Whisper of Blade | ✓ (Crimson #1)

Chapter 23: Mamoritai

Minerva wished she could summon a flame to warm her hands. If one rule had been hammered into her, it was to never use fire at night. But as they shook, slick with sweat, she worried that they wouldn't do as she wanted. Her hands had obeyed her on instinct, but that didn't mean she wouldn't freeze when it came time to kill Arsen.

And she had decided to kill him, not paralyze. Arsen was a traitor and if he managed to return to camp alive, her life would be forfeit.

She mulled over her decision as she jogged back to where she'd left him. On her way, she spied the Terron Arsen had incapacitated. After serving under General Kavighn for so long, was he really capable of betrayal? What if she'd heard wrong? This could all be a mistake.

Arsen still knelt in the fortress' shadow, muttering to himself. A crate lay open at his side, full of pouches and other materials she didn't recognize in the semi-darkness. Since he hadn't had the crate before, Minerva assumed Sol had brought it to him.

An acrid smell pricked her nostrils as she approached.

"Everything go alright on your end, kid?" he asked, his hands never ceasing to tangle with some dark ropes.

Minerva licked her lips. He wouldn't suspect her, not yet. The truth would be her ally. "I accidentally killed one of them," she sobbed.

"Ah, that's why you took so long," he said distractedly. "Hand me that fuse, would you?"

"What's a fuse?" Minerva asked, sniffling. She crouched down a cautious distance away.

"Never mind then." The Pyro soldier kicked out a leg and pulled the crate closer with his foot. He stuck one of the ropes in his mouth while he fished in the box.

Minerva didn't know whether his nonchalant attitude broke her will down, but she started crying in earnest. Holding her knife in one hand, she mopped her face with the sleeve of the other. She stuffed her sleeve into her mouth. Stop crying. Stop.

"Battle shock, kid," Arsen murmured. "First time's always the worst."

"I—I don't," she blubbered and gasped for air. "I don't feel so good."

Arsen stopped fussing with the pile and looked at her with pity. "You can throw up if you need to. At least it won't be straight bile since you ate."

That's what that good dinner was for? Minerva shook her head and tried to calm down. As chilled as she felt, it wouldn't be a surprise if she caught Fire Fever.

While Arsen continued to tinker with his mysterious project, Minerva warred with herself over whether she could deal the first strike. It was one thing to kill an enemy, but another to commit murder in semi-cold blood. Was he or was he not planning to "get rid of her"?

A thought came to her mind unbidden. If you used it, you could know.

Minerva glanced behind her, half-expecting to find a shadow taking form. Auntie Dina called her ability a gift. She said that what she was capable of at present only hinted at something greater.

Even now, leagues away from home, Minerva knew that Auntie Dina expected her to use it—to embrace what it offered. Because much as Minerva trusted her aunt, she hadn't been able to verbalize her fear of it.

She hated touching the hollow place and the weakness it left her with. She hated knowing.

Most of all she hated the shadow that watched her. Waiting. As if her fear drew it like a moth to flame.

When Arsen rose to his feet, Minerva knew she'd run out of time to think. Whether it was lack of strength or fear that drove her, she pushed the hollow place out of reach, as if it were tangible.