Tainted

Chapter One

Someone screams from within the prison and I turn to look, my dark braid flicking my shoulder as I do.

"Helloooo," Binks says. She stands with one hand on her blue-furred hip, her longsword dangling from her opposite fingers. She pants from the heat, her pink tongue flicking between small, sharp teeth.

I wipe my own brow with the back of my hand, the skin coming away slick with sweat. It's beastly hot, the sun radiating off the pocked limestone walls of the training ring.

"Sorry," I mumble, bringing my thoughts back to the match. "Lost my train of thought."

Binks huffs, and from the tilt in her tufted ears I know she's actually upset.

"Not all of us have patrons with deep pockets to pay for our training. Some of us get one shot a month," Binks gripes. She settles back into her fighting stance, the sword held out in front of her.

I touch my tongue to my teeth, stopping myself before correcting her grip. She hates when I do that.

"Well so-orry. I'll make sure next time I'm kidnapped and imprisoned for three years I'll look miserable enough that only the cheapest patron will want me." I flex my thighs and lean back on my heels, raising my short dagger to waist height in preparation to spar.

Binks watches me, those vertical pupils I still haven't gotten used to staring at me out of her yellow eyes. There aren't many Chattan left south of the ice fields. The king started spreading rumors they were children of monsters, so the Chattan who could get out before prosecution fled north.

"They'll still want you over me," Binks mumbles bitterly.

My eyes flick to the word painted against my left forearm. I may be human, but with the word on my arm, I'm nobody's first choice of friend.

"You're not holding your sword right," I say, the words coming out more barbed than I'd meant.

Binks's eyes flash. "What do you mean I'm not holding my sword right?"

The other Ill-Fated around us with patron-paid sparring time snicker. They're waiting for me to incite an infamous Binks Brawl. She has the wickedest temper out of anyone I've ever met.

"You're gripping the hilt too close to the pommel. You have no control. You have to hold it so that it's balanced and it can act like an extension of your arm," I say.

Binks pins me to the pebble-coated ground with those unsettling eyes and slowly shifts her grip so that she's holding the sword in a more balanced position. It looks more comfortable in her hand, but I know she'll never admit that to me.

"Shall we?" she asks, affecting a noble drawl.

I nod. I step forward against the limestone floor and thrust my dagger up in a deceptively half-hearted stab. Binks easily deflects it, a yawn growing in her small mouth.

I keep the smile from my lips as I watch her right hand fall, leaving her torso exposed from clavicle to hip, and jab out with my left hand, the twin dagger stopping just before puncturing Binks's chest.

Binks stares at my blade, then stares at me. She lets go of her thin sword and it clatters against the stone floor.

"How. Could. You. Mira?" she rasps, one blue-furred hand reaching up to clutch her heart.

I roll my eyes and squint against the sun as Binks crumples to her knees, her tail flicking wildly behind her. Waiting, I sheath my twin blades in the knife belt around my waist, giving Binks ample time to carry out her charade.

It's a show she's done before.

All around us Ill-Fated are sparring in the crumbling training ring. These sponsored session are the only chances we'll have to practice our fighting skills before the warden pits us against one another in the arena. Most of the time the duels aren't to the death—they're to show off our particular sets of skills "gifted" to us by the Goddess. But sometimes the warden declares Death Duels, especially around Moon Days, and then it's kill or be killed, with no showing any mercy.