Whisper of Blade | ✓ (Crimson #1)

Chapter 42: Duality

The days and nights blurred into each other. All that mattered beneath the Pyrogon were the summons to fight and after that, eating a bowl of tasteless but nourishing gruel. Minerva came to pity the arena manticores even more. They deserved better than this singular, sad existence. They didn't even get gruel.

When Kodak and Brenna returned from their matches, they sought her company. Minerva would take out her tin of salve and tend to their burns, while they closed their eyes and tried to breathe through dry, chapped lungs. Perspiration gathered on their pale ashen skin. In those times, Minerva wondered whether it would have been the merciful decision to bar them from competing.

After the first day, the competitors didn't converse much and kept to themselves. Even the nobles turned to conserving their energy and sleeping off the adrenaline crash from their bouts. Less and less fighters returned through the gates as the call to fights grew more frequent.

The tournament whittled at them all like a knife. Only the strongest would survive. Only the brightest would continue to burn when all other lights went out.

In the fifth set of rounds, Brenna didn't come back.

"I hope she's alright," Minerva whispered. Her arms rested on the tops of her knees and she sat leaning against the wall. "She had a headache and her hands felt clammy before she left."

The lantern handle squeaked where it hung from a metal hook in the ceiling. Pyra glanced up and the light strengthened before she returned to her book.

"Heat exhaustion," Kodak murmured. Head tipped back, he closed his eyes. Something had changed about him. Not a single flirtatious comment had passed his lips since the night they'd visited the Firebird. When he gave her long looks, they didn't hold the teasing glint like before. Instead a hard resolve had taken its place, leaving her in the silent company of a prince she didn't recognize or know.

"You don't look so good either," Minerva observed.

No matter how much water he drank, how many times he dunked his head in a bucket, it didn't seem to be enough. Most of the men competing had taken off their tunics after the first round and Kodak was no exception. But where his skin wasn't wan it had blistered red, along his shoulders and arms, the high ridge of his nose.

Minerva unscrewed the salve container. She'd had to ask Pyra to send a guard to her rooms to fetch another two after the first ran out. Walking on her knees over to Kodak, she scooped out a generous dollop with her fingers.

He didn't move or open his eyes while she rubbed ointment over the raw, peeling skin. At least he didn't see her cheeks coloring as his tense muscles relaxed under her touch.

Not for the first time, Minerva wished she had a stronger build like his. As a child, putting on even a bit of weight or a scrap of fat had been an uphill battle. All pale skin and bones, one noblewoman had said of her, the only pretty thing about the girl is her hair.

Matsudo had taught her that in every fight, she could assume she'd be at a physical disadvantage. Her opponent would be bigger and brawnier so she'd have to be faster, smarter. But the hollow place had been more than a tool to Minerva—it had been the advantage she could rely on when her body betrayed her.

"I don't know why I'm helping you ... again," she said to fill the silence.

"You don't have to," Kodak answered.

"Do you not want me to?"

"You don't owe it to me to. But—" He left his sentence unfinished. The way he'd been leaving them unfinished the past few days.

It was enough to drive a girl mad.

Then— "I'll be leaving as soon as the tournament is over." He still didn't open his eyes.