Aureate Fates

9

    AT YOUR SIDE, DANGEROUSLY

                                   —MARISOL—

Her body was in flames.

Her muscles ached from the shots she had received in the arena, but she clutched five gold ribbons—which made her pain worth something, at least.

She was alone in what closely resembled a forest. The leaves did not ruffle with a slight wind like in a real forest. It was vacant of critters, only housing the people that created it.

Nyall was out doing his own patrol in pursuit for more golden ribbons—particularly, Captain Erik Orvar's. She offered to accompany him, but he quieted her enthusiasm.

I'll be fine, he had told her.

She knew that it must have been sheer male initiative, so she did not bother following him. She also knew that Reese would have never left her, whether he had a vengeance or not. It was his version of gallantry.

Nyall knew that she was capable, though. It was why she felt the need to flock towards him. He allowed her a sense of independence when her world so eagerly begged to strip it from her.

A woman, she was. A Girl, a Lady, a Miss.

"You have been abandoned," a haughty voice announced. She whirled around and was met with an unrelenting stare of grey. Cold, unforgiving stone. 

Heartbeat. She felt a terrible twinge in her chest when she did not feel his heartbeat, when she could not detect how fast it bled. She realized she hadn't even tried to feel for his heartbeat the other times she had been close enough to do so. Too scared to.

"It seems as if you have also been abandoned, Captain," Marisol spoke, only loosely holding her pistole, knowing that her real weapon did not come in the form of paint.

Erik Orvar held a smaller version of the mechanism she had, he did not need both hands to hold it. She noticed that the weapon was utterly clean and polished, almost as if he hadn't even used it. The logic didn't fit, not when his lean arms were decorated in black ribbons.

Tokens from the enemy. He had to have spilled some paint. With alarm, she noticed he had not one spot of paint on his black uniform.

No one, it seemed, was skilled, nor brave enough to aim at Erik Orvar.

Erik flickered his gaze quickly over her form, still keeping a distance between them. Calculated; an assessment of strengths and possible weaknesses.

"I was never one for partners," Erik relayed, stalking closer to her and eyeing the five golden ribbons clutched in her hand. He quit his scanning, and rose his gaze to hers. "They make excellent liabilities, and I'd prefer not to have any."

She silently tucked the golden ribbons into one of her pockets, and began to rile up her magic. To prepare it.

Talk, talk. I need time, she thought.

They began to circle each other, her feet crunching over the twigs and leaves beneath her. His steps, however, were silent. A demon.

"Your band of assassins is a team, is it not? Do you not consider them partners, Captain?" Marisol asked, not necessarily caring for her words, not when his gaze promised victory. Over her.

Erik chuckled a dark, humorless sound. "Those idiots don't know the first thing about camaraderie," he said, then briefly scanned the vacant area around her. "It seems as if your gentleman has much in common with my band of assassins."