Powerful: A Powerless Story
Powerful: Chapter 3

I’m assuming you’re hungry, considering that you risked it all for a sticky bun.’

Her jaw drops into a comical look of shock, eyes anywhere but the busy street before us. Before she can even say anything, I’m wrapping an arm round her shoulders, rolling my eyes, and tugging her out of a rumbling cart’s path.

Barely seeming to notice the inconvenience, the shocked expression doesn’t budge from her face. ‘How did you know I stole—’ She cuts herself off, looking around nervously as though an Imperial may pounce at the mention of such a heinous crime. It’s only when she’s deemed it safe that she whispers, ‘How did you know I stole a sticky bun?’

‘There’s still honey on your hand,’ I say dully. This has her tucking her arms behind her back, expression sheepish. ‘And after seeing the Imperial chasing you, well, I’m brilliant enough to put two and two together.’

This all sounds very nonchalant, though the truth is nothing of the sort. I’d actually been watching her all morning and seen her pathetic attempt at theft. But I keep all of this to myself, of course, because I have a plan to carry out. A very stupid and slightly unhinged plan.

‘Brilliant, huh?’ she asks with a dubious arch of her brow.

‘Self-proclaimed.’

She hums. ‘I see.’

We walk in silence, surrounded only by the commotion of the street.

It’s a blissful eight seconds.

‘Do you have a job?’

I glance sidelong at her cheery expression. ‘Self-employed.’ Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

This time, she lasts all of six seconds before speaking again.

‘Any hobbies?’

‘Self-serving.’ I meet her gaze before more sarcasm can slide off my tongue. ‘Paired with the occasional self-loathing.’

Frustration tugs her lips into a frown, one she quickly smothers with one of her profoundly perky observations. ‘Well, aren’t you quite the conversationalist!’

I glance sidelong at her. ‘Self-taught.’

The deep breath she takes is audible even over the constant bustle belonging to Loot. I almost smile. Because I’m a horrible person who doesn’t believe that anyone could possibly be so happy. And maybe she truly is, though it’s likely because she hasn’t yet gotten to know me.

I might just crack her, seeing that I may be her worst nightmare – her opposite. And I’d be doing her a favor, really. Widening her range of emotions. Get her to embrace any other feeling besides permanent, unbearable perkiness.

Glancing over, I watch as she tilts her head towards the sky, skin glowing in the warm rays stroking her face. The light purple shirt she wears is falling down her arm, revealing a delicate collarbone and dark shoulder. My eyes trail over the black curls bouncing in time to each of her steps. Wind-blown bangs bleed into hazel eyes, bright with a sort of serenity that doesn’t belong in the slums.

There is not a single cynical thought to deny the fact that she may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. She’s intimidatingly peaceful – a contradiction in itself. And I almost want to despise her for it. Because I fear there is a chance that I may begin to enjoy her.

‘Soooo.’ She draws out the word, giving me enough time to stop staring at her before I’m caught in the act. ‘Where is it you’re taking me?’

‘Somewhere that will likely have you sneezing all over me.’ Blandly, I add, ‘So I’ll be keeping my distance.’

She shrugs. ‘So long as you’re close enough to keep me company.’

This, unfortunately, piques my interest. ‘I don’t remember that being a part of the deal.’

She looks at me as though this is common knowledge. ‘That’s because it is a part of the deal that is knowing me.’

‘Do you come with any other rules I should be made aware of?’

The expression she wears is the embodiment of a shrug. ‘I don’t like carrots. So none of those, please.’ She taps a thin finger against her lips as though pondering something of far greater importance than our current topic. ‘Oh, and I get scared very easily when I’m focused on my sewing, so don’t sneak up on me or anything. I may poke you with a needle, so consider yourself warned.’

‘Noted,’ I sigh. ‘Any other demands?’

A mischievous grin pulls at her lips. ‘I expect a sticky bun every day. For my hard work, of course.’

I run my eyes over the length of her lean frame. ‘Well, that’s one way to get some meat on your bones.’

Turning my attention back towards the crowded street, I’m forced to dodge several carts along with the scrambling children weaving between them. Which, in turn, means I’m also guiding an alarmingly oblivious Adena.

‘What are you looking at?’ My tone is accusing. ‘Because it certainly isn’t the street in front of you.’

She smiles slightly at our surroundings. ‘We clearly see the world quite differently.’

‘See the world however you’d like, but at least watch your step while you do it.’ I pause long enough to take in my own words. Then I’m glancing over at her with a surprised quirk of my brow. ‘That was good advice. You should write that down.’

She laughs, though I’m certain it is at my expense. Nevertheless, I still get to enjoy the sound of it washing over me. ‘Yes, very wise.’

I nod in the direction of a merchant and his cart of colorful fabric. ‘How much do you need for the uniform? Couple of yards?’

I’m heading for the display of dizzying colors when a hand clamps round my bicep. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she blurts, exasperated. ‘I need to get your measurements before any fabric can be bought.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ I say dryly. ‘Why don’t we get some now, and then—’

‘We are doing this my way, Mak.’ Her sudden sternness is almost startling. ‘Or not at all.’

I raise a palm in mock surrender. ‘Fine. I’m shocked you could stop smiling long enough to tell me off.’

She smiles at that, further proving my point. After several more steps down the street, I nod towards the alley on our right. ‘This way.’

She follows me closely, like a too-short shadow attached to my heels. I lead her down the alley, stalling outside one of the many shop doors surrounded by crumbling brick. After fishing a key from a pocket decorating my leathers, so begins the routine of forcing the toothed iron into the lock.

It’s only after me ramming my shoulder against the wood that the door swings open on squealing, rusty hinges. I brace an arm against it, gesturing for her to step inside. After she’s offered me a quick smile, I watch her take in the entirety of my life with a single sweep of her eyes.

She paces around what can generously be described as a glorified shed. It’s odd, watching someone take in the mess that is me.

She runs her fingers along the various tools and metal carelessly cast about the room. A thin layer of coal dust coats anything in the vicinity of the massive fireplace, staining half the room in grime.

My whole life takes place in this small amount of space. On one half of it all, I make a living as a blacksmith. But a messy bed lies on the other side, accompanied by several mismatching cabinets filled with whatever clothing and food I happen to have.

She seems to shy away from that intimate part of the room, though I watch her gaze linger on the crumpled covers of my bed. Her eyes stray back to the assortment of weapons lining the walls before poking at the large anvil beside the fireplace. ‘You’re a blacksmith.’

I cross my arms over my chest. ‘How incredibly observant you are.’

Ignoring my comment, she asks, ‘Who do you sell these weapons to?’

I shrug. ‘Whoever is smart enough to want one.’ I’m met with a questioning look, urging me to elaborate. ‘Everyone in the slums should have a way to defend themselves. It’s survival of the fittest.’

Her eyes are locked on the several shelves of weapons. ‘I guess I’ve never seen Loot that way.’ She frowns solemnly. ‘It’s always felt like a home.’

I swallow. ‘Homes tend to hurt you the most.’

At that, she’s quiet for a surprisingly long moment. That is, until she’s not. ‘So, you just hand someone whatever weapon they want?’

I lean against a wall, watching her take in my handiwork. ‘Well, they typically ask me to teach them how to use whatever weapon they choose.’

She turns to face me with a shocked smile. ‘And you help them?’

‘Don’t act so surprised.’

‘Sorry,’ she laughs defensively. ‘It’s just that, I thought you didn’t have any goodness in your heart to give?’

‘Well, not to you,’ I scoff. ‘I’m not wasting any of my goodness on someone who clearly already has an abundance.’

She laughs again, and though that wasn’t my intention, I’m not complaining about the outcome. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘Of course you will,’ I mutter before pushing off the wall to stride towards her.

She tilts her head up to meet my gaze. ‘Ready to get your measurements taken?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

She beams. ‘Nope!’ Her eyes scan the room in search of something before she finally asks, ‘Do you have a measuring tape?’

After tearing through my cluttered cabinets, I happen to find the rolled tape I stowed away. Adena makes quick work of unraveling it before I’m being ushered into the center of the room.

When she clears her throat, I look down at her in question. ‘Um.’ Her eyes shift uncomfortably. ‘I’m going to need you to take your shirt off.’ Before I can even open my mouth, she’s rambling rapidly. ‘See, I can’t get a true measurement with all the pockets on your clothes. I mean, you can keep your pants on because the ones Imperials wear are loose as it is, so it’s really just the shirt that needs to come off. Unless, you don’t want to, of course—’

‘This is not worth a ten-minute explanation.’ I sigh while pulling the shirt from my body in one swift movement. It slides easily over my head, considering it’s mostly made of a spandex material with a protective leather panel down the front.

I throw the shirt to the floor, watching her eyes follow the movement as she thoroughly avoids the sight of my bare chest. She squints down at the crumpled fabric before bending to run her fingers over it. ‘The leather prevents most of the sparks from burning your skin?’ When I nod in agreement to her observation, she adds softly, ‘But the rest remains breathable enough to wear beside the fire.’

‘And the pockets are just convenient for miscellaneous tools,’ I add simply.

A small smile curves her lips. ‘Reminds me of something I made for Pae. Except, the pockets were for stolen goods.’

We are quiet for several slow heartbeats.

‘Alright, stretch out your arms for me, please.’

I reluctantly obey, standing before her with a bare chest and arms outstretched. She’s quick to run the measuring tape along the length of each limb, jotting the measurements down on a scrap of paper she scavenged. Her eyes dart over my body, never staying too long on any patch of skin in particular. But I don’t miss the bob of her throat, the brush of her fingers. Which are incredibly cold.

She smells of honey, of happiness incarnate. And it’s entirely too distracting.

She then reaches her arms behind my back, encircling the tape round my chest. ‘Don’t mind me,’ she mumbles awkwardly, her breath warm on my skin. After reading the measurement and proceeding to jot it down, she looks up with a comical look of concern. ‘Well, someone is not eating their sticky buns.’

I give her a flat look. ‘Well, someone has been eating – or stealing – them all before I can get one.’

‘I certainly hope you’re not accusing me.’ Her eyes are wide, her frown impressive. ‘Trust me, I would love to eat Loot out of their supply of sticky buns.’ She looks me up and down, coming to a profound conclusion. ‘Now it makes sense why you’re so grumpy.’

‘Ah, yes.’ My voice is dull. ‘My lack of ingested sticky buns. You’ve finally figured it out.’

But her attention is back on the crumpled paper in her hand. ‘Okay, get me five and a half yards of white fabric, just to be safe. You’re much taller than my typical model – which would be Pae.’ She shoves the parchment into my palm. ‘Oh, and don’t get the cheap fabric that unravels. This needs to look real, so get polyester.’

I blink as though that is question enough. ‘And why aren’t you coming with me?’

‘Because,’ she says slowly, her tone suggesting this is obvious, ‘I have things to prepare. And a pre-sewing ritual, if you will.’

I suddenly feel a pounding headache coming on. ‘Of course you do.’ I quickly pull on my shirt before walking towards the door. ‘Don’t break anything.’

Her shout follows me out into the alley. ‘Only if you get me a new needle!’

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