Page 66 of A Touch of Stars and Stones
My own power is absorbing hers. And I’m very much aware of it slipping through my skin.
“Yield?” I ask, with nothing more than a tight clasp of her arm.
She doesn’t, though. She drops to her knees, falling from my grasp and kicks back at me, sending me off balance.
With the connection gone, she seems to regain some of her power and strength, but as I reach out and stabilise myself, I can feel her speed within my limbs.
Just like the obstacle test when I leached power from Calix.
I surge forward and thrust the blade in front, forcing her to defend. I arc my arm one way and the other. There is no grace or skill in my movements, maybe in time, and with a lot of practice. That’s what I tell myself. Give me time.
I keep advancing, slicing towards her, not giving her an opening. On a wild swing, the tip of Ten’s blade slices through Crimson’s arm, drawing blood. The red slash leaks one full drop of blood, running down her toned arm, and I smile.
Cruel and calculating, like the look of victory she would have given me.
And my feet and body stop moving because I’ve won.
Her face is rigid with fury. Not only have I bested her, but I also made her look like a fool in front of her peers and friends. If the roles were reversed, I’d hate me, too.
And then I look at Ten, my eyes keen to see if he approves or if he’s concerned for his friend.
He has a slight smirk on his lips as he assesses me and offers a small nod. I walk to him and place the knife back in his hands, this time without letting our hands touch.
Noise, chants, and claps erupt around, and the reality sinks back into my bones as my arms begin to shake.
Micah joins me at my side. “Quite impressive.”
“Thank you.”
Perrin, the Natural Custodian, walks through the ring to where Crimson is speaking with her brother.
“I guess that’s the fun part of training over. Want to see your room?” Micah offers.
I nod.
The adrenaline and… anger, hurt, everything… that seemed to surge together with me in the ring is now slipping away, and I feel raw and exposed, drained in a way that doesn’t make sense after what we just did.
As we walk over to the residence building, I remember how Micah didn’t stop talking the last time he showed me here. He’s quiet, in contrast, which only weighs down my mood, and it makes my skin prickle with concern.
Our footsteps echo down the hall until he pauses and thumps his door as if reminding me that he’s only a few doors away, and then pauses at mine. And pushes it open.
It’s similar to my previous room, but with subtle differences. It’s now adorned in an assortment of dark, nearly black colours—the colour of my Order—although I’m not sure if I have a true colour. The darkest grey material has been used over the bed and the small chair. An edge of purple in some, and blue in others, like the stone in the centre of my necklace.
Stopping in front of the wardrobe, I open it to find several items, including both dresses I’d already worn and a host of training gear. Some items seem casual, some more formal, andthere is even a set of inky black leathers, which I pull out and feel.
“Kyra wanted you to be prepared,” Micah says.
“For what?”
“It’s the Warrior uniform.”
I’m not going into battle. “Not red?” I question.
“The red is represented, they say, by the blood of their enemies on their blades.” Micah smirks, and I drop the clothing.
“Seriously? Kind of fitting, I guess.”
“I know, right. I’ll let you… settle. Dinner won’t be until dusk. There’s no chance I’m missing that after today.” I appreciate the change in conversation.
