Page 76 of Madness Becomes Her

“I think maybe tomorrow…”

“No. The time of the Great Slaying approaches, and you must be ready. You’ve trained with the wooden blades long enough. You’ve mastered my obstacle course and outwitted me over ten times in hand-to-hand combat. You’re ready.”

That I’ve done all those things in the last two weeks is astounding, but I all but forget it when I look at the size of the Vorpal Blade.

“It’s nearly as tall as I am!” I squeak.

“I’m four times your size, yet you fell me whenever we go toe-to-toe.”

“Sheer luck,” I argue.

“It’s not lucky to fight a giant, and it’s not lucky to win. It’s skill.”

“So, you are a giant.”

Cirius rolls his eyes at my stalling, stalking toward me in two strides before stabbing the Vorptal Blade into the earth near my feet.

I jolt at the action, my breath hitching.

“Remove the blade, Eleanor of Earth. Take destiny by the hand.”

I laugh at the absurdity of his words, but Cirius is… well, serious, for lack of a better term.

Shaking the tension out of my shoulders, I wrap my hands around the hilt of the massive sword, bending at the knees for leverage. Cirius buried the blade’s tip deeply into the ground, giving me my first task: release it.

It takes four tries, but I finally tug the blade free and swing it through the air before me, testingly.

“How does it feel?”

I toss the sword as Cirius taught me, capturing it and zipping it back and forth through the air to test the balance. “Perfectly balanced. It’s a lot lighter than I thought it would be.”

“Because you’re a lot stronger than before.” His chin juts up with pride at his job well done.

I grin. “I am. Because of you.”

“It was nothing. I did my job.”

“You did more than required of you.” The White Queen’s voice sounds from behind Cirius, and he steps out of the way, bowing as deeply as possible for his size.

“At ease,” she says.

Cirius falls into his usual resting position with his hands behind his back and his feet perfectly squared off with his shoulders—a soldier’s stance.

“You are ready,” the queen says, walking closer. In her hands, is something made of leather. It’s rolled up and obscured so I can’t make out what it is, but she spots where my attention’s fallen and unravels it.

“This belongs to you. It always has. You should never wear it.”

Her erratic way of speaking in front of her guards returns, leaving me wishing Cirius were elsewhere, so she’d speak plainly.

“What is it?” I ask as she steps behind me and fastens the apparatus around my waist.

“It’s for your blade.”

Lifting the Vorpal Blade, I sheath it inside the leather holster. “It fits perfectly.”

“It does. It was made for the blade.”

“I still don’t feel ready,” I admit to her, and Cirius rolls his eyes from the sidelines, compelled to remain silent by the queen’s presence.