Page 38 of A Kiss From Death
He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Your ride is here.” And then, he’s gone, just a figment of my imagination left in his wake.
“You ready to head back, little lady?”
Winston.
After scarfing down half of Lunaria’s food supply, I’m back in my room, bathed and thoroughly bored out of my mind. Like me, the other contestants have retired to their rooms to rest up for another long day of training tomorrow.
My mind is racing, an untamable beast as I flop like a fish on my bed, trying to seek comfort. I should have known my body would only allow one solid night’s rest before it resorted back to its specialty: a fitful sleep.
Huffing, I throw my blanket off and stand to stretch. Maybe moving around will help tire me out. I start by pacing from wall to wall until I’ve lost count how many laps I’ve completed. Still, my mind is fully awake and ready to play.
Next, I try some high knees, hoping it will jostle my brain into exhaustion. No such luck. I tackle some lunges next, but then I realize my balance is severely lacking. I turn to face my bed,so when I lunge forward, I can balance my hands on the edge as I lower myself down.
I step into a lunge, disappearing slightly under the bed as I grip the edge with my hands, lowering myself into a deep lunge. As soon as the heel of my foot hits the cold, wooden floorboard, I’m greeted with a loudcreak.
Not thinking anything of it, I bring my foot back to center and lunge out with my opposite leg in the same motion. This time, the floorboard creaks, but it also slides the smallest amount to the side.
Weird.
Bending down, I use the small amount of light filtering in through the stained glass window to peer under my bed. Blindly feeling around with my hand, I pat and prod the floorboards, snagging a few splinters as I go.
My nail slides into a small groove between two of the boards that would be impossible to notice unless you were looking for it. Wedging my nail under, I pull up, and the floorboard easily moves away to reveal a cavity.
I know I shouldn’t be snooping, but I can’t help myself as I flatten my body and slide under the narrow bed frame. It’s so dark under here, but my eyes eventually adjust to reveal a midnight black, double edged sword with worn black leather wrapped around the handle.
Reaching in, I wrap my hand around the handle, my fingers perfectly fitting into the worn grooves left in the leather. The sword hums to life as soon as my skin makes contact. The hum tickles up my arm and spreads across my body, making me vibrate as I slide back onto my feet.
It feels familiar, like an old friend calling my name, begging me to hold it. My whole body and even the bed starts to shake from the sheer energy it’s emitting, growing with intensity. I immediately release it, flinging it across the room,thunkingas it bounces on the floor.
Shit, Nyxi. Could you make more noise?
I let out a swift curse under my breath, praying no one heard. I’m thankful Winston trusts me enough to leave me alone; I just pray no one else heard the chaos.
I suddenly feel empty with the loss, like a limb has been severed off. I’m clueless as to whose hidden treasure I’ve found, but I can tell it’s very powerful and, most likely, very important. I’m sure it’s hidden to insure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands—or maybe it’s simply a lost treasure.
An idea pops into my head, and I sway over to my wardrobe to collect one of my spare shirts. Carefully, without touching the sword, I wrap the shirt around the handle and pick it up again. As hoped, no hum takes over my body.
Looking it over, I flip it over, taking in the detail of this beautiful creation. Even though the sword looks as old as time, the blade seems carved to perfection, not a dull section to be found.
Squinting, I focus in on a small carving just above where the leather wraps around the handle. Two circles are etched into the metal, smaller circles carved within them. Taking a closer look, I notice they aren’t circles, but instead depict some type of unique black eyes. They look animalistic, maybe even birdlike. The carving is so old, it’s faded, making it almost impossible to decipher.
Bending down, I carefully lower the blade into the cavity and expertly replace the floorboard exactly how I found it. I line up the grooves in the wood so you can’t tell it’s been tampered with.
There’s a dull ache in my head now, and I feel drained, exhausted. The pacing and high knees must have finally caught up to me, my limbs heavy and limp. I drag my body up into bed, my head barely hitting the pillow before I’m drifting off into heavy sleep.
Judgment day is finally upon us. This week flew by in a blur. My muscles ache from long training days, pushing my body to its limit. None of that matters, though. What matters now is the performance I’m to put on for the Empress and all of Fallout and Lunaria. It’s crucial to rank high for the start of the Crucible. Getting the extra help in the last two rounds could mean life or death.
Des woke me up bright and early to prepare for today. Something about looking my best will make me perform my best. She braided my hair back and helped shove all my limbs into the tight bodysuit she made me.
Winston arrived shortly after to escort me to the Bubble. His usual cheery demeanor was a bit sour today as he nervously chewed on each orange wedge he stuffed into his mouth. He forgoes asking me if I want the little abominations that keep magically showing up, now snatching it from in front of my door, devouring it happily. I expected Hade to tire of thislittle prank, but sure enough, since the night of my confession, a peeled orange has appeared every morning without fail. It’s admirable how committed he is to the bit. Neither of us have mentioned it, and I think it might stay that way forever.
Winston was extra quiet on the journey here. He gave me a quick but firm hug, wished me good luck, and slipped away into the shadows as my competitors arrived.
The arena is buzzing with life today, packed full of extra Vanquishers and Magicals setting up for each competitor’s performance. We are given the choice of any weapons or materials to use during our performance.
Magicals have worked tirelessly all morning setting up a space specific to each competitor’s needs, using objects and magic to make each area unique. I take in the ten specific setups, stretching my body in preparation.
“A double sided blade… That’s the best you could come up with? I thought you were smarter than that,” a gravelly voice grows from behind me as I bend, touching my hands to my feet, stretching out my hamstrings.
