Resurgence - Fourth Wing

Chapter Nine - Friendly Competition

"A Soldier cannot improve without a fair bit of competition, and if that leads to bloodshed... well I suppose that means it was worthwhile."

Article Two, Section Three; The Exemplar of a Soldier - The Book of Vesta

Ephemeral

(n): to have a brief and precious existence.

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Flashback - before friendship

There was something intrinsically fascinating about the way the human body functioned.

The way your brain controlled and monitored every little thing. The way blood flowed right beneath the thin, fragile layers of skin. How easily a life can be snuffed out with one well placed blow...

It was easy to feel invincible when you knew your body's weakness' and how to protect them. That is, until someone else discovers them too.

I guess that's how I'd found myself in this position.

I had become too arrogant. My considerable skill had gone uncontested for too long, I'd grown comfortable. I knew I was better than that, and yet, I let a boy with pretty eyes distract me.

One minute he was pinned beneath me, my dagger at his throat, my knee in his sternum. The taste of victory was on my tongue, yet one look into those captivating hazel eyes had my breath catching in my throat. Those eyes that always met mine, that were always ready to meet me blow for blow, challenging me in everything. No one stood up to me the way he does, offers the level of competition that I crave like he can. Gods, it was intoxicating and infuriating at the same time. I wanted to carve so deep into his flesh, discover what truly made him scream. I wanted to ingrain into him who I was. What I was. What he could never hope to compete with. Yet he did, his stubborn persistence drove me mad. Mad with violence. Mad with curiosity. Mad with a feeling I couldn't describe. I yearned to know him. To manipulate and dissect, to pull apart and memorize every atom and thought. He was utterly perplexing and infinitely intriguing.

Gods, my father would kill me.

Strong, muscled arms belonging to those stunning eyes carried me to the infirmary. Crimson soaked the material on my upper thigh, staining the trousers beyond repair. The
utter contempt painted on the boys face urged me to bury my dagger in his throat.

I dug my nails into it instead.

The flash of annoyance in that stare cooled the inferno inside my chest enough to speak, "Put me down, Sorrengail! I am completely capable of finding the infirmary on my own."

His hazel eyes simply rolled at my protest, "Trust me Melgren, I'd rather be doing anything else."

His tone was dripping with malice; it made me want to tear out his throat with my teeth. The thought was comforting, but I couldn't yet risk the act without angering the General. I knew when to pick a winning battle, and killing the eldest Sorrengail for prides sake was, in fact, not one. Disappointing yes, but that didn't mean I couldn't make every second we spent in each other's presence a living hell for the boy. Already a scheme was forming in my mind, it brought a malicious smirk to my lips. 

The sound of blood spattering along the rough, stone floors drew my attention away from my deliciously, violent thoughts. The wound didn't hurt per-say, more of an irritating dull throb. I'd had worse, much worse. The pain itself wouldn't be a problem, but the risk of blood loss brought weakness. And that, I couldn't afford.

Instead I bared my teeth and snarled, "Bastard! Must you be so impossible at every given moment!"

His answering sigh made me grit my teeth, " Do you wish to let the General's know of this... unfortunate turn of events? I, for one would love to not deal with the repercussions. Neither of our parents are the most reasonable people. This way, no one has to find out! We'll be in and out in no time."

Unfortunately, he was right. I wasn't about to admit that to him though, I scoffed and whipped my head away from him so fast, my braid slapped him in the face. His answering sputtering and curse and my lips curving in satisfaction. 

Brennan's steps were steady, as if to minimize any pain he might further cause to my wounded thigh. His gait was even, almost like the rocking of a ship in calm waters, the crimson of my cloak fluttering with each of his movements; it was almost hypnotizing. Each step was like a coil being unsprung, my muscles involuntarily relaxing. A heaviness spread along my limbs, my body slowly going limp.

My eyelids fluttered, too heavy to stay open when the boy whispered into my crown, "Sleep, Flame. You're safe."

Maybe it was the blood loss, or the exhaustion of pretending, but I believed him.

A/N I can't wait for Brennan to come back