Valka
The screams are deafening, the arena yawning farther than eyes can see, the air crazy with excitement and aggressive cheering with every new arrival. The contenders, my competition, raise their hands above their heads, waving with dazzling smiles, the sigil of their houses stitched to their fur cloaks.
Soraya Vaelthorn steps into the center next and the noise rises like an ocean, roars from the common-folk. Her black and silver body suit stretched tight over her skin, the sigil of a silver moth glittering over her left breast. Crescent shaped daggers are strapped at every point of contact on her person and you would think she came here to hunt prey.
One blown kiss and the commonfolk practically salivate at the sight of her, shrieking. The wager stands go off as the bookkeepers try to collect the coins being shoved in their faces.
"She's popular, I guess," I mutter as Margot straps the last piece of dagger into a hidden my thigh. "House Vaelthorn wields shadows?"
