Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,166
circle, Tric re-tying his saltlocks as Oz called the toss and won.
Tric chose his favored scimitar and buckler, Osrik twin shortswords. The gong rang in the dark, and their steel joined, the pair crashing together like waves and rocks on a storm-washed beach. Mia watched on in silence, chewing her lip. Praying.
The goddess, it seemed, was listening.
After a long and bloody struggle, Mia and the other acolytes looking on in awe, Tric managed the impossible. Osrik put up a valiant fight, his form close to perfect, but perhaps at the heart of it, Tric simply had more to win, and much more lose. The match ended with Osrik’s belly opened from groin to ribs, and the stench of bowel and blood hanging thick in the air amid Adonai’s song. Solis cried “Point!” to the applause of the other Shahiid and acolytes, Mia clapping loudest of all.
Adonai and Marielle set to work mending Osrik’s wounds. Tric retired to the benches, drenched and panting. But as he met Mia’s eyes, he smiled.
“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