Becca Fox - Asta and the Barbarians

“If you expect an apology, you won’t get one,” Viggo hissed.

I scoffed. “If you expect me to be intimidated by you, I’m not.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

He spun on his heel and returned to his table. I dropped into my seat. Conversations eventually continued across the hall.

Bryn eased into the bench across from me. “I was prepared to intervene but, from the looks of things, you handled him well enough on your own.”

I refrained from snapping at him and simply murmured, “I don’t like bullies.”

“Good,” Bryn said, smiling. “Then the two of you should get along splendidly.”

I bathed that night. Standing under the spigot, I shut my eyes to fully absorb the majesty of the hot water. I took my time scrubbing my scalp and body, then inspected my limbs for scars. Proof of the horrors I’d been forced to endure appeared in the form of faint white lines across my torso and thighs. I watched the water run over my feet in wonder. Those toes, now straight and manicured, had once sported torn nails and twisted joints. This healing ability I’d recently developed was truly amazing. Once rinsed, I shut off the water and reached for the towel I had hung on the hook just beyond the curtain. I grasped at empty air, then stuck my head out of the shower cubicle and cursed.

Four young men stood in a loose arch before my stall. The tallest one held my towel. He taunted me with it. “Looking for this?”

I scowled at them, despite the adrenaline making my heart race. “Animals! Where are my guards?”

“Unconscious,” the tall one said. “An ambush of four against two? It was an easy fight.”

“You will give me my towel, vermin,” I growled.

He rolled his eyes. “Or what?”

I yanked on the curtain until it came loose and wrapped it around my body as best as I could. I pulled it tight and tucked the corner between my breasts. The curtain was only long enough to reach my knees, but at least the important parts were covered. “Or,” I said, stepping out of the cubicle, “I will take it from you.”

The other three jeered and whistled, ready for a show. The tall one laughed.

I put my fingers in the corners of my mouth and blew. All four clapped their hands over their ears, uttering shouts of pain and surprise. My own ears ached at the sound, enhanced by the washroom’s acoustics, but I ignored it. I marched up to the tall one before he could recover and kicked him between the legs as hard as I could. He crumpled and vomited. I spun to face the other three. One recovered from his shock and charged at me. I threw an elbow across his chest and drove him back against the wall, screaming.

I let my fists fly before he could raise his hands to defend himself. My knuckles connected with his face over and over again. He flinched and screamed with every punch that landed. He tried to lift his arms to protect his head but I batted them away with one hand and continued assailing him with the other. Skin tore. Bones cracked. Blood ran. Still I kept punching him.

It felt good. The underlying rage and helplessness that had been eating away at me all this time was finally released.

The young man slumped to the floor like a limp fish. His face was a mess. Someone grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around. I used the momentum to whip my arm around, fingers curved. My nails left red, angry grooves on this young warrior’s cheek. He staggered back. I shoved him as hard as I could. He fell with a crack. Curling in on himself, he gripped the sides of his head and groaned. Kicking him several times in the gut kept him down.

I turned to glare at my last would-be attacker. He dashed out of the room. I took a moment to steady my breathing, panting like an enraged bull, looking down at my bloody fists. My knuckles were split in certain areas, and my wrists ached. I had never struck anyone like that before.

I looked up to see faces peeking into the washroom. I marched toward the exit, snatching my discarded towel up from the floor as I went. Past my unconscious guards, through the crowd of men, and into my bedroom I walked, head held high.

Someone knocked on my door not long after I had changed into my nightshirt. After my display of ferocity in the washroom, I’d had something of a panic attack. I had pushed my desk against the door to discourage anyone else from assaulting me in my vulnerable state and had huddled in the corner until my emotions had calmed.

I sat on the desk’s surface now. “Who is it?”

“Bryn,” he whispered, but I heard him perfectly. “Everyone is talking about what happened in the washroom earlier. Are you all right?”

I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. My hands, now clean, burned with small cuts and fresh sores. “I don’t know.”

He uttered a soft curse. “I’m sorry, Asta. I’m going to tell my father in the morning and those four will be punished. I promise no one will attempt to harm you again.”

My throat ached at his words. I knew hardly anything about him, couldn’t fathom his reasons for helping me, and didn’t know if I could trust him. But in that moment, I didn’t care. “Thank you.”

“Here.” He pushed a dagger through the gap under the door.

I climbed off the desk and bent to retrieve it. My copper eyes were reflected in the blade.

“We aren’t allowed to have weapons in our rooms but, under the circumstances, I don’t think my father will object. Don’t be afraid to use it, Asta. Anyone who breaks into your room or tries to corner you in the washroom again deserves whatever they get.”

I shuddered. “Bryn, I don’t think I—”

“If you use it on yourself, I will do everything in my power to bring you back,” he said sternly. “Then I’ll give you a scolding that would make Viggo proud, and I won’t ever trust you with anything again. Am I clear?”

I managed a sad little smile. “Yes, sir.”

I woke with a gasp. The doctor knelt over me, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There was blood on his hands. I scrambled away from him and backed into the wall. My scarred hands fluttered over the length of my torso, looking for the new injury he’d caused.

“It’s all right, girl,” the doctor said. “I’ve only revived you.”

The general pushed himself off the wall. “You tried to die on us, Asta, but we weren’t finished for the night.” He nodded at the doctor. “Restrain her.”

I jerked awake and almost fell out of bed, soaked in sweat, my heart charging away in my rib cage. I dissolved into hysterical sobs. The memory of the pain was too fresh. I kicked off the covers and peeled away the nightshirt to inspect my body. The absence of blood and wounds didn’t comfort me as it should’ve. Once back in my nightshirt, I burrowed into my covers, shut my eyes, and tried to go back to sleep.

Someone was snoring. There were walls between us and I could still hear him as if he were in the room with me. A bell began to chime on the other side of the grounds. To my ears it sounded as if it were in the next building over. I put the pillow over my head and gritted my teeth.

How can anyone with Dotharr’s accursed gifts live a normal life?

One of my guards knocked. “That’s your wake-up call, girl! You’re expected to be at breakfast within the hour.”

I threw my pillow at the door.

The Feasting Hall buzzed with noise until I walked in. Complete and utter silence took hold, unlike any I could have imagined from a large number of people. Instead of being disgusted with me, many of my peers were wary. I carried my tray of oatmeal, bread, assorted fruit, and milk to the table where Bryn sat, waiting for me.