A Dome of Stars and Rain

A Beard's Bubbles

"You're going easy on me." Cain whispers in my ear with a sly smirk.

"Argh!" I thrust my sword out across my chest, meeting his in the middle and shoving him back. I surge forward with the blade's movement, lunging forward and striking for his shoulder.

He meets my jab with a grunt, blocking and stepping backward. I'd tease him over the locks dripping in sweat as they curl towards his brows if I didn't feel the beads of exertion trickling down my own neck.

I pulled my hair into a sleek high bun this morning, grateful for the relief from my hair's weight in the summer heat. The humid fog pressing on the air outside is filtering down into the bunker's chill, radiating off the sweating bodies as students lunge and twirl with their sparring partners.

Dogwood's been relentless on us for the last three hours, barking voice cutting through the sounds of metal meeting metal, grunts and thumps, reminding us of his presence and forcing us to press on.

An hour with Cain, and I'm no closer to gaining the advantage. I've kept a stubborn tally of wins in my head, and I can see in his grin that he knows.

I've started to wonder if the universe truly hates me.

There was one day Amah rescued me from training, enveloping me in her kitchen of delectables and warm smells wafting from the oven, insisting to Dogwood that she required my "nimble fingers" to prepare her famous Bellums.

Said one day, of course, was when Dogwood demanded that everyone choose a permanent sparring partner. And of course, guess who asked to be mine?

I stare into Cain's taunting gaze as we circle each other, waiting to strike. I've tried every weakness I can think of, failing to uncover his. And it's been hours.

"I haven't found your weak spot either."

I let him talk, grateful for the respite, letting my arms droop and posture slacken as we slowly circle each other.

"Your footwork is flawless, upper body strength improving every day and strikes never tiring. You keep your body guarded and are irritatingly fast. So I'm at a loss. But so are you."

He adds the last sentence with a provoking grin. I'm trying very hard not to lose my temper and lunge wildly against every muscle's complaint.

"I know what your nervous tick is though." I spit out, readjusting my grip on my weapon and blowing a loose strand of hair out of my eyes with a huff. Cain's eyes trail the loose lock down to my jaw before snapping back to my glare.

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"You bite your lip." I answer nonchalantly, as he runs his tongue over the darkened and gnawed part of his lower lip I had noticed. I try not to stare.

He gives his head a quick shake, turning his attention back to me.

"And I know yours. You tap your thumb against your other fingers in different patterns." I suppress the urge to look down at my hands, which suddenly itch to drum nervously. He gives a satisfied grin at my expression.

"Just because you know when I'm nervous doesn't mean you know how to get your damn sword anywhere near me."

"Maybe not," he replies thoughtfully "but I wonder if I can innerve you enough to finally falter. Tell me, Amaia," stupid thrills run down my spine at the sound of my name in his drawl. "Why Artemis makes you so very anxious."

I don't think, stepping wide and swinging towards his abdomen in a sudden rush. He knocks my sword back easily.

"She doesn't." I manage to grind out despite the emotions crawling at my throat, begging to escape. "Artemis cares for me just like everyone else and I-I trust her."