A Touch Of Darkness

39 || Fayre

Fiesi was certain he reached peak humiliation when he begged a Cormé girl to tip water down his throat. But the universe seems to delight in shoving him lower.

He crouches lower into the shadows of the alley, partly in a vain attempt to avoid notice and partly to help work the grey trousers up to his waist. Somehow, they're both overly long and too tight. The coarse material rides up his ankles. If his father saw him like this, he doubts the Kynig name would be his for much longer.

Gritting his teeth, he shoves his feet back into his boots, tossing a glance at the end of the alley. It's just as it was the last twenty times he looked: a vertical wall, complete with straw-patched overhang, impossible to scale. Trying to climb it would only result in more humiliation. Besides, even if he could somehow get onto the rooftops, where would he go? If he went after Nathan, Sarielle would find him. If he ran in the other direction, he might as well ink the word 'failure' onto his forehead.

Then again, failure is better than a Cormé decapitating him, or sticking her sword into his chest and watching as he bleeds out.

At least the early morning hour means no-one saw Sarielle drag him into the outskirts of the bridge town, exchange his chains for a ragged bundle of clothes from the bottom of her bag, and trap him in this alley before he could try anything. He just hopes she didn't look over at the point he was stark naked. That at least means he can preserve some fragment of dignity.

Fight her, Rigel snaps. By now, his tone has lost any element of its usual chirp. It strikes him like a sharp peck to the skull, enough to make him flinch.

With a sigh, Fiesi pulls the shirt over his head. Fight the girl who almost killed me. Excellent idea.

Catch her off guard. Disarm her. If birds can growl, that must be the sound that reverberates through Fiesi's mind. Stop allowing her control.

His gaze strays in the other direction, where Sarielle's white-clad figure paces across the street's opening. Her sword swings wide arcs with every step. She's smart enough to expect him to try something. He might be able to disarm her from a distance, but he needs to get close to her in order to have any effect. If the Oscensi soldiers are anything like Neyaibet, she'll know how to fight without a weapon.

He's capable of bringing her down, but it's a risk. The thought of that risk turning against him spikes chillingly in his side, the phantom of her blade spearing beneath his ribs.

I can't, he sends Rigel's way, although it's pointless. The bird has already retracted, the flame's thread reeled in. His absence settles a distant ache in Fiesi's chest.

Leaning against the wall, he closes his eyes for a second. The opportunity will present itself eventually. She has to let her guard down at some point. As soon as they've rescued Nathan, all he has to do is wait for the perfect moment.

He winces. He doesn't need Rigel's intrusion to remind him that the perfect moment has already occurred.

"I told you to come as soon as you were done."

Fiesi nearly jumps out of his skin. He stumbles back from the blade jabbed at his chest, holding out his hands. Sarielle rattles the chains looped around her other hand.

"I was just getting a moment of peace," he grumbles. Her sword jerks, and he hurriedly thrusts his hands out, offering a silent farewell to his wrists. They and the back of his hands have already been pinched in a thousand different places, marked in raw red lines. He sucks in a sharp breath when the cool metal presses into his skin. She's winding it around, shoving his palms together, before he even has a chance to consider protesting.