Four Suits (Book 1)

Day 40-3: Solitaire

DAY 40-3: SOLITAIRE

   Leda can't breathe.

She can lucidly feel the throbbing behind her eyes, the unvoiced screams vibrating in her throat and the uneasy thumps of her heart in her chest. Her rapid breathing is nulled in her ears, but she can sense the oxygen flooding in and out of her lungs. And as soon as that first tear broke free, the rest follow in an unbroken stream.

Paola spins, stumbling slightly over her tall heeled boots. She wraps her fingers around the scabbard at her waist, the thumb of her opposite hand lifting the sword out by the cross-guard. Her eyelids are still low enough to close, but the intensity in her heart-shaped pupils still manage to glint within the darkness.

In just an instant, Paola disappears, dashing forward with the speed of a tiger. Orian secures a hold around Leda's shoulders, somersaulting in the opposite direction.

Leda's shoulder hits the cobblestone wall first and she has to fight a gasp. But Paola has already changed course. Leaping into the air with enough force to crack the marble, she grips the hilt of her sword, thrusting downwards as she falls at an incredible speed.

Orian weaves right, and grasping a scrapped metal bar laying around, parries it.

The metal clashes against her sword with a shriek that sends sparks into the air. Orian has ended up on his back, Paola on her feet above. Both are pushing with equal force, but Orian is at a clear disadvantage.

Unlike back on the ship, Paola's face is unreadable. No strain, no invitational smirk. The Queen on the lower floor is now their primary threat.

"If you hold the slightest affection for your Queen, you will die in the most brutal way you can." She slurs as she speaks, but her sword's connection with his bludgeon doesn't waver. Orian grits his teeth, his arms shaking the more Paola surges forward. But she is utterly calm. As if this is easy for her. "Do you want your limbs amputated or would you rather have me yank out your tongue?"

"Neither sounds appealing," Orian grunts out.

Paola's eyebrows furrow. Then all at once, as if realization hits her, fury seizes her features. "YOU'RE THE SPADE FROM THAT SHIP!"

The shriek comes like a bullhorn to Orian's sensitive ears. His fingers slip from the metal. It leaves his hand in a split second and his neck jerks to the right in time for the blade pass a hair's breadth from his face. Then, before Paola can dare respond with a follow-up, he plants his hands over his head. He swings his knees to his chest then kicks his heels straight into her abdomen. It knocks a decent wind out of Paola. Though, before Orian can successfully land, her hand snakes around his foot.

Her arm over her stomach, she heaves hard, her features flickering to one of wrath. She digs her nails into his skin with enough force to rip it, but before she can dare do so, Orian twists his body. He swings his free leg with all the strength he can muster towards her head.

Paola forehead grazes his foot but in the moment she faltered, Orian has regained his mobility. He stumbles towards the curtains but manages to catch his balance in time—on all fours.

Out of breath, blood pumping; mind a disarray. He doesn't waste a single moment. Darting towards the opposite end of the room, he scoops a startled Leda into his arms.

   Paola reaches into her boot and surfaces her wand. She sends a gaunt of ammunition loud enough to distort the entire room but Orian has already performed a black-flip, straight through a portal in the ground he's summoned.

Before the fog even has a chance to clear, Paola lets out an untimely growl. "You little—" She catapults from the ground, slicing through the cobblestone wall with her sword—departing from the palace that way. "You're not getting away from me that easily!?"