Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,167

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?”

Jessamine’s face drained of all color as the boy fell to his knees. Quicker than silver, Mia stepped up and smashed the rapier from Jessamine’s nerveless fingers. The girl tried to muster some semblance of guard, but Mia swatted the stiletto aside, and with a shapeless cry of rage, buried her sword deep in Jessamine’s gut.

The redhead clutched the wound, eyes wide. Mia tore her gladius free in a spray of red, kicked Jessamine savagely in the chest, sent her skidding across the polished stone. Solis cried “Point!” A gong rang in the dark. But all about the ring was chaos. Adonai and Marielle knelt beside Jessamine. The speaker began his song, the blood crawling back up into the girl’s body. The weaver’s fingers danced over the hideous belly wound, flesh knitting closed. But