Collaterals

A Devil's Visit

Dawn had only just begun to break, and yet Leila's hair had already stuck to the back of her neck with sweat, heart pounding at the tips of her fingers. There was that enjoyable rush, now, building through her as she held her blade out in front of her, eying the Captain. The old man's bones had not rusted a bit, and the pants now building through Leila were a testimony to his swiftness. He took a step forward, and their steel clanged through the courtyard once more.

The days had gone in much of a blur, and she'd been unable to settle into any resemblance of a routine. If she was not answering the countless Ladies-in-waiting her mother sent about what flowers she preferred, what cake flavouring she enjoyed, what color made her eyes pop or her skin shine or whatever else they deemed important enough to know for a Welcome Home ball, then she was conversing— or more so listening— with Zarqa, her sister having left her side only to retreat to the Temple of Flame, bending her soul for sometimes hours on end. It was then Leila would have time for herself, walking along the many halls of her home, trying desperately to feel...in place. And then, of course, there was the time she spent with Ali. Well, Ali and Khaled—

Leila took a step out of place, consequently dodging the Captain's strike sloppily. He gave her no time to rebound, striking once more so she was forced to counter as he grit his teeth, "Focus, Leila."

Focus. Yes. She needed to focus. She'd been running around herself all week, and there was still so much to do. The ball, the disappearing note, and that damned Diviner. The blade swooshed past her, but a hair away.

"Focus, Leila!"

Leila grunted, gritting her teeth as she found an opening to the Captain's side. She struck, but he stepped out the way elegantly, his blade kissing hers before he stepped forward. The steel...it was the only constant to her life these days. Every day since she'd arrived, three angry knocks would sound at her door an hour or so before dawn, and every day since she'd arrived, they would spar till they did not need the torches to see ahead, and then some. Captain Gawain pushed forward, and Leila was made to take one step after the other away from him, barely blocking his blows. 

He was not fast. But he was strong, much stronger than Leila, even with his grey hairs and retired knighthood. His blows shook through Leila's hands so that it felt like her muscles were shaking within the capsule that was her skin, a resonance striking into her bones. Leila grit her teeth in effort, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword as she felt her eyes sharpen. He was three decades her senior: she would not lose to him, retired legend of a knight or not. She let out a long grunt as the Captain lunged, stepping out his way as before victoriously pressing her blade atop his shoulder.

He stopped, and for a moment neither moved, their pants the only sound shy of the chirps of the morning birds. Leila could not help the smirk on her face as she turned to look at him. But the Captain did not face her. Instead, he looked to his blade, between them, angled at the inner part of Leila's thigh. Her smirk fell as she rolled her eyes, beginning to step away. Captain Gawain did not let her, straightening as he hovered the tip of his sword at the skin atop her sternum, so close Leila thought she could feel it.

"There lies within you an anger that you refuse to tap into, Leila," his breaths were labored, words spoken between his pants, voice deep with age. Captain Gawain gave Leila a look, one that pulled away the layers of her skin, one at a time, till she was nothing but a little girl again, stomping her feet in anger, fire blazing at the tips of her fingers. Leila gulped, eyes wide as she stood still. He pulled his sword away, letting it clang with her own lowered blade as he spoke, "Wield it, as you do your blade, and not a living soul will get past you."

It was as though the air around them had felt the weight of his words, turning stale and tense between them. Leila watched as he stepped away, finally, not knowing what to say, pushing down the dam of irritation threatening to break loose. Just who would even wish to get past her, anyway? Only a fool would take on the empire, and Aradia was no fool. Her people were of the placid type, having the type of patience that dug graves.