Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“A simple slice in the palm of your gloves will allow you to absorb a portion of the sun’s energy without overexposing yourself to its corrupting effects.
You’ll want to angle the blade like this, though, so you don’t nick your skin,” Kalden explains, brandishing his finger like a blade that slices along his palm.
“As long as you keep the cut small enough, the modicum of light emitting from your hand should be easy enough to hide from your comrades.”
The slight tension in my shoulders abates, knowing I’ll be able to disguise my treachery from Gem and the others. “How will I be able to tell if the exposure is too much? Will I feel it if I start losing my humanity?”
“It’s more about how much you draw from the sun’s power than exposure alone.
You should feel a pleasant warmth wherever the sunlight kisses your skin.
And as you harness that energy, you may feel a subtle increase in your internal temperature, but nothing that passes the point of minor discomfort.
If that heat becomes scorching to the point of being agonizing, you’ll want to stop channeling and seek shade immediately.
” Seeing me swallow, Kalden adds, “It’s highly unlikely you’ll get anywhere near that point, especially if you stick to short bursts of solar flares. ”
“How do I do that?”
He maneuvers himself behind me, hovering an arm around my neck without making contact.
“You won’t have the speed or agility to escape your opponent, but you will have the element of surprise.
They won’t expect you to wield the sun. So, the moment you’re in their grasp, do whatever you can to get your hands on them. ”
“Does it matter where?” I ask.
“No. All you need is for the sliver of exposed skin on your palm to come into direct contact with them. Once you do, you’ll release the energy.”
“What does that mean?” I grab onto the sleeve of his borrowed tunic. His arm twitches at my touch, despite the layer of cotton separating my fingers from his skin.
Kalden’s voice is a breath in my ear. “That buzz you felt before was radiation bonding with your body’s natural magnetic field. If you channel that energy out of your palms, you’ll create a solar flare that will incapacitate your opponents.”
My fingers slacken on his arm. “Will it kill them?”
The thought doesn’t sit well, which is ridiculous.
These are the monsters that left my ancestors on the brink of extinction—the monsters that have slaughtered generations of Huntresses, and which threaten to be my own undoing.
And yet the thought of ending a life, even a life void of humanity, brings bile to my tongue.
Kalden pulls back. “It depends on the strength of the flare and how strong their own magnetic barrier is, but death is unlikely. I’d say it’s better to assume it will leave your opponent immobilized for at least a few minutes, but perhaps a few hours at most.”
We run through several more maneuvers, mixing in a few standard combat sequences to dissuade wandering eyes from getting curious.
“What if the Sol prevents me from using my hands?” I ask while sprawled on the floor, Kalden hovering above me on his forearms. “So far, the positions we’ve practiced have made it easy enough to place my palms against my opponent. But what happens if I can’t?”
Shifting his weight onto his left arm, Kalden wraps his right hand around both of my wrists, locking them into place above my head.
Again, I’m struck by his scalding touch. Though he limits his contact to my wrists as he keeps the rest of his body supported several inches above mine with his opposite arm, I can feel the burn of it everywhere.
“You mean like this?” he asks in a tone so low my back arches, straining to hear him.
I’m certainly not arching my back for any other reason.
His pupils narrow in on my parted lips, stealing the air that escapes between them the longer his gaze lingers. The arm supporting the weight of his body begins to bend as he lowers himself closer, fingers tightening their hold on my wrists.
My spine lifts higher off the floor as I wait for the space between us to be eliminated by a single inhale. And when the breath comes a moment later and our bodies finally touch, a tremor rocks through me, breaking the spell.
Kalden rolls onto his side and rises to his feet, but not before grimacing down at me, effectively dousing my building warmth in a bucket of chilled water. “If they get your hands in a lock, you’re dead.”
I stay there, pressing my eyes shut and wishing the floor would devour me whole.
When I finally blink, Gem’s standing over me with her black brows lifted so high, they nearly disappear beneath her bandage. “I thought you’d written off your plans of seduction.”
I push myself into a sitting position, gaze darting over to Kalden, who’s rejoined the others to run through a forward roll maneuver.
His hands briefly wrap around Meridna’s back leg, guiding it into a position better suited to push her forward into the roll.
A rosy hue blossoms across her waxen cheeks, mirroring my own flushed face.
My focus returns to Gem. “If anyone’s the seducer, it’s him.”
“Is he making you uncomfortable?” she asks, all humor disappearing from her darkening tone.
“Not like that. I mean, he’s an ass and has little faith in my survival abilities, but at least he’s trying to help. And he barely touched me, even when we were sparring. But when he did, it felt . . .” I search for an adequate word to describe his engrossing touch, yet come up short.
“Clammy?” Gem’s nose pinches.
I chuckle. “No. He is warm, but not in a sticky or sweaty way.”
Her scowl doesn’t soften. “I think if T were here, she’d say something about ovulation raising your basal body temperature.”
“Maybe,” I say, though I suspect there’s more to it than hormones.
As we rejoin the group, Kalden tells Gem to sit this one out to avoid splitting a stitch.
So, we study the women’s forms, critiquing the angle of Faron’s bent knee and admiring how well the willowy brunette beside her—whose name I’ve learned is Demi—lands on the balls of her feet.
Despite what we’ve all gone through tonight and the weight of what lies ahead, they run through the drills repeatedly without complaint.
A shared fervor has been set alight in all ten pairs of eyes, a refusal to accept our fate without a fight.
Each of us has been taught it’s better to stay in the shadows than be burned by the sun. But now that the shadows are rejecting us, what if we become the ones that burn?
The Hunt was intended to make us an example, not a threat.
Maybe this is the year that changes.
A pot of steaming black beans with diced red onions and a garnish of cilantro is placed next to a silver platter of baked potatoes.
If it weren’t for the two servers and three camera operators stationed around the dining chamber of our temporary living quarters, keen on capturing one of our last meals before our impending departure, I’d jump from my chair to secure a slice of the fluffy cornbread before it’s gone.
My knee bounces as I restrain myself to avoid playing into the feeder rat stereotype.
Judging by the sideways glances the other women cast over their shoulders, I’m not alone in that hesitation.
Gem and Kalden, however, don’t seem to share that qualm.
The metal legs of Gem’s chair squeak against the granite floor as she snatches two slices of the sweet yellow bread and drops one onto my plate, not having to ask whether I’d like a piece.
Kalden goes straight for a potato, ladling the black beans into the steaming split.
A melody of metal against ceramic fills the silence as the rest of us take that as our cue to help ourselves.
I ladle the black bean soup into my split potato and scoop a generous portion onto my spoon.
My eyelids flutter shut the moment the flavor melts onto my tongue.
The creamy inside of the potato blends quite well with the soup, but the cornbread is the true masterpiece of the meal, with its perfect balance of savory and sweet. Crumbly, but not too dry.
Though Taurance often praises my skill at turning our scraps into pleasant meals, there isn’t enough seasoning in this city to fully mask the bitterness of food on the cusp of expiring. Nothing in our cabin has ever compared to fresh ingredients reserved for Tier One cuisine.
When I reach for second helpings, I spot Kalden making an intense face of displeasure at his plate. The deep frown is at odds with his usual stoic nature, so I can’t help but pry. “Something wrong with your food?”
His features neutralize as he glances up. “It’s edible.”
I laugh. “Edible? Are we eating the same thing?”
Kalden squirms. Legitimately squirms.
“Is there a spider in your soup or something?” I ask, because I’m not sure what else would have this stone-faced man so unsettled.
Twilynn, who’s on Kalden’s left, flinches away on instinct. And Yvonne, the woman with waist-length braids on his right, scoots to the opposite side of her chair.
Kalden shakes his head. “There’s no spider. I guess I prefer the food from back home.”
“Where are you from?” The question comes from the other end of the brown marble banquet table, where the youngest of the selected is seated. Irina, maybe? No, I’m fairly sure it started with an A. Anira or Arima, perhaps?
“The north,” he answers before taking a measured bite of the food he clearly doesn’t enjoy.
“Scuros?!” Maybe-Arianna squeals. “That’s where my fiancé is!”
“Your what?” Gem asks, nearly gagging on a mouthful of cornbread.
The girl blushes, and the color is a near match for the red-berry liquid in her glass. “Well, my future fiancé. We haven’t met yet, but he’s left hints in his letters that he’s planning our engagement.”