Composing myself, I smoothed the front of my dress down and made my way to the Soldier Scribes standing near one of the side exits. Stumbling drunkenly I threw myself at them exclaiming, “Oh goodness! Ex-excuse me sirs.”
I then fell neatly to the side of one of the guards. Dropping his pen, he reached out to prevent me from hitting the ground. Catching me by the arms, I let me head tumble against his chest. My bust heaving, I looked up at him and exclaimed breathlessly, “My hero!”
“Milady,” he began uncertainly, “perhaps one of us might escort you back to the party?”
“Irritating,” I whispered to myself.
He cared for his duty more than for the alluring woman in his arms. Sighing, I slid my pen back into my hand and started to stand before stumbling towards the other guard. As he moved to catch me, I swung my pen up and buried the nib in his the artery in his neck. Ripping it free in a swift motion, I covered the other guard’s mouth and drove my pen’s metal point into his neck.
Smirking at the dying guard I said, “You’re not worth my Words.”
Then I glanced around at the mess I’d created. The spray of the guard’s blood had utterly drenched my dress. Blood ran down my illusory skin, leaving only my hair free of the macabre display. The two guards lay in an expanding pool of blood that was far enough from the floor not to attract immediate attention but close enough that I couldn’t rely upon the party to cover us for long. Eventually a pair of drunken fops looking for a secluded place to celebrate would round the corner and discover the sanguine cobblestones. I considered my options for a moment. Then, dipping my pen into the guard’s lifeblood, I began to Write.
In a minute, the two guards stood once more, mechanically scrubbing the floor. The illusion that covered their wounds and reanimated the dead bodies would last long enough for me to get my revenge of Rach. It was sloppy, fast, work but it was strong enough to fool drunken revelers. Soon as the Scribes found them and saw the Skin Writing, however, they’d activate a manhunt that would involve the Royal Writers. Those I couldn’t evade for long. I was now working against a clock.
“Good,” I said with a smile, “I’m used to that.”
Slipping out the door and onto the lawn once more, I snuck out towards the pavilion where Rach had dueled the Penmanship Guild’s representatives. The guards out here were all looking outwards, aiming to keep the common rabble out of the party. Fortunately, that meant they were largely uninterested in surveilling the grounds.
As I stalked forward, Rach’s voice floated through the silent night. “You highness, I find myself overcome at the sight of your beauty.”
Grinding my teeth, I started forward intent on exacting my revenge. A female voice stopped me cold, however. “What are you doing?”
I turned. It was the woman from the Penmanship Guild. Cursing myself, I realized I should have expected her presence. She’d doubtless bear the duty of packing up the display after the man left to receive medical attention. Without his help, it’d take longer. Which would be why she was here, alone, just behind the pavilion and the stage where the princess and Rach were ensconced with one another.
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As I considered my options, she asked again, pulling out her brush as she spoke, “I said, what are you doing?”
“Walking the gardens,” I lied, hoping she would let it go.
“You’re covered in blood,” she struck a ready pose, her hand poised to Write. “I’ll ask you again,” her voice was determined, implacable, as she said, “What are you doing?”
“Walk away,” I warned her.
She glanced back, towards the princess and Rach. Then she turned forward and planted herself before asking, “You’re here to hurt the princess.”
“No.”
“Liar.”
Hissing I turned toward her and raged, “She humiliated you! All so the vapid little hussy could impress that monster Rach. Now you defend her?”
“She’s the princess,” the woman replied simply.
I didn’t say anything. We both knew the time for speaking was over. It was time to Write. In a single motion, I stabbed my hand and splattered the blood across the grass. I dipped down and began to carve furrows into the dirt. The crimson splatters on the grass twisted as I Wrote and a barrier snapped into place around the both of us.
I tore at the ground and liberally mixed my blood with the dirt as I continued to work. Across from me, the Guild’s woman threw her opening strike. A blade of water leapt off the page and flew towards my head. An instant later my wall of reddish dirt rose between us. The water blade splashed harmlessly against the earthen wall. Then the wall sprouted spikes and raced towards her.
Her eyes widening, the woman frantically Wrote a cocoon of water to protect her. “To slow,” I murmured as the spikes penetrated the water and snapped shut.
The sodden earth then crumbled away leaving the woman covered in mud and blood. The spikes had perforated her body. I knew the wounds were fatal soon as I spotted one of the spikes embedded in her lung. Gasping for air, her feeble hand grasped about for her brush. I walked to her and stepped on it, snapping it with an audible crack. Resignation surfaced in her eyes and her hand stopped searching. A moment later she died.
I leaned over her body and said, “To slow. To much time focusing on pretty penmanship and not enough on the Writing itself.” Then my voice softened as I recalled her display during the contest. “But you were close.”
After leaning down and closing her eyes I stood up and erased the silencing barrier. Then I started walking towards Rach and my revenge. Whispering, I said, “Tonight. Tonight Rach, you will pay.”
Fortified, I paused at the edge of the stage. Over the sounds of the evening, I could hear the happy couple discussing.
“My Lord Rach, wouldn’t you agree that practice is the foundation of success?”
“Indeed, your highness, I would.”
“Then perhaps practice is in order for our dance?”
“You highness, it is beyond kind of you to extend such an offer! Rumors of your considerate nature were hardly unfounded.”
“My Lord Rach! You are too kind.”
“I fear I am not kind enough. For while your peerless personage doubtless requires no such practice, I myself might practice for an eternity and still find myself lacking next to you.”
“Is that a yes, my Lord?”
“Indeed, your highness. Such practice will doubtless assuage the degree to which my inadequacy hobbles you for our first dance. As such I am at your disposal princess.”
I wanted to vomit. “Soon,” I hissed as I cut into my skin one more time.
Then I began to Write once more. I started with a barrier and a slew of illusions. They would obscure what I intended to do, and muffle the screams. Then I began to gird myself in layer upon layer of protections. By the time I started up the stairs, my dress was visibly dripping with power. It sagged under the weight of the Words threaded into the fabric and the blood I’d smeared on to finish the Writing.
Anticipation mounting I strode up the stairs to the stage. The princess noticed me first, stopping her clumsy waltz with a sudden motion. Then Rach turned around to face me and the world fell away.