Fugitive of Death

10

 Following my morning training session, I sat in the ration tent with a bowl of soggy oats, mulling over my newfound partnership with the Captain. I should have been grateful, or at the very least relieved to have someone higher ranked treating me with something akin to respect. Yet I couldn't shake my skepticism.

An insane part of me offered up the notion that Xander had discovered my identity.

As I stared aimlessly over breakfast, part of me questioned the legitimacy of that thought. Had the prince of Lysidora deduced who I was? And if so, what were his true intentions?

What if Dad wasn't crazy for thinking that the Lysidorian crown was after a marriage alliance that would grant them the keys to our nation?

I was so wrapped in thought I hadn't noticed Markos sliding onto the bench across from me, an unexpected pep in his step.

I regarded him with a frown. "Missed you at training this morning."

"I hadn't realized my presence meant so much to you," he said, placing his hand over his heart. "I'm touched, Bibi. Truly."

I wrinkled my nose, shoving a spoonful of food into my mouth to cover the pink that undoubtedly stained my cheeks. "Don't flatter yourself. You'll regret skipping out during tomorrow's run."

He waved me off, tearing off a piece of bread. "This physique was meant for running."

"Easy for the man whose legs are nearly my entire height," I grumbled, the oats turning to sludge in my mouth. "Did you at least have a good night?"

A wistful expression passed over his face. "As a matter of fact, I did."

So he still wasn't going to tell me where he was. Fine—two could play at that game. "Great. Then you'll be delighted to know I'll be missing our evening practices once a week on the nights before the Captain's debrief."

His eyebrows knit together. "Why?"

"I don't have to tell you everything," I said, quietly pleased to use his own words against him.

Before he could reply, Iris sat down next to me. "There's rumors of a Trial in the coming weeks."

Markos's eyebrows shot up. "So soon?"

I glanced back and forth between them. "What's a Trial?"

The pair exchanged a look that seemed to say Stupid border villagers, am I right?

"Consider the Trial our first assessment since weapons placement," Iris said. "It'll be an obstacle course of sorts designed to put us through grueling situations that we may encounter on the frontlines. Trenches, climbing, running, taking fire. Anything we could see in battle."

My appetite vanished altogether, the food in my stomach sitting leaden. "And that's happening next week?"

Iris shrugged. "It's not confirmed. But we're about halfway to the Culling. Think of it like a progress report to make sure there are no weak links." She eyed me. "Well, weaker."

"Fantastic," I mumbled, pushing the bowl of oats away, "I'll just be dreading that nonstop for the foreseeable future."

"We all will," Markos added. "Running is no issue but strength and endurance..."

"The Trial is meant to challenge all of us equally," Iris said, "to ensure that the best crop of cadets is presented to Death."

A grave silence settled between them both as if the air had grown leaden at the very mention of Death.

"Don't tell me you two really believe we're going to stand before a Horror," I said with a hint of laughter.

Neither of them so much as cracked a smile.