Change of Darkness (The Change Series Book 3) by Jacinta Jade (best new books to read txt) 📕

additional drive for her to win and as a constant reminder to hold a greater awareness of her own self.

At one point, the two of them paired up against one opponent together, Siray’s hunger for conflict making her whip her staff around in her hand like it weighed nothing, meeting their attacker blow for blow. Meanwhile, Baindan was also jabbing and thrusting with his own weapon, timing his moves to take advantage of where their opponent was most vulnerable. But Siray knew he was waiting.

And there it was—a mistake, as their overzealous opponent misjudged a step and stumbled slightly.

Fuelled by the drug, even though a part of her mind had picked up on the error, Siray never would have been able to take advantage of it—would have already been three steps and five strikes beyond registering the fact.

But Baindan, fighting patiently at her side, reacted to the miscalculation with a speed that almost made Siray believe he had anticipated it, and in the same instant, his weapon was there, driving downwards to attack the nerves in the side of their foe’s leg, causing them to slam down into the sand.

When it was over, Siray straightened triumphantly from her fighting crouch and gazed around at the members of the other unit who were all sprawled on the ground, battered and bruised but otherwise unharmed. Genlie spotted her and gave her a wide grin which Siray returned.

Baindan also gave her a smile, but it appeared strained. Probably just tired, she thought to herself while revelling in the fact that she felt quite the reverse.

When they had moved off to the side, Siray obediently resumed her place in the captives’ formation, but it was like there was an itch under her skin. She wanted to go out there again. She wanted to fight!

A grip on her arm made her snap her head to the right, and she watched Tamot recoil at her look.

‘Remember, Siray,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t forget who you are.’

Snorting at his words, her first instinct was to shake him off, and maybe to throw him to the ground just to teach a lesson him for touching her. But then Tamot’s words, or one in particular, managed to pierce the drug-fuelled fog in her mind.

Remember.

A chill completely at odds with the heat still sweeping through her muscles passed over Siray’s skin. She had heard that word recently. Remember them …

Deson. Deson had said those words to her. In a dream. Siray raised her hand, examining it briefly, as two parts of her fought for domination—one that wanted to rage out upon the sand, tearing down any who would stand before her, and the other, that wanted to protect. That only fought for freedom.

Some ray of sense entered her mind. Or enough that she was able to turn back to watch the fights a fraction more calmly.

The rest of the units demonstrated a clear increase of skill during their clashes, no doubt owed to Herrin’s harsh training methods.

Amazing, really, what the right motivation could do for you.

And that’s one of the other advantages to the drug, Siray realised. You still retain your technique. It was as if the drug itself clarified some parts of your mind while draping a curtain across the other parts that might make you hesitate. Make you question why.

Siray keenly watched when Melora’s unit took to the sands, decimating their opponent, and she observed that her nemesis had clearly taken the rebuke from Herrin yesterday seriously. Even on the drug, the female’s approach was slightly more considered, her actions efficient but brutal.

The other unit went down quickly.

When the sand was once again clear of the victorious, the injured, and the unconscious, Herrin called out the last two units, including Wexner’s.

The units moved onto the sand and faced each other, and Siray waited both eagerly and anxiously for the fight to begin.

But Herrin didn’t give the command. Instead, he turned to look at Wexner, somehow identifying him as the leader. ‘Where’s your fifth member?’

Confused, Siray made herself really look at Wexner’s unit and count. Wexner was there, obviously, Kinna on the other side of him, then there was Annbov, and Tamot on the other side of her, which left … Loce.

Loce was missing.

Annoyance at the delay and derision for Loce warred against concern within Siray. It was like her brain was trying to claw through mud as she fought to think rationally while still riding the effects of the drug in her system. Shifting just slightly from her position, she spotted Loce at the same time Herrin did.

‘You—get into position.’

Loce had moved out from his position in the formation but had stopped just in front of the first line of captives. Siray leaned to the left in order to get a better look at him, scanning his body from head to toe. Had he been injured that morning? Or maybe he was scared?

‘No.’ Loce’s voice was soft, but his answer was distinct. Probably because of the shocked silence that fell as soon as he uttered the word.

Siray felt her breath catch, fear and excitement rising equally within her. She glanced swiftly to Herrin, whose body seemed to go slack with disbelief, just for an instant. Then his stance hardened again.

‘No?’ A dangerously quiet question, like the silence before a clap of thunder. Yet Herrin’s face, expressionless as usual, seemed to be made out of cold stone.

Out on the sands beyond Loce, Siray could see that Tamot’s face had gone pale, and even Wexner had turned fully around, his eyes boring hard into Loce’s, the urging on his face clear.

Siray slowly drew her eyes back to Loce, her rational side gaining some ground as she silently begged him to move forwards, or to give some believable reason as to why he couldn’t fight.

He did neither.

‘I am not a tool to be used for your designs. I will not fight.’ Loce released his grip on his staff, the thud of it hitting the ground the final note in a disastrous chord.

Siray