Fugitive of Death

14

I did not sleep.

In fact, I wasn't sure if I even closed my eyes.

I simply lay awake staring at the tent's entry flaps, unable to rest or calm myself, my heart a thundering stampede within my chest. Somewhere in the camp, Iris lurked, no doubt revealing my identity to our superiors. I awaited her return with my death in tow.

Divines, they were going to destroy me.

I pondered all the ways I'd meet my demise. Lysidorians were skilled warriors but brutality was typically reserved for Aveluna. Then again, I was the daughter of their mortal enemy who started a war. Perhaps they'd invoke methods of torture not seen since the lawless ages before the Binding.

At that thought, bile burned in the back of my throat.

Was I to flee? I already knew well enough that fleeing would only end in disaster. And if the Lysidorian masses got ahold of me before the Army...

Well, that was a fate worse than Oblivion.

When Iris returned, she was alone, and I wasn't sure whether to be grateful or horrified. It seemed she decided on her delightful little murder stroll about the camp that she would be the one to kill me.

How interesting, I thought in my final moments, that Iris would allow me to die in anonymity, considering the fact that if my father never learned my fate, this war would never end.

I waited an eternity for her to unsheath her daggers. Then another.

Instead, she pulled off her mud-caked boots and rolled onto her bedroll. In the time it took me to remember how to breathe, Iris had already begun to snore.

What game was she playing?

If Iris wanted me to turn myself in, she had another thing coming—I was prepared to do whatever it took to keep my identity a secret.

Staring at her slumbering form in the dark, I considered taking one of her daggers and slitting her throat before she could expose me. And then that thought quickly dissipated into pure horror.

I wasn't a killer. And even though I had enlisted in this Army, I swore never to kill anyone. And so far, I hadn't. Unless one counted my mother during childbirth. Or those who had perished since war broke out. But those didn't count.

Right?

My conscious now heavy, I propped myself up against the canvas wall behind me and slid the small throwing knife out of my boot. I had no intention of using it, but at least now I had a better angle for defense in the event Iris chose to ambush me once I let my guard down.

So I waited.

And waited.

Until my eyelids grew heavy.

And before I knew it, the morning bell rang.

I woke with a jolt, still clutching the knife, only to find Iris's bedroll empty across the space. Before I could think better, I sprinted out of the tent to find...nothing.

It was another overcast day. Cadets meandered toward the rations tent. Others stretched for practice. Yet there was no reckoning, no Iris nor the Captain to cut me down.

I was really fucking confused.

I made my way to the rations tent and scooped up a bowl full of fruit and a boiled egg before sliding onto a bench. A few moments later, I found Markos in front of me.

"Is there a reason why you look like someone spit in your breakfast?" he asked, popping a grape into his mouth. "Or a reason why Iris is sitting by herself?"