Free Fantasy of Flight by Kelly St. Clare Page A

I find her on the roof. This is how she moves around at night. It’s how she was able to reach me in time to warn and recruit me.
    I sit next to her and we stay there in silence for a long moment. I pass her the cup and she takes a sip.
    “Uh, I hate alcohol,” she says, but then tips back the rest in a single gulp.
    “So, I guess I know what you all think of me,” she continues, not meeting my gaze.
    I keep my eyes forward, trying to gather my jumbled thoughts. “I’m grateful you took me in. Of all the people I could’ve run into out here, I thank my luck it was you.” I look at her. “Think of what you heard downstairs as suggestions. Nothing personal. You have a pool of experienced fighters who all want to return your favor.”
    She sniffs hard. “I’m not a weak woman who needs help. And I only helped you all to help myself.”
    If she wants to hold on to that illusion, I’ll let her. It’s probably true, in part. But I’ve been here long enough to know there are easier places to get fighters than wandering the roofs at night. There’s more behind her words than what just happened downstairs. Her hurt goes deeper. I wonder if Blaine helped to instill these doubts in the most determined, albeit overly ambitious, woman I’ve ever met.
    I lean back onto my hands. “You’re the only female to own a barracks. You have six fighters who fight for you . Not just to save their skin or fill their pockets with coin.”
    “Really?” she asks.
    I nod, swaying slightly. “It can’t have been easy.”  And I truly believe it. I wouldn’t have had the slightest idea where to start building a barrack.
    “You drunk bitch, look at you.” She snorts and stands, holding a hand down to me. I take it and she pulls me to my feet.
    We jump down to the trap door in the roof. I stop her with a hand as she lowers herself. “Between you and I, I think it would be considered failing if you didn’t take the advice given to you by your friends.”
    From that day forward, the relationship between Alzona and I becomes more respectful. We both know the other is running from some kind of trouble and we’ve both helped each other evade it. To the ecstasy of the other fighters, Alzona heeds my advice and announces some changes at breakfast a couple of days before our next fight.
    She has just announced Shard is to help her with matching fights. Though she will have the final say. Blizzard will be in charge of sourcing new equipment and maintaining it.
    Crystal clears her throat, grabbing everyone’s attention and earning an arched eyebrow from Alzona. It was against the rules to interrupt. Anyone else would’ve gotten her verbal smack down.
    “I wouldn’t mind some help. With Frost’s arrival, I’ve been swamped. And with the tournament coming up…” she trails off, face reddening. Her eyes flicker between Alzona and me. She avoids the gaze of the others.
    “I’ll cook.” Avalanche grunts, arms across his huge chest. His scarred face moves grotesquely when he talks.
    Silence.
    “What?” Shard asks.
    “I’ll cook,” he repeats.
    “Since when do you cook?” Ice asks, not even trying to hide the grin on his face. I tuck mine away. With great difficulty.
    Avalanche shrugs. He makes Rhone seem downright chatty.
    “Will you…cook the food?” Blizzard asks into the dumbfounded, but thoughtful silence. “Or just eat it?” I choke on a laugh at his genuine question. Flurry elbows him in the side.
    “What? It’s fair enough. We’ve all seen him inhale his food. Once I swear he ate the plate, too,” Blizzard continues. I can’t help it. I burst into gales of mirth.
    “We could give him a trial,” Shard says. His suggestion meets general agreement.
    “It’s decided then. Avalanche will temp as the new cook,” Alzona announces.
    “Ugliest cook I ever saw,” Ice whispers loudly. Avalanche throws a mug at his head. Alzona glares at us until we quiet again.
    “Don’t think you all get a say in the decisions