"Your blood it's..." The girl Lexa was play fighting with froze as blood trickled out of Lexas nose.
"It's fine, it's just a bloody nose. Let's keep going" Lexa held her wooden sword up higher, ignoring the pain in her nose. In truth it did hurt, and it did make her eyes sting, but Lexa was going to be a warrior, so she had to be tough.
"Black..." The girl finished her sentence and Lexa shrugged. "It's just... the light. You know only the commanders' bloodline have black blood."
Lexa knew she was a Nightblood. Her parents knew she was a Nightblood as well, but they hid it from others. Her Mother and Father had wanted Lexa to have a normal life, and that was before her Father had been killed in battle (which, ultimately, made her Mother impossibly more protective). Her Mother worried, and Lexa never wanted to see the heartbreak of losing a loved one on her Mother's face ever again. She would avenge her Father's death in time... but for now, she had to train.
"Natbleeda. You are a Natbleeda." The girl dropped her sword and shook her head. "Do they know? Do they know that you should be in Polis?"
Lexa lowered her sword, trying to hide the panic she felt. "No, Costia, they don't. Don't tell anyone, okay? My Mother, she... the conclave would break her."
Costia nodded. "I won't, but others might notice. I don't know how long you can hide it, especially if you plan on being a warrior."
-FOUR-YEARS-LATER-
Lexa was woken by a pounding at the door. She bolted upright in her bed and grabbed her fathers old dagger without a second thought.
"Mother? Who is it?"
"We are here for Leksa Kom Trikru. Where is she?"
Lexa didn't respond, and a louder voice sounded.
"WHERE IS THE NATBLEEDA? TELL US. NOW."
Lexa heard muffled sobs coming from the entrance. She walked toward the door and hid her knife in the side of her pants. "I'm here."
"Come here." One man drew a knife as Lexa's mother's sobs got louder.
Lexa did as she was told and moved forward, sending her mother a reassuring look. She was terrified, and wanted her mother to believe it would be okay.
"Give me your hand." Lexa followed the instruction, holding the man's gaze as he sliced into her palm. Black blood oozed out of the wound and the man nodded, slipping his blade back into its sheath.
"This child belongs in Polis. She must train for the next conclave." Lexa''s mother was in hysterics; she had been hoping that nobody would find out about Lexa's condition, her curse.
The guards each took an arm and lead Lexa out of the house. Her mother followed. Lexa could not see what happened behind her, but one of her arms was now free, the guard's hand removed from her shoulder. She looked back just in time to see a blade being quickly swept across her mother's throat, red blood turning the dirt road to mud. Lexa did not scream, nor did she cry. She knew she couldn't show weakness. Instead, she held her head high, masked her pain, and tried not to vomit. Her mother had just been murdered in front of her, and she would never forget that. She would never forget seeing her mother in a pool of her own blood, her blank, dead eyes staring back at her. Never.