Page 4 of A Kiss From Death (Oath of Vengeance #1)

S o much for a good night’s rest. Nervously tossing and turning the entire night was not a part of my ten step plan for revenge, but I guess you win some, you lose some.

After I stare out the window for several hours, sun is finally starting to stream in, casting a warm glow on the living room. I take that as my cue to get up and going for the day.

Grunting, I peel myself up off the lumpy “pillow couch” and make my way to our room to get ready. I haven’t been able to bring myself to sleep in our bed, using the couch as my makeshift sleeping spot. This room and bed holds too many good memories with Theo, and I want it to stay that way forever.

I grab a corner of the comforter that sits on Theo’s side of the bed and deeply inhale.

It still smells like sunshine and fresh air and reminds me of his warm, infectious, toothy grin he would shine down at me every morning we woke tangled in the sheets together. I fear the day that smell disappears .

Forgoing my usual attire, I stride over to Theo’s pile of clothes and dig through it. I need all the extra strength I can get to get through this day, and having a part of Theo with me is just what the healers ordered.

I find my favorite plain white tee and leather jacket he flaunted often, slipping them on. They engulf me, hanging way past my hands and waist, since they were made for a six foot tall man and not a woman a whole eight inches shorter.

I tuck his tee into the waistband of my trusty leather pants and start cuffing the sleeves of his leather jacket. I don’t want to have a safety hazard if I get jumped on my way to Misery’s Crossing for the drawing ceremony.

Drawing ceremonies tend to get rowdy, so I make sure to strap extra daggers to my body, totaling four weapons I have access to: one in each boot, and two in my waistband.

You never know what a Vagrant might do to survive.

I’ve quite literally seen people’s shirts torn from their backs like it’s nothing.

It’s every man for themselves in our sector.

Planning out my day, I decide my best plan of attack is traveling to each sector to watch their individual drawing ceremonies. That way, I can size up my competition and get a couple extra days to dig around Fallout for weakness in my opponents.

Drawing ceremonies go in order of sector rank, meaning Vagrant’s will be last. That should give me enough time to make it back to ours before they announce the winners.

I walk towards our front door, our old floor boards creaking with each step of my dirty boots. Flinging open the door, I step out into the crisp air and start my trek towards Command Sector for the first drawing.

Command Sector is top of the food pyramid in Fallout, housing our lawmakers and Enforcers. Even though the Empress has final say on what goes on in Fallout, she is too busy to keep up with the government structure of our sectors, hence the creation of Command Sector.

They create and uphold all laws in Fallout—trading goods, curfew times, education laws, sector transfer requests, anything you could imagine.

The Empress then filters through each law created and approves the ones that fit her liking.

Breaking any law in Fallout, no matter how small, is punishable to death by the Empress.

She has a very creative imagination that is not to be messed with.

Most citizens of Fallout stay within the sector they are born into. On the rare occasion someone shows great strength or knowledge of another sector, they are allowed to submit a sector transfer request to the Command Sector at eighteen. These rarely get approved, but it’s not unheard of.

My breathing is elevated from the trek to Command Sector.

I keep my eyes peeled for Enforcers and make sure to weave around them when spotted.

Even though Enforcers aren’t as dangerous and scary as Vanquishers, they still aren’t to be messed with, especially since they are not the biggest fans of Vagrants.

“Yeah, well, we aren’t the biggest fans of you either,” I mumble under my breath.

People are already starting to gather in the center of town. Excitement and nerves bleed into the crowd as everyone waits.

I’ve only traveled to the Command Sector a handful of times, so I make sure to take in the rare scenery.

It is opposite in every way to Vagrant’s Sector.

Where we thrive on chaos and danger, they thrive on purpose and structure.

The colors of the buildings are neutral and bland, all by design.

Everything has harsh, straight edges and serves a purpose.

It’s clean and so boring. I would never want to live here.

Even their citizens have zero personality and are painful snobs to be around. I guess you can act that way when you’re a member of the top sector .

Weaving my way through the growing crowd, I hear excited whispers of people swearing this is the year they will finally get picked.

I find it odd how everyone is so excited for the chance to basically sacrifice themselves to the Empress solely for her entertainment.

That’s not how they see it, though. They see it as their ticket to a better life.

Pfft, losers.

The crowd hushes when a burly, cruel looking man approaches the makeshift dais in front of us.

I assume he is the Command Sector’s council representative.

I have never seen him before; I make it a habit to keep my nose out of the politics of Fallout, but by the way he commands the crowd’s respect and attention, I can assume so.

All eyes fall to the man standing slightly above us while a small woman walks beside him, holding a giant glass bowl full of folded pieces of paper—lots of them. This has to be a record year of willing participants, and it sets me a little on edge.

Attempting to calm myself, I recite Fallout’s motto and pray somewhere in the castle, she hears my call. “Submit to your Empress, and you will be blessed. Stand in her way and be forever in duress,” I whisper over and over again until my lungs breathe easier.

I jolt back up when I hear the deep baritone casting over the crowd. “Citizens of Command Sector, it is my great honor as your council representative to announce this year’s nominees for the great Reaper Crucible!” The crowd buzzes to life with ecstatic screams and shouts.

I just roll my eyes.

Empress save us all.

“I have great faith that this year’s victor will hail from our sector and prove to all of Fallout once again why we are number one,” he belts out with unwavering certainty .

The crowd erupts in unison, chanting, “COMMAND SECTOR, COMMAND SECTOR, COMMAND SECTOR,” while stomping their feet to a steady beat.

Jeez, it’s like they are brainwashed cattle.

The man turns and dips his hand deep into the oversized bowl, swirling around the papers until he plucks one. The crowd goes eerily silent, waiting.

“The first nominee from Command Sector is…Sierra Foster.”

The silent crowd parts when my eyes snag on bright crimson hair bobbing through the masses towards the dais.

She confidently stomps up the few steps and juts her hand out to shake the man’s outstretched limb.

She turns to face the crowd with a blank expression and waits for the second name to be announced.

My eyes roam over my competition. I take in her straight, fiery red hair that flows down the entirety of her back.

Her eyes look as if gold rings have been shoved inside them, trapped for eternity.

Her warm skin is speckled with a field of freckles like the ones that dust my cheeks and nose, and she wears zero emotion on her face.

Her body is warm, but the scowl she wears is anything but.

I tuck the information about my opponent safely in my brain for later and focus my attention back on the councilman. He doesn’t pay Sierra another glance as he dips his hand back into the bowl. They really are stone cold in this sector.

“Our second and final nominee from Command Sector for this year’s Reaper Crucible is…” The councilman pauses for dramatic effect, gaining everyone’s unwavering attention. I can feel my heart beating out of my chest in anticipation, and this isn’t even my sector.

It feels like an eternity passes before the councilman clears his throat and announces hesitantly, “Aeron Gavis.”

The crowd gasps, sharing shocked faces, which I find odd.

Aeron must be widely known in this sector, which isn’t a good sign to have in a competitor.

It’s common knowledge that the last couple rounds of the Crucible are heavily influenced by both Fallout and Lunaria to gain advantages.

If he already has reach within his sector, that is terrible news for me.

It isn’t hard to spot Aeron making his way through the stunned crowd towards the dais. I have to crane my neck to catch his tall, bulky frame towering over most he walks by. The crowd erupts in whispered gossip.

“I can’t believe he entered himself,” one woman whispers to her friend. “Do you think Councilman Gavis knew he entered?” another man says to my left.

That sentence has me snapping my head back toward the councilman as it all clicks. Taking in his deathly pale face, one would assume he, in fact, did not know his son entered himself in a very deadly game to win magic. Things just got a whole lot trickier.

Shit.

My heart sputters as I turn my full attention back to the barbarian of a man walking up the steps of the dais towards his father .

He has to be at least a couple inches taller than Theo, with the same golden skin.

His shaggy, dirty blond hair bounces as he swaggers up the stairs, almost reaching his shoulders in length.

He grips his father’s hand in a firm, almost authoritative handshake, then turns, dismissing his father without saying a single word so he can work the crowd.