Powerless_-_Lauren_Roberts
Powerless text © 2023 by Lauren Roberts
Map © 2023 Lauren Roberts
Cover © 2023 Lauren Roberts
Cover designed by Seventhstar Art
Edited by Michelle Rosquillo
Formatted by Whimsy Book Cover Graphics
Map designed by Jojo Elliott
All rights reserved. No part of this book or any portion thereof may be reproduced, transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any
information storage or retrieval system without the express written permission from the author. The
scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book is considered theft of the authors intellectual
property.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
www.laurenrobertslibrary.com
Published January 2023
ISBN 979-8-9873804-2-0 (ebook)
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
For every girl who has ever felt powerless.
Chapter One
Paedyn
THICK, HOT LIQUID RUNS DOWN MY ARM.
Blood.
Funny, I don’t remember the guard nicking me with his sword before
my fist connected with his face. Despite being a Flash, he apparently
couldn’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 hand
over 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 beneath
where I’m hiding, I return my hand to the filthy wall my back is currently
pressed against with my feet planted opposite me. After taking a deep
breath that nearly has me choking on soot, I slowly begin my climb
upwards once again. With thighs burning almost as much as my nose, I
force my body to continue shimmying while stifling the sneeze.
Climbing up a chimney isn’t exactly how I thought I would be spending
my evening. The small space has me sweating, swallowing my fear before
scrambling to the top of the cramped corridor, eager to replace grime-caked
walls with a starry night. When my head finally peeks over the top, I
greedily gulp down the sticky air, then climb up and over, immediately
bombarded with a new concoction of smells far more unpleasant than the
stench 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 aroma
that surrounds Loot Alley.
Balancing atop the chimney, I strain my eyes on the shadowed roof to
inspect my sticky arm. I’d nearly forgotten to examine it without the usual
biting 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 at
my 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 many
pockets 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 clothes
beats trying to wash blood out.
I take in a deep breath and look out over the crumbling, rundown
buildings cast in shadows by the flickering lampposts dotting the street.
There’s not much electricity here in the slums, but the king generously
spared us a few lampposts. Thanks to the Volts and Scholars using their
abilities to create a sustained power grid, I have to work exceptionally hard
to stay in the shadows.
Farther from the slums, the more the rows of shops and homes slowly
improve in condition and size. Shacks turn into homes, homes turn into
mansions, leading up to the most daunting building of all. Squinting
through the darkness, I can just barely make out the looming towers of the
royal 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, scanning
the surrounding sketchy buildings. Loot Alley is the very heart of the slums,
pumping crime and trade throughout the city. I trace the dozens of other
alleys and streets jutting off from it, getting lost in the maze that is the city
before offering a sigh and small smile to the familiar street beneath me.
Home. Sort of. Technically, a home implies that one has a roof over
their 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 former
home lies wedged between Merchant and Elm Streets. Where a happy little
family is likely sitting around the dinner table, laughing and discussing their
day with one another—
I hear a thump, followed by the murmuring of voices that drag me from
my bitter thoughts. Straining to hear, I can just make out the muffled, deep
voice that belongs to the guard I so kindly relieved of his duties a short
while ago.
“—came up right behind me, quiet as a mouse, and then ... then the next
thing 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 or
something?” She takes a deep breath. “Did you at least get a look at his face
before 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 every
person on Loot to see if their eyes match your vivid description of very
blue.”
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 wood
shifting beneath several new pairs of boots, I immediately deduce that three
more 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 a
breath, I let go and bite my tongue against a yelp as gravity yanks me
towards the ground. With a soft thud I drop ungracefully into a merchant’s
wagon brimming with hay. The stiff straw pokes through my clothes like
one of Adena’s pincushions, and a cloud of soot and hay rises on the night
breeze when I jump out onto the street.
Passing the time by plucking straw from my tangled hair, I begin my
journey back to the Fort, weaving through beat-up merchant carts, all
abandoned for the night, feet dancing over trash and broken trinkets.
Looters slumped against alleys or tucked in between buildings whisper
among themselves as I pass.
I feel the weight of the dagger tucked into my boot and relax at the
comfort of the cool steel as I pass groups of fellow homeless huddling
together for the night. I can see the faint shimmer of purple forcefields
shielding some, while others don’t even have an ability strong enough to
allow them to sleep peacefully, which is the exact reason they call the slums
their home.
I keep my steps swift and sure as my eyes sweep back and forth across
the alleys, never letting my guard down. The poor don’t discriminate. A
shilling is a shilling, and they don’t care if they jump someone worse off
than them to get it.
Several guards cross my path as I zigzag down streets, forcing me to
slow down to steer clear of them. Every shop, corner, and street has been
bestowed the gift of leering, white-uniformed law enforcers. These brutal
Imperials have been stationed everywhere along Loot Alley by decree of
the 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 merchant
carts, cardboard, old sheets, and Plague knows what else. Before I’m even
halfway to the pile of garbage we call home, a face obscured by wild
shoulder-length curls pops up over the Fort.
“Did you get it!?”
Untangling her long legs from where she sits, she effortlessly stands and
phases right through the three-foot wall of our trash barricade without a
second thought, and then she’s bounding toward me with so much hope in
her eyes that you’d think I’ve offered her a real roof over her head and a
warm meal. And though I can give her neither of those things, I do have
something far better in her opinion.
I sigh. “I’m offended you doubted me, Adena. I thought you’d have a
little more faith in my abilities after all these years.” I sling my pack from
my back and pull out the crumpled red silk from within, unable to suppress
my smile as a look of awe settles on her face.
She greedily claws the silk from my hands, running her fingers through
the soft folds of the fabric. Peeking up through the curly bangs hanging in
her hazel eyes, she looks at me as though I’ve just singlehandedly irradiated
the Plague rather than steal fabric from a woman not much better off than
we are.
Like I’m the hero and not the villain.
Adena’s smile could rival the sun over the Scorches desert. “Pae, you
and your sticky fingers work magic, you know that?”
She throws her arms around my neck, pulling me into a crushing
embrace that causes more honey to ooze down my vest and pool in my
pockets.
“Speaking of sticky fingers ... I peel myself from her hug to fish
around in my pockets. I retrieve six smashed sticky buns, only slightly
unappetizing with the hay now decorating them.
Adena’s eyes go wide at the sight before snatching one from my hand
just as greedily as she did the fabric. She turns mid-bite and strides right
back through our fort without a second thought, plopping herself down on
the colorless, rough rugs that lay on the inside of the barricade. She pats the
spot beside her expectantly, and unlike her, I ungracefully leap over the wall
before I can take a seat.
“I bet Maria wasn’t too happy about her shop being looted. Again. Poor
thing should really up her security,” Adena says between bites, a crooked
smile joining the crumbs on her face.
Despite my robbing the woman at least once a month for the past
several years, she’s still only managed to conclude that I am a he. At least
she’s trying.
“Actually,” I say with a shrug, “she had two more Imperials stationed
around her shop than normal. She must be getting tired of all the stollen
sticky buns over the years.”
Adena narrows her hazel eyes at the sight of my smile. “Thank the
Plague you didn’t get caught, Pae.” As soon as the familiar phrase slips past
her lips, my jaw sets instinctively while hers falls open mid-bite. She
visibly cringes, her brow crinkling and throat clearing. “Sorry. Bad habit.”
My fingers drift to the thick ring on my thumb, spinning it mindlessly
while 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 in
the 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 a
shockingly accurate imitation of my voice.
I nearly choke on my laugh and a piece of sweet dough. “Are you
quoting me, A?”
By way of answering, she takes a bite of sticky bun before declaring
between mouthfuls, “And it’s not the Plague that makes you sick, it’s what
came after.”
I nod slowly while absentmindedly tracing the rug’s worn pattern
beneath us, the feeling familiar beneath my finger. The idea of thanking the
Plague that killed thousands of Ilyans makes me lose my appetite for even
sticky buns. Thanking the thing that caused so much pain and death and
discrimination.
But all anyone cares about now is who the Plague didn’t kill. The
kingdom was isolated for years to keep the sickness from spreading to the
surrounding cities, and only the strongest in Ilya survived the disease that
altered the very structure of humans. The fast became exceptionally faster,
the strong became unbeatable, and those who lurked in the shadows could
become the shadows. Dozens of supernatural abilities were bestowed upon
Ilyans 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 to
form words for once. “Just be careful, Pae. If you get caught and aren’t able
to talk yourself out of it—”
“I’ll be fine,” I state far too casually, ignoring the worry that washes
over me. “This is what I do, A. What I’ve always done.”
She sighs through her smile, waving a dismissive hand. “I know, I
know. You can handle yourself with the Elites.”
I feel that rush of relief once again, making me feel both guilty and
grateful that she truly knows me. Because not all those who survived the
Plague were fortunate enough to be gifted with abilities. No, the Ordinaries
were just that—ordinary. And over the next several decades following the
Plague, the Ordinaries and Elites lived in peace.
Until King Edric decreed that Ordinaries were no longer fit to live in his
kingdom.
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 Healers
used the opportunity to claim that Ordinaries were carrying an undetectable
disease, 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 so
protective of.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the thought.
My father believed that was bullshit, and I think no differently. But even
if I had proof of the king lying through his teeth, it’s not as though a girl
from the slums is in any position to be believed.
But the king couldn’t allow his Elite society to be weakened or worse
by 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 under
the scolding sun are casually passed around campfires, scary stories
whispered among children.
Sticky fingers close over mine, the honey coating Adena’s hands as
sweet as the spreading smile she shares with me. My secret is stowed in the
glint of her eyes, in the loyalty lining her expression. I’ve spent so much of
my life resigned to the fact that nothing would ever be real. Every
friendship false, every kindness calculated.
“Hide your feelings, hide your fear, and most importantly, hide behind
your facade. No one can know, Paedy. Trust no one and nothing but your
instincts.”
My fathers 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 sitting
before me should be as deceived as the rest of the kingdom.
Selfishness only stole my sanity for a single night, but that was all it
took for me to endanger the both of us.
“Alright, enough talk of the Plague,” Adena says cheerily, scanning the
alley before adding, “and your ... situation.”
I don’t bother stifling my snort. “It seems that two years haven’t been
enough time for you to practice subtlety, A.”
I doubt she even heard me. Doubt she can focus on anything other than
the fabric now gliding between her fingers. With hazel eyes scanning over
sewing supplies, Adena abandons our previous conversation to ramble
about what pieces she’ll be making with the new silk. Her warm brown
hands dig through scraps of fabric in the flickering lamplight, beginning to
fold edges, pin corners, prick fingers, curse relentlessly.
We fall into the type of easy conversation that only comes after
spending years surviving on the streets together, making it easy to interpret
Adena’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, too
engrossed 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 has
me 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 same
empty 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 blanket
collides with my head. “If you don’t quit your squirming, I swear I’ll sew
you to the bloody ground,” Adena says with all the sweetness of a sticky
bun.
“I’ll believe it when I feel it, A.”
Chapter Two
Kai
A BALL OF FIRE SKIMS PAST MY FACE, NEARLY SINGEING MY HAIR OFF. I
barely have the time to duck when I feel a second wave of heat rippling
towards me.
Plagues, Kitt’s in a lovely mood today.
Dancing on the balls of my feet, I watch as another sphere of fire comes
hurtling in my direction as the familiar feel of adrenaline floods through
me. I throw up a shield of water, hearing the fire hiss before it melts into
nothing more than a thick cloud of steam. Kitt squints, attempting to see me
through 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 at
his face.
“Yield?” I can’t keep the smile from twitching my lips. He coughs out a
laugh, his gaze flicking between my face and the blazing fist raised beside
it.
“If I say no, are you really gonna punch me, little brother?” Despite the
fire 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 slightly
as I cock my fist back farther, posing to strike.
“Alright, alright, I yield!” Kitt sputters. “But only because I wouldn’t
want poor Eli to have to set another one of our broken noses.”
I chuckled darkly at the thought of seeing the look on the royal
physician’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 the
ground.
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, “while
I’ll be fighting on the battlefield, distracting the enemy with my dashing
good looks.”
“Are you saying I couldn’t distract the enemy with my own dashing
good looks?” Kitt asks through his deep laughter, feigning offense.
“I’m saying that we are only half-brothers, so I’m afraid that means you
only have half my charms.”
Kitt barks out another laugh. “By that logic, I suppose you only have
half my brains then.”
“Thank the Plague for that.” The words are barely out of my mouth
before he’s shoving me with a grin.
We walk the worn path between the dirt training circles that reside on
the castle grounds. Imperials in training and other Elites of higher status
continue their sparring as we pass, most using abilities while few use
weapons.
Heads turn towards us, their eyes burning my skin mirroring the sun
beating down on us from above. Ignoring the stares, I breathe in the training
grounds’ familiar scent of literal blood, sweat, and tears before grabbing a
sword from a weapons rack and tossing one to Kitt who’s expression can
only be described as exasperated.
“You know I’ve always enjoyed fighting with weapons more than
abilities,” I say in answer to his pointed look as I mindlessly test the balance
of 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. “It
does 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 we
spare, getting lost in the rhythm. My mind clears. My body hums with
energy. 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.”
Fathers words ring through my mind, having been drilled through my
skull after every complaint about my tedious lessons as a boy. Though, I
won’t have to worry about being a dead or dimwitted king, seeing that I
won’t be a king at all. And after arguing just that to Father, he kindly
created 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 with
a 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’t
want my future Enforcer slacking on the jo—”
Before he can even finish his remark, I’m pushing his sword to the
ground and pinning it under my own before swiveling behind him. In one
swift motion, I kick my boot up, sliding a dagger from it to settle the sharp
tip 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 back
into 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 shirts
have long been abandoned in the summer heat and, like me, sweat slicks his
tanned 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 my
callousness. He’s patient, personable, and fit for the throne like I’m fit for
the battlefield.
A king where I am a killer.
“Kai, are you even listening to me?” Kitt looks equally concerned and
amused as he snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Plagues, how much
blood did you lose?”