Sarah Snakearm's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

Sarah followed Kevintor up the inner steps and only then looked down at herself. Purple sports bra. Black bands. Sweat dried into the tattoos on her ribs. She had walked through the most famous gate on the mountain dressed to break someone's arm. She had wanted to walk through it dressed for him. The throwing star had been her gift. Her clothes were the wrong sentence. The inner hall opened in front of her and stopped her at the door. The center of the room was a long pool, clean blue, the water flat as glass. White tile edged it. Steps cut into both ends. No weapons on the walls. No trophy belts. A folded towel on a bench. This was where he lived when no one was watching, and it was quiet. Kevintor sat on the bench and unbuckled a shinguard. He did not look at her bands. He looked at her face. "Sit," he said. "Or swim. Your choice." Sarah did not sit. She crossed to the bench, pulled the folded cloth from beside the towel, and shook it out. It was a sundress, white, cut low, red flowers running down the drape and a long slit up one side. Someone had left it for a guest. She did not ask who. She stepped behind the screen at the wall and changed. She tied her bands around her wrist like a bracelet and walked back out barefoot. The dress moved when she moved. The tattoos still showed at her chest and her thigh. She had not stopped being a fighter. She had stopped pretending that was all she came for. "I came up here in the wrong clothes," she said. "I fixed it." Kevintor looked at her for a long moment. Then he stood, walked to the edge of the pool, and sat down with his feet in the water. He patted the tile beside him. "You came up here in fighting clothes because you fight," he said. "You changed because you wanted me to see the rest. I saw it at the gate. Sit down." Sarah sat. Her shoulder touched his. He did not move away. Outside, past the open screen, the gold dragon statue at the front of the castle threw its long shadow across the yard, telling every challenger at the wall who lived inside. In here, the champion was a man with wet feet, sitting next to her. He poured tea from a pot on the tile. He handed her a cup. "One hour," he said. "Then I have somewhere to be." It was not a date. It was not nothing. Sarah took the cup. She had wanted the gate. She had the hour. She drank.