Whisper of Blade | ✓ (Crimson #1)

Chapter 17: Move in Silence

Minerva brushed her fingertips against the single puncture wound leaking blood on her neck. She set the compact mirror down on the neat stack of her new clothes and took up a handkerchief to dab at the bite. To all appearances, it looked like a pale viper's mark: a clean incision larger than a needle would leave, but smaller than a knife.

The only flaw in that logic was that you never found such an injury on a living specimen—the venom that accompanied the bite quickly turned the victim into a corpse.

Minerva settled onto the carpet with a sigh. Moonlight filtered through the skylights above her, striking the white kirukkan stone she held in her other hand. When she'd woken up in the Trial chamber—as naked as the day she'd left her mother's womb—the stone had pressed its ridges into her hand. She'd almost needed to pry her own fingers out of their death grip.

In the night's silence and the isolation of the hall, she'd been granted time to think. But how could she make sense of what happened? Even with all the time in the world?

The white light of the stone gently pulsed in time with the throb in her neck, both synchronized to the rising beat of her heart. Blood rushed in her ears as she recalled the surreal events of her Trial and committed them to memory in painstaking detail. They could mean nothing, but they could mean everything.

All she knew was that she'd be foolish to dismiss it as a mere dream.

When she re-imagined the snake's eye, without meaning to, she reached to the hollow place.

She found it waiting for her.

"It can't be," Minerva whispered. At the least, she'd expected its absence for a season's worth of time. At the most, for it to never return.

I'll be leaving a gift for you in your reality.

She wouldn't use it. Never again. But her desire lacked true resolve. If enough lay at stake, Minerva knew she wouldn't hesitate.

Pushing the thought away, she dropped the blood-stained cloth and picked up her garments.

With all she'd risked for it, she couldn't bear to set her heart stone aside for even a second. When it came time to tie her waist sash and put her hair up, she held the kirukkan gem between her front teeth. How fitting that the robes she'd chosen to be left out were white. Her ensemble would be color-coordinated.

She unsheathed her sword and inspected the blade before sliding it back home.

Weapon—check.

Golden flames ignited around her fist as she internally cheered at their return. They spiraled up her outstretched arm, though she kept them contained so as not to incinerate her sleeves. Collecting the fire into an orb above her palm, she stoked the temperature until the air shimmered from the heat. She reached her limit sooner than she expected.

Now for the real test.

Like drawing a line in sand to connect two pools of water, she tapped into the power of her heart stone. It flowed through her—her body functioning as a conduit—and out her hand. At the same time, the ball of fire's color slowly altered. From the base up, white flames grew to overtake the gold.

Sweat beaded on Minerva's skin as she strained to turn all the flames white.

A little more now!

The fire at the very top remained stubbornly gold. Minerva cut the flow.

She bent over gasping for air. So close. Once she'd had more practice and warmed back up to using her fire wielding, surely she'd be able to reach her full potential as Muran. Even so, she felt exhilarated. Heat replaced the hollowness in her bones, though with it came a sort of insanity—the desire to set the world ablaze and dance in the flames.