COBALT: The Sovereign's Stratagem (Book Two)

Chapter 5: Cursimian Roulette (Part 2/5)

#Alive

Anybody watch that movie? It was fun.

Anyways, all I've got is finals left, so lets gets this plot rolling!

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          Today was the day.

          He'd told himself that two games ago. 

          Carcinos was high, a mirage dancing on shingles outside Káel's window to let him know that soon he'd be a mini toaster oven walking to the arena in his black combat suit. Just making it to the game would be a personal feat at this point, he hadn't even come close to living up to Sora's pep talk. Most of his team probably still thought he'd cheated to make it in, and the fact that he'd played once or twice, and scored maybe five shots in total was selling the theory.

          "Ready?" Truvius said, hand on the door with a bundle of silver ribbons and fabric over his shoulder. He'd petitioned Puff to be the silver house mascot, and the sheer amount of dragon hair he'd signed up for by volunteering to keep the Puff from jumping into the game had put him into a perpetual state of runny noses and sneezes.

          "As I'll ever be," Káel sighed, 

          They cracked the door, pushing back a small cluster of limp feathers that had been resting at its foot. Truvius groaned at the dead bird, and Káel sighed. Someone with a sicker sense of humour had been planting them outside his door at least twice a week. The last one was a little green salamander, and a few days before that a brown snake the size of his shoelace. 

          They both just assumed the culprit was one person, because despite the array of forest creatures left dead at various times of the day, one thing remained constant.

          None of them ever had heads.

          Truvius ushered Puff from sniffing at the body, pulling a cloth from his pocket to scoop it up and wrap it. "We should stick up an ice trap."

          "Another student may step on it," Stella cut in. "However, I am not opposed to bringing this to someone's attention."

          "Everyone's too busy," Káel grumbled, feeling Cursimian tighten a little to share his sentiments. If he ever found the culprit, he wouldn't even try to stop Cursimian from tearing them to ribbons. 

          But his plate was too stacked for side investigations and snooping. Clubs kept him on his feet until Carcinos was down, and then the night was where he hit the books or his bed, depending on how hard Lightwood's training had gone.

          The Council had done their job. He didn't have a second to waste visiting Soren or nosing through other forms of trouble. Let alone breath for an hour.

          Truvius was his tutor wherever they walked, and he'd gotten through a good portion of Camp Gorigol for their upcomming history quiz before he saw the arena crowning a patch of ancient trees. It always made him feel appropriately small. His spot in the grand scheme of school-life was a fancy fly buzzing around a sea of talent.

          In the sea there seemed to be a few higher heads, Ariabella defending herself from the starlight with a auburn hat wide enough to give Skyfell some shade. They were rarely in a conversation when they were around eachother, which oftentimes forced them to stare at Káel whenever he passed instead. They had their own special ways to show judgement without meaning it, Ariabella was trained to leak it with the twitch of her lip, and Skyfell obviously had something against teenagers that he couldn't quite cover up.