Swinging her bag over her shoulder, she exits, the door locking behind her with a single touch of Lilah’s skin, the key. Others gather at the end of the hall, but Lilah holds back from them. Beau, Tad, Zane, Tara, and Scarlet all huddle together, smiling and joking with one another. Right now, only the competitors will go to the arena. Everyone else will join them later, once the Ludi starts in earnest.
Van Thorpe stands in the middle of the conjoining hallways. “Listen here, young men and women. Today is a day that we will remember for all of time, for all of history. Play swift and fair. Come.” He leads all the students down into the lobby of the building, avoiding the elevator and opting for the stairs.
In the lobby, a multitude of students gather. Lilah counts only three from the hallway opposite them: two guys and a single young woman. All Nox. The Lux have a separate dorm to avoid conflict. Lilah finds it ironic that The Order separated the dorms according to sect, but didn’t think having a single victor would cause any unrest. Another older man stands cloistered in the corner. He gives Mr. Van Thorpe a signal with his hand and both lead their respective parties out the dormitory doors.
The town is cleared of the heavy, thick fog of last night, and a slight chill comes with the breeze. Lilah inhales deeply, smelling the pines and the honeysuckle of the surrounding area. An oak tree grows like a giant in the middle of a patch of grass just opposite. This must be part of the southernmost Lux territory.
Mr. Van Thorpe leads the large gathering of Nox students down a path behind the dorm, through a thicket of bushes and smaller oaks and pines, before reaching a clearing. There, just a half a mile in front of Lilah, is a large stone coliseum. The white granite captures the light and shines brilliantly against the browns and greens of the foliage. Mr. Van Thorpe stops for a moment and turns to address the group. “You will each have your own individual quarters beneath the arena. I will show you to the Nox quarters, and there you will all await instruction.”
The ground slopes slightly beneath Lilah’s feet on the walk to the coliseum. As they come closer, the curved walls of the immense edifice rise higher and higher before her widening eyes. Mr. Van Thorpe leads them a little further, beneath a large archway, which seems to descend below the arena itself. They twist and turn once more, then reach a series of rooms where a sign states clearly in bold lettering, “Nox Quarters.”
“Find the room with your name on it and stay inside until you hear a bell.” Mr. Van Thorpe makes a gesture with his hand, entreating them to follow his instructions.
It doesn’t take long before the hall becomes quiet, and Lilah finds her room: the last one on the right, same as in the dorm. Also like her dorm room, the door clicks open with her touch.
The room itself is small, and only a chair and table furnish it. On the wall is a mirror. Lilah plops her bag down and sits in the chair as a nervous excitement warms her body. It’s the same feeling she gets before her warrior training class, a feeling of invincibility driven by adrenaline. Grabbing her bag from the seat, she begins pulling out her gear. She looks into the mirror and sees a shadow of darkness in her eyes. She grins. Let the fun begin.
Chapter Eight
The preliminary rounds don’t take long—about an hour. Thirty quickly turns into ten for each sect. Lilah pranced through the Nox round with radiant confidence, all eleven years of training ingrained into her muscles. She pays close attention to the boy who she met at the club, Caleb Addison. He makes the top ten for the Lux. Beau Atwood also makes it to the final ten for the Nox, but the others, to Lilah’s intense satisfaction, are eliminated. Beau shoots a predatory glance at Lilah when they exit the arena for a short interim before the one-on-one round. In the final round, Lilah will fight nine one-on-one matches. The matches will be drawn at random.
The Order appointed a judge this year, assuring the public it would be one of their own, so as to prevent any bias toward a particular sect. In the past, each sect would choose two of their own to supervise.
A middle-aged man comes into the center of the arena. After clearing his throat, he bellows, “My name is Andreas Novak, and as a member of the Order, I am grateful to have the honor of judging this year’s Ludi bestowed upon me.”
Lilah examines the man with a critical eye. With thin features, he wouldn’t be considered handsome, Lilah imagines, not even in his youth. He looks so much like a hawk Lilah can’t think of him without seeing the sky—eyes the dull color of the clouds mid-winter, a bluish-gray. He has mousy brown hair, thinning at the front, and a trimmed gray mustache. Despite his severe façade, Lilah has the distinct impression that under all his ceremony, he is a man ruled by fear. Lilah can’t fathom how he became a member of the Order, but he must have some redeeming qualities, right?
The crowd hushes, waiting for her to pull first. Mr. Novak circles his long pointy fingers over the mesh bag, mixing the names. Standing third in the line of remaining competitors, she reaches into the fabric, surprised by how soft it feels, despite its textured appearance. Lilah pulls out a piece of paper and smirks. Beau’s name is written in bold. The audience claps with appreciation after each draw. Lilah wonders if Verna is among them. The sides of the arena split, one for either sect. As she walks off the green field, she catches a flash of raven-hair, but doesn’t let herself get distracted.
Back in her private room, she has ten minutes to wait before her match with Beau. The room is painted a pale gray, a calming hue to Lilah. Sitting down, she wraps her hands with the enchanted leather gloves Verna gave her. The leathers are good luck; she’s never lost a one-on-one while wearing them. Heart pounding against her ribs, she flexes her hands.
She thinks of the dream, and the woman’s voice sounds in her ears once more, telling her Hilt blood runs in her veins. Her grin falls flat, and the knot in her stomach grows. Regardless of who her mother is, now is not the time to be troubled.
A bell rings dully through the walls and kicks Lilah from her thoughts, the image of Florence fading to the back of her mind. She picks up her weapons belt, wraps it around her hips, and slides her favorite dagger into the holster. Beau would be easy for her. No doubt rests in her mind. When Lilah exits the room, a calm reverie washes over her.
A gentle roar rises from the crowd as Lilah enters the arena. Beau stands across from her, playing with his favorite weapon, a glimmering sword. He slices it through the air and twirls it with ease. The edge illuminates with an incantation.
Many of the rules governing the previous round are void. In this final round, the players can choose their favorite weapon or weapons to use, and the competitors can use charms to disarm their opponent. Now, it is a game of speed; everything depends on how quickly Lilah can make her opponent surrender or cause the judge to intervene with a definitive verdict. A whistle signals to the competitors they have thirty seconds until the round begins.
Lilah stands poised for an attack, her right fingertips touching the hilt of her trident-parrying dagger. Not many warriors carry such a dagger anymore, thinking it takes too long to slide the button releasing the lateral blades. But not everyone is as fast as Lilah.
Taking a deep breath through her chest, Lilah exhales, then starts a ten count. Ten. She raises her left hand to her lips. Nine. She inhales. Eight. She digs her right heel into the green field. Seven. Lilah closes her eyes. Six. She exhales. Five. Things slow down. Her hearing captures only the sounds of Beau’s uneven breath. Four. She inhales Beau’s nervous sweat, which beads on his forehead. Three. Lilah puts pressure on the hilt of the dagger with her fingers. Two. She feels a heat expanding in her chest. This will be quick. One. With the blare of the horn, Lilah launches into a sprint, dagger in hand.
Beau puts forth a valiant try, but nothing can touch Lilah. She dances on her toes, scooting and hopping out of his grasp. This continues for a couple minutes, before Lilah exhales into her left palm to deliver an enchantment. A violet hue glows bright. She throws the incantation with an elegant flip of her wrist. When it hits him square in the chest, his swor
d drops from his fingertips, clanging on impact. Lilah slips her finger onto the sliding button, a chiseled flower, and jumps to him. She aims the dagger at his heart and kicks his chest right where the spell hit him, pushing him flat on the ground. Beau’s body trembles, but he can’t move an inch. The violet incantation smokes off his chest.
Lilah pushes the dagger so that the blade hovers an inch above his heart. Then, in her left hand, she conjures a black smolder before throwing it down onto his face. The violet spell wearing thin, he blocks it and flips a golden orb at her, but she slings the dagger and kicks the orb back at him. It hits Beau on the forehead. His eyes close, and he sighs. Lilah drops her dagger and kneels down to hear a ragged breath. He knocked himself out with his own enchantment. Lilah smiles.
The judge calls a forfeit for Beau. Lilah stands. She won. Eight to go.
The next round Lilah drew Annistyn Kay, a Lux who has a strong following—Lilah heard their chanting from the ground of the arena. It took Lilah three minutes to extinguish the crowd’s chipper cries. She caught Annistyn’s wrist, then twisted it until the Lux yelped in pain. Her left hand threw a black incantation, and the girl dropped to her knees and closed her eyes. She disarmed their star, and they watched as the girl struggled to combat Lilah with weaker spells.
Seven to go.
The next two were both Lux as well, and struggled as much as Annistyn had.
Seven, Liam Williams—forfeited seven minutes into their match. Lilah had disarmed him in much the same way she had Annistyn. From there, it was child’s play.
Six, Avery Grayson. He was a lean, tall man. His weapon of choice was an eight-foot long javelin with a gleaming speared edge. Lilah thought his choice of weapon odd, since they were in such close quarters, the whole spread of the arena was not given to them for their use. When Lilah pounced toward him to attack, he threw the javelin with deft accuracy, but Lilah slid off its trajectory. He held on by throwing orange bursts at her, the flash exploding next to her face, but he couldn’t stop the inevitable. He soon fell like the others.
Five to go.
There is now a brief rest before she finishes the last five. The winners of each round display over the mirror in blue digital font. Sitting back in her room, his name stares back at her. At some point, they would fight. Lilah becomes uneasy with the thought, remembering their odd encounter last night. The strange signa on her torso burns up the side of her chest.
The whistle rings and out she goes.
When she reaches her hand into the bag, he stands behind the Mr. Novak, a faint smile lingering on his lips as he watches her lift out a piece of paper. He is the only Lux left, she is the only girl left. Besides Caleb, there is Alec Veda, Dorian Cohen, Asher Clarke, and Miiko Sabre. She uncurls the slip of paper: the name Dorian is written boldly.
Dorian falls, as well as Asher, Alec, and Miiko. They were her hardest and most challenging, but they failed in their ability to read her as their opponent. Lilah doesn’t have to pull the last name out of a hat, but she would have liked to see his name on the paper.
She walks onto the field, tightening her hand leathers that sweat loosens. Caleb stands in the center where a lit twenty-meter circle encompasses him, his black hair contrasting sharply with his cerulean and gold-flaked eyes. The thirty-second whistle sounds in the arena.
Caleb smiles at her, waving his hand in a friendly hello. “Get enough sleep?” he says, a wide grin sweeping his face.
Lilah laughs as she enters the circle where he stands. “Yes, I did,” she lies.
Ten.
Lilah watches as Caleb checks his dual sword holster with leathered hands, and as he tightens the pale-colored straps over his shoulders, uneasiness creeps into her core. His black hair falls over his forehead. Their eyes meet. Lilah loses count. He grins, pointing to her belt, mouthing words. She doesn’t understand and shakes her head. Then, the starting whistle screams, and she watches as he pulls one sword over his shoulder, out of its holster. His sword crosses in front of his torso, protecting his entire top half.
Lilah breathes quickly, heating her body. She grabs for her dagger and lifts her left hand to her lips. Launching forward, her heels dig into the increasingly muddy grass. Lilah is within feet of him when he thrashes outward with his sword, the metal gleaming yellow. Lilah drops to the ground, but she moves too slowly. The blade slices through the fabric of her black vest, breaking the enchantment of the threads. Lilah lets loose a yell, then grins. A real opponent. She rolls over, quick to stand back on her feet. He’s just as fast as her. Breathe, focus on your breath. Lilah holds her dagger close to her chest, the blade pointing down, and lifts her left hand to her mouth. She exhales as a black smoke hovers in her palm. As she slides the chiseled button on the back of her dagger, the lateral blades pop from the side.
“You’re fast,” she calls out.
“So are you,” he says back.
Lilah pauses. He raises his guard, sword crossed in front of his chest. Lilah realizes he doesn’t plan on being the first one to strike, but rather to play defense. Damn it. Her senses kick in and overwhelm every other thought. She smells his cologne, a musky aroma, and takes note that he isn’t sweating nor is his heartbeat significantly pronounced. She watches how he places his feet precariously on the ground, heels deep and toes light, prepared for fast movement. She doesn’t wait to exhale before she makes her move. Ready for his swishing sword, Lilah propels herself forward. Her dagger’s hilt swirls out, catching the blade. Lilah jumps back, avoiding the hiss of Caleb’s sword as he pushes back against her and frees the blade from her split dagger. Turning on her heel, she stays close, throwing the black smoke at him. Caleb catches it with his sword and then throws the blade down. Keeping her eyes on him, Lilah pauses, noticing that he’s pausing for a breath, too. The pause lasts until the yellow glow of the incantation quivers and then extinguishes.
“I guess I’m a little faster than you are today,” Lilah whispers.
Caleb’s smile twists, and he holds up both his palms to her.
Lilah steps in to him, bringing her left palm up to her mouth to conjure again as Caleb gathers his hands in front of his lips.
When Caleb opens his fists, a hundred butterflies come fluttering out. The plethora of shapes and sizes that sail through the air halts Lilah. One, the size of a hand and covered in black and yellow stripes, lands on Lilah’s right hand. It tickles her fingers. With wide eyes, Lilah lifts the tiny creature to her face. Its wings flap softly, its thin legs nimble. Her jaw slackens. Lilah looks back at Caleb, a sheepish grin covers his face.
Caleb shows her his palms again.
Without thought, Lilah releases her grip on the hilt of her dagger and is barely aware of the little clunk it makes when it hits the grass. She lifts her hand back to her mouth, inhaling the black smoke, taking back the enchantment as if she had never willed it to happen in the first place. What am I . . . A silence comes over the arena; the Mr. Novak mouth drops. Caleb closes the small gap between him and Lilah. He extends his hand out to her, and she shakes it. What am I doing?
“A draw?” Mr. Novak says eventually. He clears his throat and proclaims, “A draw! The two shall share the victory!”
No one seems particularly perturbed by the Ludi ending in such a way, since traditionally, there have always been two victors, one for each sect. Lilah’s eyes fall upon the judge, his hawkish face still warped in shock. Perhaps he is the only exception. Lilah ponders what the Order will think of this.
She’s acutely aware of the hollow left from his touch when their hands break.
Lux and Nox come racing down the steps into the arena, storming the now slippery mud of the field. Lilah watches Caleb as his friend from last night circles him, giving him pats on the back. Strangers give cheer to Lilah as they circle her. Lilah hears someone yelling her name. She turns around to find Verna running toward her. Lilah rushes to her and throws her arms out, ready to embrace the woman. “I’m so proud of you, Lilah.”
Lilah exhales and
smiles from the bottom of her heart.
“We need to speak, Lilah. In private,” Verna whispers. She marvels at the fact that Lilah stands taller than her now, and to look in Lilah’s eyes, she must turn her head up. Lilah has changed considerably since their last meeting almost a year ago, when she came to Waterstone Academy after being expelled from another. Verna doesn’t recall all the names of the academies Lilah has attended, nor the reasons they gave for Lilah’s expulsions. That isn’t the daughter she knows. Verna shudders. Lines of worry pull her eyes down and the corners of her mouth seem to be in a permanent frown. Perhaps she has been naïve. After all her mother is—
“Okay, we can go to my dorm room.” Her daughter takes hold of Verna’s wrinkled hand and pushes through the crowd, still receiving pats and cheers from those on the field.
Verna lets Lilah lead her across the field and into the guts of the arena, until they come into the dimming daylight. Then, they rush into the dormitory and up the elevator. When they reach Lilah’s room, Verna glances at her daughter and tears form in her eyes. Verna motions for Lilah to open the door. “Inside.” Verna begins to cry, and Lilah sharply swivels at the sound of her soft sobs. Lilah twists the handle of the enchanted door and pushes it open with a great flourish. Verna rushes in, pulling Lilah by the arm along with her, and slams the door shut.
“Lilah,” she cries, “You aren’t safe here. My child, my Charlotte is dead! She was under Alessandra’s influence!” Verna collapses on the ground, her sobs shaking her whole body.
Lilah freezes. “What’s going on? I thought Charlotte died years ago.”
The question hangs in the air over Verna’s head, the shadow behind a cloudy sky. Verna tries to calm herself, tries to make the breath come into her lungs, but the grief overwhelms her. She feels Lilah lowering and taking her in her own arms. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Verna should be comforting Lilah, not the other way around. She succumbs to a wave of guilt.
Premonition Page 10
