Fugitive of Death

13

 In total only two cadets were discharged, bringing our batch of trainees down to twenty-two. The nameless female archer had emerged from the first stage's trench with a broken leg. A male cadet swept downstream and by the time he managed to swim back to camp against the current, his body had no strength left to scale the wall—

A task I had managed to complete against all odds.

There was no celebration, as it was expected that we would finish the course in one piece. Ringing that bell was the bare minimum in the eyes of the Lysidorian Army. At dusk, our commanding officers simply read our names off a list and told us to take the night off.

Which none of the animals did.

So while everyone took to the sparring mats again, I went to the bathhouse, eager to wash without the looming threat of murder and freshen up before I swallowed my pride and thanked the man responsible for keeping me alive today.

The afternoon thunderstorm had rolled away, taking with it the humidity and clouds, leaving behind an endless sea of stars. As I walked back toward the tents, absentmindedly weaving my wet hair into a braid, I tried to be happy.

I should have been proud of my success, or at the very least relieved to be alive and still a cadet. But instead, I felt only anger and disappointment. Once again I was helpless, at the mercy of those around me. I would have never made it through the Trial if it weren't for Markos's training. I couldn't even scale that damn wall without the Captain's help.

It was frankly embarrassing. No matter how much I pushed myself, I was always lagging behind the other cadets, the real Lysidorians. I struggled to accept the fact that even if I practiced with my knives for the rest of my life, it would never be enough.

So logically, my gratitude to Xander had a second goal. Maybe if I was polite and appreciative enough he'd help me again when the Culling arrived. Was it a fake thanks? Sure, a little bit. Did it have ulterior motives? Also true.

But I was grasping at straws, trying to stay afloat. I had to be a number in the Army and nothing more.

Dwelling on the alternative wasn't an option.

So I made for his tent, toying with the now-empty jar of honey still in my pocket.

I pushed through the flaps and was immediately met with skin.

Xander stood at his desk wearing nothing more than trousers and boots.

"Divines, I'm so sorry," I said, ducking out of the tent before my eyes could forever be snagged on the toned muscles of his bronze chest.

"It's alright," he said from inside. "Come in."

With my face now a vibrant shade of fuschia, I reluctantly poked my head back inside.

And the bastard was still shirtless.

"I'll be quick," I said, forcing myself to stare at the space of air just to the left of his head. Showing skin to strangers was very un-Byssian but not unheard of. Showing skin to female cadets? Now that was entirely Lysidorian. "I just wanted to say thank you."

His thick eyebrows flicked upward. "I didn't know you were capable of such words."

Mortification quickly evaporated from my body. "Well, we're even now. Same time before debrief?" I had one foot out of the tent.

"Bibi wait."

Oh, now he remembered my name.

Frowning, I dragged myself back into the tent. "Yes?"