A Girl Named Calamity (Alyria 1)

He let out a breath of amusement. “Could never happen.”

“Don’t make me hit you in the groin,” I warned.

He laughed this time. “Think that would bring me down?”

“I won’t know till I try it, will I?” I taunted.

“It would only be a severe annoyance. You want to make me angry, Princess? Try it.”

“Stop calling me a princess. It’s not even close to the truth.”

“No? Aren’t princesses spoiled, little girls?”

I shook my head, but the knife grazed my throat, and I held still. “I’m not spoiled, and I’m not little.” My reply sounded poutier than I would have liked.

“I think you’re the shortest girl I’ve ever come across.”

I scoffed. “They must make them tall in Titan because I’m average where I come from.”

The fact that I was having a conversation with an assassin while he held a knife to my throat was not something I registered until later. And I realized that normal to me had severely changed on the scale.

“Ah yes, Alger. They must make them a lot softer there, too.”

I frowned. I’d never told him I was from Alger. He must have been meddling around in my head. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m not soft.” I had always been a hard worker and was toned. I wasn’t self-conscious in the slightest, and I knew he was talking about my lack of muscle mass. And trying to piss me off.

“I don’t know, you feel kind of soft to me.” His hand ran across my bare midsection. It felt like fire, and was such a shock to my heart, that I grabbed it and flung it off me. He chuckled, and it warmed my insides against my wishes.

“I’m not soft,” I growled.

“Prove it, Princess. Get away,” he taunted.

I went through the routine again and again. But I decided to elbow him in the stomach instead of hitting him in the groin. There was that little thing called self-preservation holding me back. It wasn’t always around, so I took advantage of it when it was.

When I had the move down, I begged to be taught another one, but he refused and told me he would show me another one the next day. I grumbled something about needing to know more moves by tomorrow with the trouble he got me in. He only shot me a look, and I reluctantly dropped it.

I was lying on my pallet staring at the stars, thinking about Grandmother and home. And about my future. If I even had one . . .

“Weston?” I said to the star-lit sky. I didn’t hear anything but the crickets and the crackle of the fire, so I only continued. “What is Undaley like?”

“You’re not going to shut up until I answer, are you?”

“No,” I answered honestly.

“I’ve never been to Undaley.”

I didn’t have a whole lot of hope when I asked this question, but I had to try. “How can I keep you out of my head?”

“You can’t. And stop with the melancholy thoughts.”

“Why? Does it make your cold heart upset?” I sneered.

“You know what makes me upset? You. Awake. Go to fucking sleep.”

* * *

“Why did you even need me if you could kill seven men like that?” I asked Weston as we were once again traveling down the tedious dusty path the next morning. Trees and patches of grass were becoming more numerous the farther we went, and I was more than happy to see them. Never had I thought I would be excited to see some simple grass.

The entire day had been a quiet, uneventful one. Which to me was a win. Uneventful on this trip was always a good thing.