Fugitive of Death

3

 I was given no time to process what had just happened before I was dragged away to a large tent while the other cadets shouted behind me.

Other cadets.

Holy Divines, I was a cadet in the Lysidorian Army. And I had just pissed off every single soldier in the kingdom by winning on a technicality. I may as well have worn a sign that said please kill me, I'm weak!

I was in so much shit.

The flaps of the tent pulled open and I was essentially tossed onto the floor. Sharp pain radiated from my ribs where Gavril had stepped on me, causing each nervous breath to hurt. My head still pounding, I stared up at the handful of officers scowling down at me, none more furious than Captain Yaseer himself.

"Did my father send you to test me?"

"W-what?" I managed.

"Did King Kostas send you to spy on me and make sure I have everything under control?"

"You're insane." I sat up in an attempt to stand but he quickly unsheathed his sword and placed the tip of it under my chin.

"Answer me."

"No," I spat, "I came here on my own accord. I want to help defend Lysidora."

Xander stared down at me, his sword unwavering. "And you fully expected to qualify today, Bitty?"

I rolled my eyes. "Obviously not. But it was worth a try. I didn't anticipate my sparring partner dying either."

He could have been saved too. For all of Lysidora's military prowess, they clearly had no concept of chest compression. That, or they chose not to save him. On second thought, the latter seemed more likely. Brutal savages.

After a tense moment of silence, Xander sheathed his sword and began pacing. I managed to get a better look at my surroundings.

A large table sat in the center of the room covered with numerous maps. Each map was marked with names and places, outlining the locations and numbers of the Lysidorian Army. What my father wouldn't do to have his hands on these maps.

I could have made an incredible spy if my father had ever considered me as anything other than fragile.

None of the other officers said a word. I spotted Eutriza near the doorway, worry written all over her face. I knew she was certainly regretting her decision to give me a chance.

After what felt like eons, Xander stopped pacing and braced his hands against the table. "The rules were simple: win two out of three matches against your opponent." His eyes slid to me. "According to Phrixos, she won the first round, and Gavril won the second."

I knew where he was going—Lysidorians loved rules. Everything had to be done exactly by the book. Which meant a win, even on a technicality, would still count.

"As much as it pains me to say this," Xander said, shaking his head, "her opponent was defeated in the third round. Bitty won."

"Bibi," I grumbled.

The shoulders of every soldier in the room sagged in defeat before their eyes turned venomous.

"Worry not," Xander said, addressing them. "I have little faith in her ability to survive training. Three months is a long time. And even on the off chance that she does, Death will never let you see combat."

I opened my mouth to talk back but my words ran dry. The captain was mostly right—the likelihood of surviving the next three months was small enough without the target now painted on my back. I was beginning to regret my decision to push the envelope today.