“What are you going to do today?” she asked Leo.
Silence was his answer.
“Leo?” She peeked her head about from behind the screen, but he was already gone.
After binding her chest, she finished dressing. Grabbing a sharp dagger, Tressa prepared herself for the final part of her preparation. She pulled her ponytail over her shoulder. Bit by bit she sawed it off.
Her hair fell onto a cloth she’d placed on the table. There couldn’t be one strand left to identify her. As far as Ira would know, she’d run off with Leo.
She set down the dagger and purposefully avoided looking at the warped mirror on the wall. She didn’t want to see herself. Tressa wrapped up the towel and tied the edges together. Holding it upside down, she gave it a shake. No hair fell out. Perfect. She stuffed it in the bottom of her pack. She’d discard it later in the forest. If she survived the day.
She looked again at Leo’s bed. Trying not to be disappointed he’d left without saying goodbye, Tressa tossed her pillow on his bed. It was something they’d done every morning since taking the room together. Leo was all about illusion and trickery. He’d known Ira would snoop. When he found their pillows together, their story was confirmed. Every so often Leo would pluck strands of Tressa’s hair and scatter them on the bed. It only took a few details to make the illusion complete.
Her pack sat on the table, waiting for her to fill it with the few belongings she had. A dress. A brush. A few scraps of food she’d stolen from Ira last night. Enough to get her through the fight. After that, she’d be on her own. Leo had shown her a hollowed out tree just outside the village. The hole was hidden by thick branches. He’d been using it on and off for years and never been discovered. That was where she’d hide her bag until she could pick it up again.
After she killed Stacia.
Just before she’d make her way back to Bastian.
Her stomach flipped. Bastian. Would he ever forgive her for leaving him behind? She hoped he would. Bringing Connor’s killer to justice would go a long way toward earning that forgiveness. Tressa took a final look around the room that had been her home for the last month. She was leaving nothing behind. Never returning. No regrets.
She fingered the note Leo left for Ira. It was short and sweet.
Ira,
I’m in love with your barmaid, Sophia. We’re off to be married. We’ll be in touch with you.
Your brother,
Leo
After hiding the pack in Leo’s secret spot, Tressa took a deep breath. Her shoulders pulled back. Her tightly bound chest puffed up. She took on the swagger and confidence of a young man about to conquer everyone for a place in the Black Guard.
During the walk to the arena in the middle of the city hidden among the trees, Tressa tried not to engage anyone. Her mind was focused solely on the upcoming battle. Sword strapped to her hip. Shoulders flexible. Legs stretched and ready to dance with the other men. Heart prepared to kill.
Crowds milled around the arena, ready to watch the battle. Women wore armbands with their favorite contender’s sigil. Pennants on the end of branches waved from the stands. Tressa didn’t have any colors to bear. No family to represent. Leo had told her it wasn’t uncommon. Peasants frequently entered the competition to improve their lot in life. Many died in the attempt. The winners usually bore the sigil of the wolf or lion, two families who trained their boys from birth to join the Black Guard. It gained them favor with the queen and elevated their status in society. They were almost impossible to defeat.
Tressa’s strategy was to avoid them and fight the others like her. If she could beat them and make it to the end, she might be among the twelve chosen for the Black Guard. Leo hadn’t only taught her to fight. He’d given her the strategies he’d implemented to join the Black Guard. His use of illusion and deception would be her saving grace. All she needed to do was stay alive.
Men waited in a long line leading up to the arena. Each was given a number, painted on their cheek in woad. Leo explained to her that the blue dye lasted longer than the red of madder and the yellow of weld. Based on the line, Tressa guessed her number would have two symbols to it. Granna had taught her to read text, but not numbers. To her, they were meaningless symbols. Still, she would wear hers with pride.
As the morning sun rose, the crowds grew thicker and louder. The line shortened and soon it was Tressa’s turn.
A woman grabbed her arm, pulling her close. “You’re a young one, aren’t you?”
Tressa nodded. She’d vowed to talk as little as possible, for fear her voice would give her away.
The wet dye tickled as the woman drew on Tressa’s cheek with her finger. “If you make it out alive, come see me afterward. I work at the White Swan. I’m giving away free, ten-minute sessions to competitors. Just a little perk for trying your best and surviving.”