Halo (Blood and Fire Series (A Young Adult Dystopian Series)) (10 page)

My body tenses and I pull in a sharp breath. “You know what it is?”

“Oh, I know what it is. And I know you really mustn’t have wanted it on you anymore to have torn it off.”

If I had any energy, I might have told him that it wasn’t my choice. Every part of my body hurts, though, and talking about how my halo came to be ripped from me will only serve to make my heart hurt, too. I don’t go to sleep; I just lie there on my side listening to the boy and the dog shift quietly. As I grow drowsy, an impulsive part of me forces me to ask, “What’s your name?”

I think he’s fallen asleep for a moment, but then he says, “Ryka. My name is Ryka.”
 

“Huh.” Ryka feels too short. He is so close to my age and he’s wearing a knife belt. Seems to me he should be a Falin of some Household, and a rich one by the looks of his blades. But he’s clearly not. I chew on my thumbnail, wondering where he’s come from and whether he’s grown up his whole life without a halo.

“You feel like telling me who
you
are?” he asks, his voice low.

I try to figure out if I even know the answer to that myself. “I don’t really have a name.”

“What? But…you must be called something. How do people usually address you?”

“They don’t.”

Ryka sighs, loud enough to make Jada whine. “You’re being difficult.”

“I
―
ugh—” I hold my hands up to my face and flex them out. My knuckles are caked with dried-on blood and swollen, which is no doubt why it hurts so much to move them. “I am Falin Kitsch.”

“Wow. Clinical. I’m not calling you that.”

“Okay.”

“
Okay?
Come on, you have to think of something shorter. I’m not referring to you as
hey, you
all day tomorrow.”

I squint up into the sky where one of the stars, a distant silver pinprick, looks to be moving ever so slowly across the bruised blue of the heavens. “Kit, then," I say. “I guess you can call me Kit.”

CHOKEHOLD

I wake up to find Ryka pouring water over the burning embers of the fire and Jada licking furiously at an empty wooden bowl. Her tongue makes wet tearing noises as she goes to work. My clothes feel damp and cold, and my bones ache almost as much as yesterday. Almost.

I’m trying to work out how I’m supposed to retract my previous statement
―
the one about not wanting to go with Ryka
―
whilst retaining my dignity, when I see it. The satchel. The one Penny gave me. It sits on the ground next to a more rugged-looking black bag, which was definitely designed for hiking and running. My heart does a small summersault when I realise Cai’s holostick is probably still in the water flask.

“That’s mine,” I say, pointing at the satchel. My first words of the day are broken, my voice cracking from disuse. Ryka looks at me sharply.

“I don’t know about that.”

“It is. I lost it when I was in the river.”

“Exactly. You lost it. I found it.”

 
My face reddens as I scramble to my feet, suddenly very, very awake. “Give it to me.”

Ryka laughs, flashing white, straight teeth. “I don’t think so. That’s not how things work out here.”

“I don’t care how things work
out here
. I want my bag back.”

“Why? What’s so important? Are you partial to sodden bread and water-logged cheese?”

My urge to scream is incredibly strong, and I have to fix my jaw to stop myself. “I just want the water flask.”

Jada looks up from her bowl and studies Ryka and me with inquisitive eyes. It’s like she can sense that I’m about to lose my temper and fly at him.

“Just the water flask?” he asks. There’s a small smile ticking at his mouth.

“
Yes.
”

Ryka makes a show of slowly stooping down and collecting up the satchel. The leather is still soaking wet, and water drips from it when he picks it up. The small black water flask is the very first thing he pulls out. “You mean this?”

“Yes. Give it to me.” I lunge forward and try and snatch it from him, but he’s quick, just like I thought he would be. He twists his body around so I can’t reach the flask and a wicked smile breaks out across his face. He opens it without taking his eyes off me, and pulls out the tiny piece of metal and plastic. For a moment I’m so relieved that it wasn’t damaged in the water that I feel like I’m choking. Ryka pops the lid back onto the water flask and then holds it out to me. The holostick remains gripped firmly in his other hand.

“Here you are. One water flask.”

This is just too much. I may have only just woken up, and my body may be stiffer than it ever has been before, but I somehow find it in me to dive for my knife belt and snag one of my daggers. Perhaps he wasn’t expecting this, because Ryka’s smile wavers a little before he slips the holostick into his pocket and plucks out one of his own knives. A narrow stiletto blade, four inches long and beautifully sharp. A puncturing blade. It shines like molten silver.

“I guess it’s time we got this out of the way,” he tells me.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re a girl walking around with a knife belt like it belongs to you. Some people might consider that asking for trouble.”

“It
does
belong to me. And I’m not asking for trouble. I’m asking for
what belongs to me
,” I snap. I drop down so that my centre of gravity is lower and flick my dagger over in my hand so the spine presses flat against my forearm.

“C’mon,
Kit
. Who did you steal them from?”

“I didn’t steal anything. These daggers were given to me by the Sanctuary municipality in recognition of my fiftieth match win. They gave me some throwing blades in recognition of my hundredth but I lost them in the river.”

Ryka grins, dropping into a wide guard stance I’m not familiar with. He holds his knife like it’s an extension of his body, a part of him. “I almost believed you before, but now I know you’re lying. Even those heartless bastards in Lockdown wouldn’t put a girl in the arena. And fifty wins? Should have said five. That would have been unbelievable enough.”

I growl at him, tightening my grip around the dagger handle. If he doesn’t believe me then that’s his problem. But I’m getting that holostick back, one way or another. He’s too busy grinning at me to see what I’m doing with my feet. I angle my back leg so that it’s turned at a forty five degree angle to my body
―
a good, solid position to ground me. It only takes a slight lunge and I’m right up close. I keep my back foot planted and kick swiftly upwards with my front leg, feeling the energy twist from the floor through my body, travelling out when I make contact with the heel of his palm. His arm flies back and he lets go of his stiletto, which arcs upwards into the air before pivoting gracefully and falling point down. The knife strikes vertically and buries itself an inch in the dirt between us. Closer to me than him. I bend at the waist, never taking my eyes off him, and I snatch it up, sliding it into one of the free loops on my belt.

“I take it this is how things work out here, Ryka? You lost something. I found it. That makes it mine, right?”

Ryka’s face is very different to how it was a minute ago. His liquid brown eyes are wide and round, and his smile seems to have vanished altogether. He must have thought I would start slashing wildly just because I had sharpened steel in my hand. But why dirty my equipment when my feet are just as good a weapon as anything else?

“You’d better give me back that knife,” he tells me.

I curl my lips in a way that I think mirrors his smug smile from before. It feels good, and I can almost understand why he was doing it. “I don’t think so.”

A muscle jumps at Ryka’s jaw, and he runs his hand back through the bright blond hair that’s fallen loose from his ponytail. When he sweeps it out of his face, I catch a glimpse of the markings on his forearm again, a stack of evenly spaced black lines disappearing up underneath his shirtsleeve.

“Don’t get cocky,” he says. “Just because you surprised me doesn’t mean you’re a knife fighter. Now give it back.”

“Give me back the holostick.”

Ryka shoves his thumbs through the loops on his knife belt. I guess everyone that wears one everywhere in the world must do it. “No.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Well, you’re not likely to get this pretty piece of silver back then, are you?” I trace my thumb over the warm hilt of the knife, watching Ryka flinch as I do.

His shoulders tense, and even though his eyes are locked on mine I know what’s coming. When he leaps forward, a double-edged dagger of his own suddenly in his hands, I have already dodged to the side. There’s a cold fury to the way he snakes after me, like he’s angry I was prepared for him. He strikes out with his dagger and I duck low, hearing the metal whistle through the air. I drop and roll backwards, righting myself into a crouch. I balance with a hand lightly resting on the dirt and the other one held out, point first. A warning. Baring my teeth. If he comes any closer, I’ll strike.

Ryka blows out a frustrated breath and steps an inch closer, daring me. I explode up from the ground, but clearly not how he expects me to.
 
I lean my body weight on my right side, my strong side, making him think that’s where I’ll be moving. A small glimmer of a smile flashes over his face when he jumps to the left, thinking he’s outsmarted me. But that’s where I meet him. My body slams into his and we fall backwards, landing on Ryka’s bag and the satchel.

His boots kick up clouds of acrid dust from the charred remains of the fire. He shoves me roughly with his free hand, pushing me away. I can tell he’s not using all his strength with me, though. That’s a mistake. He’s quick, sure, but I’m quick, too. If he considered me a real threat even for a second, he would be using his strength against me. In the arena it would be the only thing between winning and dying a brutal death. His lack of conviction that I’m half the fighter I say I am makes me see red, and I decide to teach him a lesson. I whip my body around while he’s still scrabbling to get up, and I hook my legs around his neck.

Before he can react, or slip out of the hold, or even
blink
, I tighten my thighs and squeeze. I’ve killed someone like this before. Admittedly the crowd was displeased
―
you are technically supposed to overcome your opponent with your knives
―
but there are no set rules. And like I said, when it’s a matter of life and death, winning or losing, you should always use your strengths to overcome your opponent.

Ryka knows he’s in trouble. He reaches up and tries prising my legs free from his throat but it’s too late for that. I could probably sit back and relax until he passes out, but I don’t. I’m still polluted with this ridiculous anger, so I lean forward and nick his forearm instead
―
just a small cut, but it has a purpose. It tells him that I’m in the position of power right now, and if I wanted to, I could easily do a lot worse. When I unravel my legs from around him, Ryka pulls in a wheezing gasp and rolls away from me, clutching at his throat.

“What the hell?”

I get up, feeling pretty pleased with myself. He looks like he wants to murder me. Maybe I let my guard down because I think he is still recovering, or maybe it’s that Ryka’s quicker than I thought, but I barely have time to ready my dagger before I’m back on the floor and he’s on top of me. We’re both gasping for breath, and Ryka’s holding his dagger to my throat. There’s a flash in his eyes that I’ve seen a hundred times before in the arena
―
that look people get when they think they’ve already won. Confidence. Or maybe it’s just relief. Anyway, like all of those other people who wore that look before him, it’s a false sense of victory. His expression changes when he realises I have my dagger pressed against his windpipe, too.

His eyes harden and grow a little darker. “Are you going to give me back my knife?” he hisses.

“Are you going to give me back the holostick?”

A stubborn look sets over him. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest. He must be able to feel mine as well. His eyes flicker momentarily to my halo, which has worked free from under my shirt and fallen back to rest on the hand he has pressed against my neck.

“No. You can’t have it.”

“Fine,” I spit. “Then get off me.” The fact that he’s touching my halo, or that my halo is touching him, really, makes my cheeks flame.

Ryka pulls back and sinks onto his heels, scooting away from me as quickly as he can. “I’m not sure you
should
come with me today,” he sulks.

I sit up, still holding out the knife in case he thinks he can rush me again. “Actually, I’ve thought about that and I’ve decided it’s a fantastic idea.”

A small, hard laugh works free from his chest, and Jada barks. “Fat lot of good you are,” he tells her. The dog comes up to me and licks my hand. Maybe she isn’t a traitor, after all. Ryka regards her with poorly concealed disgust, which only increases when he looks at me. “If you’re coming with me, you’re going to want to change your ideas about being some sort of knife-fighting queen. In fact, you’re going to want to re-think carrying knives in general.”