Fyra (First Draft)

Three

Fyra woke with an ear-splitting headache. Her temples throbbed. She pinched her arm to make sure she was awake. Too often her dreams leaked into reality until she could no longer tell the difference. It was the horrors of the past, pain of the present, and dread of the future that leeched the strength from her bones. When she slept, she saw the prince's eyes, blue like daggers of ice, reach into her soul and pull out the truth. She scented the metallic tang of blood as she was wrenched from her mothers stiff arms. She felt her heart shatter into shards of glass again and again at the thought of Athan. She could hear her own strangled cries as she was dragged through her own memories.

Death and destruction had been all her so called "gift" had brought upon the world. Everyone she cared about was gone. Dead and gone.

After the prince found out that she was a thief, Fyra thought that he would send her to the chopping block right away, and she wasn't afraid of her own death. She almost embraced it.

But a day of sitting in the chamber waiting for the announcement that she would be publicly hung, a worm of doubt grew in her mind. What if the King wanted to keep her alive? To torture her. To use her. She shook her head and lay down in the bed. She drifted to sleep, but sleeping no longer held any escape.

Athan watched as the thief slipped out of an alleyway and into a house on the street. The petite figure wore the garments she had most likely stolen from some nobleman or another. So this was the bothersome thief that had been nicking food and clothes from the townspeople. She was swathed in black, and the clothes were loose. She looked young judging from her size. He wondered if she was even a she.

Fyra slipped down the stairs. The house was empty, but its occupants would be home any minute. She was in a cellar. Her stomach growled. She hadn't eaten in days, because last time she had tried to take a little food from this town, she was seen. She desperately needed food. She had wanted to stop stealing, but at this rate she would starve. She wanted to get a job, but the only job that may be open her was serving ale in a taproom or inn, and she wasn't going to be harassed by drunks every day for a few coppers.

She filled her small bag with food. It would be enough to last until she could move on to a new town. Fyra hadn't been able to leave the town she was in now because she had no food, and would die on the five mile journey south. She was taking a huge risk visiting such a large town so close to the castle, where guards lurked at every turn. In Bluedale, thieves and street urchins would not be tolerated. It was the "utopian city" of a cruel kingdom. The punishment for thievery was death. If you lost your home, you were tossed out of the curl walls to die or travel a new town.

Athan breathed. He was about to trap the a criminal, a thief, in his cellar. When he was sure the thief had crept down there, he sneaked into his house, and stifled a snicker. Sneaking into his own house. How comical. He slinked over to the cellar door, and cursed in his head as he realized he was coming back upstairs to leave the cellar. What had he taken that had taken mere minutes? It wasn't anything valuable. Anything valuable in the cellar was hidden well and would have been harder to find. He had to admit the thief was quiet. But the wooden stairs creaked slightly under any weight. He supposed the thief's size made him stealthy. He pulled out his dagger.

Something isn't right, Fyra thought as she climbed the stairs. They creaked ever so slightly. She scowled. It wouldn't have been audible from inside the house unless a person was listening at the door. When she made it to the top, her stomach sinked with dread. There was something wrong.

Fear seized her heart as she heard a dagger slip from a sleeve that was not her own.

Athan swung the doors open. The thief swore colorfully when she saw him and his dagger. She jumped back down the stairs, and her dark hood fell. He gaped in surprise. The thief was a girl. Though painstakingly thin and dirty, she was beautiful. Her hair was a mane of wildfire, and her eyes seemed to glow green. She looked afraid.

Fyra was terrified. What was she going to do? This young boy was obviously around her age, and she didn't want anyone to be hurt. They stared at each other in silence. She threw her bag and knife at her feet and raised her arms in surrender. He nodded, acknowledging her surrender.

"Who are you?" She asked him abruptly. "Do you live here? I've only seen that old man around here. I came when I knew he wouldn't be here." She looked up at him, the guilt and fear potent in her eyes. Those bright eyes welled up with tears. "I didn't want anyone to be hurt" she whispered, staring up at him. "I was here a night ago and I didn't take anything, I was nearly caught, but I lost my necklace..."

He held up a gold pendant on a chain that he had found only days earlier, speechless. She grabbed it and muttered her thanks. It seemed to have sentimental value. She didn't look dangerous. She wasn't even fighting him. He could see why she needed food, she looked as if she hadn't eaten for days. She smiled and wiped away her tears.

Fyra looked up at the boy and asked, "What is your name?"

"Athan." He said quietly. He looked like he wanted to say more, but couldn't articulate the words.

"I'm Fyra," She told him. "People say I am nothing more than a thief, but I don't let what other people think define me. They may say I'm just criminal, and I can't deny that I steal, but only when I need to. I'll starve to death if I don't take a little food. And I have never hurt anyone. Those people who accuse me know nothing of hardship." Her eyes dared him to challenge her. Her young eyes had a certain intelligent steel, and he started to think she was telling the truth. He blinked uncertainly. She had sounded like she was telling the truth, and his heart was telling him that she was. But his mind said that it was a manipulative trick.

Then he remembered how she had dropped her knife on the floor in surrender, and how her bag was full of only what would keep her alive, not full or comfortable in the least. So he sighed and decided to take a chance. "Do you have a place to stay?" He hesitated. "Because uncle never comes down here, and...I won't tell." She looked up at him and smiled. She hadn't smiled in so long.

Fyra sat up, and tried to forget her dream about when she had met Athan. Only later had he told her what he had thought that night. How he saw her. She had been so stupid. She'd been in that town too long, and it had cause his death and her capture. Now she was stuck with this mess.

Leave it to herself too trusting, too open. And now it would most likely get her killed. She couldn't believe that she told that gods damned prat about herself. Now he'd probably blab to his tyrannical father of his and she'd be on the end of the noose by dawn. It would serve her right.