Page 62 of The Ballad of a Bard

Sixty On e

A s soon as the bell rang, signalling the start of the match, she began. It wasn’t hard to immediately locate the man’s weak points, especially as the new intensity of her powers sang them out to her. It pointed to them with a cerise highlight that she couldn’t ignore. There was no time limit here, not this time. Crimson jerked her right blade up to meet his sword, swivelling her wrist around his until he grunted and fell back to recenter himself.

The gate behind that shuddered closed with a force that vibrated the earth, separating them from any of the other fighters that waited for their turn underneath the stage.

She prowled around the circular arena as her boots sank in the sand. He charged like an angry bull, provoked to do their absolute worst. Her knife spun around in her palm, hilt towards the ceiling of the domed chamber as she sprang forward, meeting his attack.

The onlookers drank cheap mead, snacked on salted nuts as the serving girls went around each balcony and offered everything up, aprons flashing in her peripherals as she tried to concentrate on the fight. Her opponent barreled for her, as if he planned to knock her into the wall and break her back with a single move.

Her foot found the border and pushed up, allowing a small boost of air to get under her as she jumped, managing to grab ahold of his shoulders with a sheer stroke of luck. He swung in confusion as she dodged the fluid attempts of his sword to knock her off, to win. Crimson grabbed a fistful of dirty blond hair and yanked it upward, a yell gargling out of his meaty throat. Her gloves were thick but not enough so that she couldn’t make out his racing pulse.

He bucked and she yelped as she tumbled off, hitting the sand hard. The impact sent shocks flying through her, her arm screaming in pain. She grimaced, grabbed her shoulder and massaged it quickly before hopping back to her feet and spinning around in search of her competitor. He’d gotten behind her, raised sword above his head as she ducked in time.

The tip nearly punctured her spine as she darted left.

Cheers in the form of her name rose up and she spared a quick glance in desperate hopes to see a pair of starry eyes somewhere amongst them all. She knew she wouldn’t find him, and yet she still looked.

Instead, she found Altivar in the top row, lifting a chalice of what she assumed to be wine at her. She could just make out his grin as he brought the rim to his mouth and drank deeply before setting it aside. He rested in a massive chair that could only have meant to resemble a throne, far richer and more lavish than his mother’s simple one. A girl sat on the right side, a male perched in his lap haphazardly as his other hand gripped the lean waist.

Crimson returned her focus before it got her killed, stepping aside as the man attacked. His arm slammed into her face and the taste of blood filled her mouth. She stumbled back, trying to find his wrist in the blurring haze of her dizzy spell. Then she almost cursed herself because she didn’t require the pressure points anymore to access another’s emotions. She didn’t even need to find their eyes and lock their sight with hers in order to find them.

She was a Saint, and she was better than this.

She pulled down her cowl, her lungs heaving and spit the bloodied glob off to the side before showing a coy smirk to the flabbergasted man who took in her lithe cheekbones, the feminine grace she knew he saw there, the long lashes.

“But- but you’re a woman!” He sputtered, searching for something in the haze of the excitement. He lowered his weapon, which was a massive mistake.

It was exactly the in that she required.

“I’m a Saint, actually.” She informed him and dug deep into the well of power that begged to be used. Scarlet crept into her vision, the mark on her chest heated and she shot for him like a fast comet in the heavens as it streaked by.

Her magic was a ballad as it wove in between his veins, seeking and searching for the center of him, the thing that made him beat. It charged into him and he fumbled back as he must have felt it. She clenched her knuckles, pulling it even tighter as it found his core.

Within her mind, she saw the functions of his form clearly. She swam in the crimson of his veins like it was the pond by their apartment and ran up his bones like they were alleyways to be explored. She trailed up his chest, winding around his ribcage like a bird on the summer wind until she came to his pulsating muscle and paused there to study it for a second. It was beautiful, in the way that gorey things often were, perfectly macabre and beautifully alive .

Crimson sank her claws into it, like a wild carnivore and struck. She made it as fast as possible, her body angling down as her blade pierced his abdomen, right where anyone would for the kill. The man cried out and tried to shove her off, tried to remove the smoked steel but to no avail. It wasn’t the tip of her dagger that would be his undoing, but the power that she oozed.

Her fingers tingled and she yanked her blade out as blood spurted, trickling all over his chest and into the sand as he slapped a palm over it in a vain attempt to staunch it. Crimson inhaled deeply, trying to replace the air in her lungs as she ripped off her gloves, one by one. They fell aside and a bolt of surprise charged through her as garnet began to creep up each digit like gloves of red.

Not blood, because she wasn’t able to wipe it or smear it away. But a stain of another kind. Another Saint mark. As if using her unlocked powers for the first time triggered it, marked her as successful. But there wasn’t enough time to study them all, to rip her arms out of her leather coat and see just how far they went.

She found her gloves once more, settling them back in place before turning towards the Prince with a suggestive glint in her eyes that she knew he saw.

One down, one more to go for tonight.

Crimson ignored the claps and hollars from the men, the cursing from those who lost and the ones who threw things at her. Her back was soaked in sweat and her leathers would need a wipe down before tomorrow night. Altivar gracefully lifted himself from his throne, setting the pretty male aside and coming to the edge of the top mezzanine.

“Again.” Was all he said in that regal tone that sounded like liquid honey before he dipped his head in acknowledgement to her and returned to his chair, swiping the courtesan back onto his lap and whispering something in his ear .

Zion didn’t come back out to the arena, didn’t stand in the middle and announce another round. More rose petals fluttered from the sky, however, as the serving girls tossed them out. She caught sight of Renfri who poured a drink on the Silver balcony before disappearing behind some tall patrons. No young boys came out to sweep the field clear before allowing another round, nothing. Because this was different than any of the previous times she’d entered the ring of her own volition.

She had the daring idea to pull her cowl off, to let her hood fall and see what came of it. Would Grimm refuse to let her fight in any more of the nights? Would Altivar kill her right then and there? Would either of them make her continue with the bloodbath? It could go anywhere, which wasn’t answer enough for her to try.

Crimson angled herself to get a better view of the gate as it swung up, sinking into the designated slot in the ceiling as her next competitor entered the ring from the shadowed alcove. She recognized him from the waiting room, one that often fought and won against others but she’d never personally gone up against him.

Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

“Let’s get this over with.” He snarled in her direction and she lifted a brow as if to say- what are you waiting for?

It only egged him on.

He was larger than the last one, not only in height but muscle mass as well. He left skid marks along the amber sand as he approached her without so much as a care in the world. His grin was predatory and one that didn’t bother her as she’d seen hundreds of men make the same smile.

They were dead now.

Crimson harvested her energy and twisted her knives in preparation for her last fight for the evening. Then, the room dropped in temperature, in light, in everything but shadows as something entered the Pits.

No, not something.

Someone.

Her anxious heart lurched as she immediately recognized his presence but there was no time to scan all three of the rows for him as her opponent struck. He sent his curled fist into her stomach, her knees buckling at the sheer force he sent into it. She skidded back a couple inches but didn’t let it deter her as she lifted her daggers and blocked an oncoming blow from his oval shield. The rounded point slammed into the X she created and she hefted her weight into it to hold her stance.

It worked and she applied even more pressure for just a second in order to avoid the weary toll it would take for any more. He was pushed back and growled, baring his teeth at her. She might have done the same had the cowl not covered the bottom portion of her face.

Crimson felt the flicker of the candles around them, begging herself not to look, not to get distracted while she was in the middle of a competition. It wasn’t like it was her life on the line, because unless his short sword was made from Saints-made metal, nothing could kill her. Not truly. She remembered the fight that West engaged in with Grimm, how he’d appeared dead as he’d run him through- only for his name to continue to appear days after.

And even Altivar promised that she’d fight him at the end of the week, which meant that it wasn’t truly death, but a period where a Saint was gone. She wondered where they went during it but sent her concentration back to the task at hand before he could spill her blood.

The man bore a scar over his right eye, one that made the once stunning blue according to his left one, turn a hideous milky white. Crimson reached out with her powers once again, diving into his person and lurking about like a sea monster that the legends swore remained in the sea. She was nearly there, nearly located the center of his being to repeat her previous move with her last opponent when he grabbed the rim of her hood and yanked it down.

Since there was no pin to hold it in place, nothing to keep it back, her braid whipped free, her cowl coming with it.

As he revealed Red Lyric to the audience.