Whisper of Blade | ✓ (Crimson #1)

Chapter 8: Tears of Blood

As a noble child, it was not at all uncommon for Minerva to hear unsavory rumors about her parents, seeded by jealous political enemies or unhappy servants. The higher up in authority the target was, the more their rivals worked the rumor mill.

Kovine's enemies worked overtime without pay.

The Empress murders children with poison in their sikhye—venomous snake scales in sweet rice drinks.

Black dragon blood flows through her veins and she's made a pact with an Anakim—perhaps with one of the Three themselves—how could her wielding strength rival a Pyroline's otherwise?

She sacrificed her firstborn and the daughter is a bastard. What kind of monster do you have to be to get rid of your own offspring for power?

When Minerva stepped outside, her limp hands leaked blood onto the stubbly grass. Amarante's shouts of indignation echoed off the mountain face, accompanied by a goat's bleats. The kirukist must keep one for milk.

Morning fog drifted near the cliffs. Minerva inhaled deeply, enjoying the clear air. She wouldn't mind living up here, among the dragons and away from people and the smoky, ashen city.

A rusty red lump shifted from where it rested in the hut's shadow. The manticore stretched in kat-like manner, a low growl issuing with a yawn from her mouth, leathery wings reaching for the sky. Standing, the lioness' head topped Minerva's by a hand.

"Have a nice nap, Mala?" Minerva asked softly, not willing for her voice to be heard. She reached out a hand to scratch behind the manticore's furry, round ears, but stopped when she realized her wounds were still open.

Mala sniffed her outstretched hand and licked it with her scratchy tongue.

"Don't get a taste for my blood now, you hear?" Minerva chuckled.

Manticores weren't so different from kats in appearance ... until you took their size, wings, and stinger tail into account. Mala currently held her tail in its non-combative state, enclosed within a hard shell.

Minerva sighed, dreading the moment when she'd have to walk around the hut's corner to where her mother waited. She'd much rather think of how Mala had been waiting to meet her outside the Academy, ready to fly her up the mountain for this ... lesson, if it could be called that.

"It was more like torture," Minerva mumbled, sinking to the ground between Mala's giant paws.

Mala gave a quick, cheerful purr and nudged Minerva's head.

Tired as she was, the nudge almost toppled Minerva over. "Mhm, of course you would have rushed in to save me," Minerva whispered jokingly, "not like you were asleep or anything like that. What would I do without you?"

Mala's answering yaps proved the sarcasm had gone over her head. Azuki had translated often enough that Minerva recognized this sequence—but he was a hopeless student in the language of passive-aggression as well.

"Without you I'd never sleep," Minerva confirmed. She leaned back into Mala's fur and the lioness wrapped her wings around her like a cocoon.

Following Minerva's involvement in the taking of the Terron stronghold and the massacre of Matsudo's guard, nightmares had plagued her, clinging to her mind like smoke to clothing. Every shadow transformed into an assassin sent to kill her, every sound turned into the whisper of a blade as it pressed a cold kiss to her skin.

At first, Edina had come at her screams and was able to lull her into an uneasy sleep with her embrace. Then, only a few days before she'd taken sick with the Fever, her aunt had given her Mala—still only a cub and dealing with anger and fear of her own.