Page 5 of Starside

I cut them clean off. The Starside steel goes right through skin and bone. The blade glimmers even more than usual, as if savoring the blood. His heavy sword falls to the ground, fingers still curled around it. The man screams. A few people gasp.

Seventh cry.

When I raise my blade toward the crowd again, no one moves. Even the king’s guards look hesitant to face me, now that they’ve seen my metal best theirs. They each only get one sword. Without it, they’re dead.

My chest rises and falls wildly as I take a step back, inching myself toward the platform. Maybe I’ll actually make it. I finally turn to jump.

And a man who looks like he was sired by the towering Dagger Mountains themselves blocks my path.

Shit.

Pagnus Ender, from House Ender, known for their magnificent size, rumored to have gods in their blood lines, takes a step toward me, and the very ground seems to tremble. I catch my horrified expression in his gleaming bronze armor, the top of my head not even reaching his stomach, his blade nearly the size of my body.

His house has eight heirs, and half are expected to make the quest this time. I see them now, positioned at the other corners of the platform, each sporting their house’s metal. Already culling the potential recruits, alongside the guards, which aren’t even trying to cut them down, likely from orders from the king, who has partnerships with all the Great Houses.

Of course, he’s the one person standing between me and the platform. Of fucking course.

I take a deep breath. Steady myself. Take the stance I’ve fallen into as easily as sleep for years. Prepare for a blow that might be my last.

But Pagnus Ender just looks down at me and smirks. He steps to the side.

Something worse than fear sinks through my chest.

He doesn’t even think me worthy of his killing blow. He doesn’t think I have a chance at surviving the Culling.

Pride and anger battle behind my ribs, but I shove them down and opt for gratitude. I will do anything to make it onto that platform, through the Culling, and through those gates.

I step past him. I’m almost onto the glimmering stone.

That’s when Pagnus seems to change his mind. Maybe he’s decided he wants to claim my dagger. In a flash, I’m blinded by sun reflected off bronze, his sword arcing right toward my head.

He might be bigger, but I’m quicker, especially without armor. I roll out of the way, and then my blade is through his shin, my superior metal going right through his, reaching bone, and he roars. The rest of the Enders turn our way, allowing a crop of other competitors to make it through unharmed, including a girl with a whisp of red hair. Cheers erupt across the crowd.

Pagnus turns, eyes wide and gleaming with fury, his blade coming back around. I haven’t injured him enough. Too late. I drag my dagger from his leg and throw myself through the air. Time stands still as I soar, waiting to feel his metal through my skin. The sun seems to wink at me, blocking my vision. My muscles clench as I brace myself.

My spine hits the hot stone. It burns through my shirt, but I barely register the heat; my every sense narrowed to the blade still hurtling toward my face. It isn’t Starside steel, bronze is the lesser of even the mortal high metals, but with Pagnus’s strength, it might as well be. There’s no time to move. All I can do is stare at the sword that’s about to cut right through my skull.

I’m on the stone. I’m on the stone. Any pride melts into panic as the bronze doesn’t slow in the slightest. We’re supposed to be safe here, under the king’s protection.

Pagnus is in full view of the Watchman. He’ll be disqualified. Or maybe he won’t.

Maybe the same rules don’t apply to him. Maybe he knows it. The fear of that bleeds through my chest as I brace myself for the death that already seems promised.

His blade stops just an inch from my face.

He snarls like a beast and says, “I’ll see you in the Culling.”

Then he steps up next to me on the platform.

Eighth scream.

Three minutes. I made it with three minutes to spare.

My ears ring. My heart batters my ribs. All I want to do is take a fucking breath, but I crawl away as fast as I can, knees nearly buckling as I finally get to my feet. I bolt to the center, next to the girl with red hair that nearly camouflages the copious amount of blood spurting from her skull.

She turns to me and smiles. I must look horrified, because she just shrugs. “I’m fine. Lovely eyes, by the way. Reminds me of home.” She extends her hand. “Kira, from Brambleside.”

It’s a town at the westernmost tip of Stormside, along the sea. As far as I know, there isn’t any magic left there. At least we still have the dregs of what once was, in the east. The farther west you go, the less you find.