Pandora's Box

Chapter 3: Part II

Malachai crossed the training yard by the time the duty officer looked back to his busy work. The young junior officer fumed under his breath. Several of the other junior officers—and a couple of the senior ones—went out of their way to clear space for the passing storm. Malachai heard the pitter patter of footsteps closing behind him on the clay path leading back to the barracks. He wheeled around.

Donovan. Of course.

"I've got nothing to say you, orphan. Find another path back to your quarters," Malachai said, swallowing a mouthful of venom.

"Then shut your mouth and listen, rich boy, because I'm only going to say this once. But for the love of the gods keep walking so we don't wind up carrying timbers for a month." Donovan strode confidently by Malachai, allowing the young lord a moment to catch up. "I wanted to make things perfectly clear between us—crystal. I don't trust you, not as far as I could throw you. And I don't like the sick mind games you've been playing with her."

"With who?" Malachai replied.

Donovan regarded his junior officer with a glare. "Don't play the fool. We both know who I mean. She's not herself when you're around and I don't care for the person she's becoming under your influence. You've got a sickness, Malachai. There's something hollow and rotten in your core and no amount of money, or power, or pain is ever going to fix it."

Malachai feigned a yawn. "Is there a point to all this? You sound like the High Commander."

Donovan thrust the heel of his palm into Malachai's shoulder, twisting the junior officer's stride. "Good. That should tell you something." Donovan's face settled into a mask of hard stone, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere behind—through—Malachai's head. "If any, and I mean any harm finds its way to Pandora, any harm at all, you and I shall have words."

The bollocks on this one! Who in the world does he believe himself to be? Does he not understand he is the penniless son of no one? How dare he, Malachai thought. A cruel thought formed in Malachai's mind and rushed down onto his lips nearly spilling out before a sneer could finish forming.

"She'll never love you. She can't. How could she?"

The barb landed, twisting Donovan's brow for a flash into a knot. Malachai savored the sight, knowing his jab had struck Donovan in the pit of his stomach like boulder tossed by a raging storm giant.

"Are we done here?" Boredom spread over Malachai's narrow face, but the emerald flecks in his dark eyes betrayed the fires still burning within. The junior officer knew this round had been won handily.

A sudden defiance danced on Donovan's face. "I didn't tell the High Commander about the knife you pulled. Seems to me that kind of information could send a certain junior officer to the stocks for a few days."

Malachai's chest suddenly felt hollow and as if it weighed a ton all in the next split second. "You wouldn't..."

"Try me," Donovan replied, smirking. "Unless it's official business, you're no longer Pandora's shadow. Stay away and I'll keep quiet."

A million angles rushed through Malachai's mind, but he knew Donovan had him; the round had apparently been scored prematurely. "We have an accord then," Malachai said.

"I thought as much." Donovan nodded, nothing more than a subtle dip of the chin, then strolled off like a man without a care in the world, leaving Malachai alone on the path.

A red haze clouded the edges of Malachai's vision. A voice, deep and primal, reverberated from the blackest part of his soul. Its master stoked the fire raging there, but ordered patience and discipline. Malachai felt the tension in his shoulders ease even as the pressure built between his temples. A thin trickle of blood fell from his nose. He stared at Donovan's back as the cadet crossed through the training yard. He knew how this little game were to play out.

Soon...