“Acolyte Mia,” Solis called. “Acolyte Jessamine. Take your places.”
Mia glanced around the room. She spotted Diamo seated at the benches with the other acolytes. He was smiling at her too, lopsided and smug.
“I’m hungry, Shahiid,” Mia said. “What time is it?”
“Almost midbells,” Solis replied. “But we will eat only after preliminaries are concluded. Take your place at circle.”
Mia stood slowly, stretched her arms, touched her toes. Her muscles were sore, and despite all the exercise she’d done to strengthen it, her swordarm was aching. She ran her fingers through her hair, fixed her braid while Jessamine prowled back and forth at her mark. Green eyes locked on her opponent. Hunter’s cunning and animal rage.
“Maw’s teeth, hurry the fuck up, Corvere.”
Mia looked to Tric. The boy nodded encouragement, gave her a quick wink. And finally, the shadows shivering about her, Mia stepped up to her mark.
Solis glowered, turned to the Hand beside him.
“Acolyte Jessamine, call the toss.”
“Trinity.”
The coin flashed in the air. Tumbled end over end.
“Senate side up,” the Hand declared.
“Acolyte Jessamine,” Solis said. “Choose your weapons.”
The redhead strode to the racks. Glanced over her shoulder at Mia, customary smirk in place. She wandered up and down the blades as if uncertain, finger to lips like a maid at market looking for a new dress. But eventually, she settled where Mia always knew she would—the rapier and stiletto combination favored by all Caravaggio fighters. The weapons were needle sharp, and whistled a bright tune as Jessamine sent them twirling in the air. The girl stepped back into the circle, inclined her head to Mia.
“Pity there’s no crossbows on the racks, neh? You might have a chance with forty yards and a stout quarrel between us, little girl.”
Mia ignored the maddening smirk, strode to the weapons. She drew twin gladii from the racks, cut the air with a few experimental swings. A gladius was shorter but heavier than a rapier. Almost as fast and built to take more punishment. A stout blow could shatter a rapier easily, and Naev had shown Mia that a pair of them wielded with skill could build a wall of blades a Caravaggio fighter would be hard-pressed to break. Question was if Mia would have any chance of hitting Jessamine back …
Jessamine glanced to Diamo on the benches. He was watching her closely, still smiling, his eyes bright and wide. He wiped at his upper lip, damp with sweat.
Then he blew Mia a kiss.
“Stop stalling, Corvere,” Jessamine sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Aye,” Mia nodded. “It seems about time.”
Shahiid Solis and his assistants retreated from the ring, leaving the girls alone. Sourceless light gleamed from above, picking out the circle in dull luminance. Mia looked to Weaver Marielle, the smile on those hideous lips. Speaker Adonai leaned against the wall beside her, studying his fingernails. She noticed the Revered Mother, Aalea, Mouser, and Spiderkiller had all gathered to watch the final bouts, sitting together on stone benches among the acolytes. Arkemical current seemed to dance in the air. Mia’s skin prickled as her shadow whispered.
“… no fear …”
Ashlinn cupped her hands, hooted from the bench. “Kick her skinny arse, Corvere!”
“Enough!” Solis bellowed.
Mia drew a breath.
Jessamine took up her stance.
A gong rang in the dark.
The redhead lunged, stepping quick across the stone, aiming for Mia’s throat. Mia stepped back, battering aside the rapid flurry with her off-hand, riposte whistling past Jessamine’s jaw. Blades sang, pale light gleaming on polished steel. Both competitors were cautious at first; Mia in deference to Jessamine’s skill, and Jessamine out of respect for the steel in Mia’s hand. But soon enough, the redhead gained her confidence, forcing Mia back to the circle’s edge with impressive footwork, her strikes falling like hail.
Strike, feint, lunge went the verse. Parry, riposte came the chorus. The girls danced about the ring to the song, sweat burning in narrowed eyes. Mia was almost entirely on the defensive, dodging back and forth at the ring’s edge. But after three or four minutes, her gladii were growing heavy. Though she launched a few laudable strikes, Mia was already gasping. Her lack of sleep was beginning to show. No mornmeal in her belly didn’t help matters any. She knew it as well as anyone in the room; Jessamine’s constant barrage with her lighter, quicker weapons would spell her end on a long enough timeline.
Mia was too slow to guard, and Jessamine drew blood once, then twice. A thin line of red opened across Mia’s left forearm, a deep gouge peeled back her shoulder. Mia’s breath came quicker, spit on her lips. The blood made her grip treacherous. Her lungs burned. Jessamine simply smiled, maintaining her tempo of feint strike, strike feint. Keeping Mia busy now. Running down the hourglass a little. No sense risking a solid hit from those gladii when blood loss and fatigue could do the work for her.
“You frightened of me, Jess?” Mia lunged forward to try and lock her up.
“Terrified,” the redhead said, slipping away and slicing another gouge in Mia’s arm. “Can’t you see me trembling?”
The pair circled each other, weapons raised. Damp fringe hanging in Mia’s eyes.
Fingers sticky on her hilt.
Gasping.
“So Diamo cracked the antidote, neh?”
Jessamine smiled, red and poisonous. “So I hear.”
“That idiot wouldn’t know venomcraft if it danced on his bollocks in Liisian heels.”
“Shahiid Spiderkiller doesn’t seem to agree.”
Feint, parry, lunge.
Mia wiped the sweat from her brow on her sleeve. “And I suppose when I go back to my room this eve, everything’s going to be exactly where I left it?”
“You’re presuming you’re going to make it back to your room at all, little girl.”
Jessamine stepped forward, striking at face, chest, belly. Mia staggered, threw a reckless riposte to force the redhead away. Jessamine backed off, blades twirling, moving swift and sure. Still smiling.
“Those big old meat cleavers getting heavy yet?” she asked.
“Think time’s on your side, neh?”
Jessamine simply grinned in response. But Mia grinned wider as the midmeal bells began tolling, a song of brass and echoes filling the hall.
“What about Diamo, you think?” Mia asked. “Think time’s on his side, too?”
Jessamine stole a glance to the boy, now wiping sweat from his brow.
“What the ’byss are you talking about, Corvere?”
Mia smiled all the wider. “I wondered if either of you would be fool enough. I really thought I might have oversold it yesterturn at mornmeal. But you’ve never been the sharpest blades in the bunch. The note you sent from Tric was a nice touch, though. Nothing like the promise of a strapping Dweymeri boy to lure a girl out of her room, neh?”
Jessamine stopped her dance, staring at Mia with widening eyes.
“Still,” Mia continued. “I wondered if Diamo would offer you the notes instead. Lucky for you, you’re better with a blade. And that chivalry’s as dead as he is.”
“You’re full of shit,” the redhead scoffed.
Mia tilted her head.
“Am I.”
“J-Jess …”
The redhead looked to Diamo, her face turning paler still. The boy was staggering to his feet. Drenched in sweat and holding his belly, a thin trickle of blood spilling from his lips. He winced, teeth painted red, groaning. And as the acolytes around him flinched away in revulsion, the boy spewed scarlet all over the floor.
“O, Goddess … Di?”