!” Kitt sputters. “But only because I wouldn’twant poor Eli to have to set another one of our broken noses.” I chuckled darkly at the thought of seeing the look on the royalphysician’s face if we were to stumble in with yet another broken bone.After standing to my feet, I offer a hand to Kitt who’s still sprawled on theground.The smile he gives me doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he finally says,“Plagues, Kai, you’re better with my powers than I am.”“And that is why you will be ruling the country,” I say simply, “whileI’ll be fighting on the battlefield, distracting the enemy with my dashinggood looks.”“Are you saying I couldn’t distract the enemy with my own dashinggood looks?” Kitt asks through his deep laughter, feigning offense.“I’m saying that we are only half-brothers, so I’m afraid that means youonly have half my charms.”Kitt barks out another laugh. “By that logic, I suppose you only havehalf my brains then.”“Thank the Plague for that.” The words are barely out of my mouthbefore he’s shoving me with a grin.We walk the worn path between the dirt training circles that reside onthe castle grounds. Imperials in training and other Elites of higher statuscontinue their sparring as we pass, most using abilities while few useweapons.Heads turn towards us, their eyes burning my skin mirroring the sunbeating down on us from above. Ignoring the stares, I breathe in the traininggrounds’ familiar scent of literal blood, sweat, and tears before grabbing asword from a weapons rack and tossing one to Kitt who’s expression canonly be described as exasperated.“You know I’ve always enjoyed fighting with weapons more thanabilities,” I say in answer to his pointed look as I mindlessly test the balanceof my blade.Kitt saunters further into the muddy ring, all but rolling his eyes. “Yes,I’m well aware of how much you love to beat down on me with a sword.”I rotate my wrist, swinging my blade as we begin circling each other. “Itdoes happen to be one of my favorite hobbies, yes.” I advance suddenly,swinging my sword down hard against his and sending a jolt up my arm.“See, isn’t this fun?”Kitt grits his teeth against my strike. “Riveting.” I fall into a familiar trance, letting my feet dance around the ring as wespare, getting lost in the rhythm. My mind clears. My body hums withenergy. I’ve always felt most alive when I fight. It’s what I was made to do,what has kept me sane over the years of training and tutoring.“A dimwitted king is a dead king.”Father’s words ring through my mind, having been drilled through myskull after every complaint about my tedious lessons as a boy. Though, Iwon’t have to worry about being a dead or dimwitted king, seeing that Iwon’t be a king at all. And after arguing just that to Father, he kindlycreated a new saying for me to live by.“A dimwitted Enforcer is a defeated empire.”Encouraging.A sharp pain sears up my forearm, dragging me from my thoughts witha jolt.“Better get your head in the game, Kai, or I might actually beat you.”Kitt has a look of triumph on his face that I intend to wipe off. “I wouldn’twant my future Enforcer slacking on the jo—”Before he can even finish his remark, I’m pushing his sword to theground and pinning it under my own before swiveling behind him. In oneswift motion, I kick my boot up, sliding a dagger from it to settle the sharptip against his back.“I’m sorry, what was that, Your Majesty?” I release my hold on him,and he turns as I sweep into a mocking bow while tucking the dagger backinto my boot. That earns me a solid shove that nearly has me staggering,one I return in kind while Kitt chuckles.His dirty blond hair is far more dirty than blond at the moment,splattered with chunks of mud from rolling around in the ring. Our shirtshave long been abandoned in the summer heat and, like me, sweat slicks histanned chest.It’s almost comical how obvious it is that we’re only half-brothers.Other than our physical differences, I lack Kitt’s caring like he lacks mycallousness. He’s patient, personable, and fit for the throne like I’m fit forthe battlefield.A king where I am a killer.“Kai, are you even listening to me?” Kitt looks equally concerned andamused as he snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Plagues, how muchblood did you lose?”
