Partisan - Book II

Come at Me

The judgments on the Cabal are pushed back. Allayria knows it's Ruben's hand, and it's personal, mired in memories of a young, spit-fire pupil. Oh, but he reasons, business-like, to the others that it should be this way, that final say should fall to her, the Paragon.

Allayria doesn't know what she feels. Parts of her seethe, feeling the crackling stretch of the scars and deep-buried aches; other parts ruminate on long, starlit nights of easy laughter, and kindness. Consoling hands, warm embraces, slipped pieces of cheese. And it's breaking her apart, this cacophony of conflicting memories, pulling her apart in taut, painful strips as she has to reconcile it again, reconcile all that they have done to her.

She feels the cracks growing, splintering, and the panic returns, crawling up underneath the skin of her shell, shaking her as she tries not to fall to pieces. She exorcises it the only way she knows how: by fleeing to the empty practice room in the dead of the night, swinging rock and ice and steel down in furious abandonment at the practice dummies, fighting, fighting constantly against these unseen demons, these hideous whispers, trying to prove to herself she can win this time.

He enters the room when she splinters the seventh dummy, and Lei takes in the destruction with his usual stoic expression before stripping off his jacket in an easy, graceful movement. She halts, panting as she braces her hands against her knees, watching as he approaches and slides down into a familiar defensive pose.

She doesn't say anything, and neither does he, but they both move at the same time.

At the beginning it is more like a dance than a fight: the parries and attacks flowing back and forth in a manner that speaks of old familiarity. He knows her style now, and she, his.

The rhythm shifts as the fight goes on; he's pressing so subtly, hitting various pressure points, swinging a little aggressively. He's not hitting her, but every weapon becomes thinner, more pointed. He's leaving himself open, the way she did the first time they fought, and the unsaid invitation lingers in the air: Come at me. Use me. Lose control.

And in response her attacks grow jagged, furious, strumming with that manic energy that still throbs through her veins. She knows what he offers and accepts it, wailing on him the way she tried to on those practice dummies, seizing the wild power of fighting back against something and trying to channel it against her own darkness. She hits him with everything she has—except metal, and still she knows he expects it to come. She can see it in the gritted line of his mouth, the grim determination of his gaze, but this is one sacrifice she is resolved to refuse, the dark echoes of Ruben's tale murmuring in the corners of her mind.

That, she vows as she cracks a whip of vines across the sheet of ice he holds up, he will never again see from me, no matter what.

They go on for the long stretch of the night, and as the whisper of dawn begins to travel across the air her arms are leaden with the weight of exhaustion. They're both moving slower now, spent, and when Allayria pushes forward, past Lei's punch of rock, she can't muster the energy to call anything; instead slamming into his body, sending them both sprawling back onto the dirt floor.

They both lay there, panting into the dust, chests rising and falling in unison, and Allayria feels nothing: none of the panic, the tormenting madness. She's limp and pacified on top of him, yielding to fatigue as she feels him, beneath her, do the same.

There are no jabs, no barbs of words exchanged between them and she wonders, distantly, when they became so kind to each other.

Hello! Another double post, though these chapters were both on the shorter side. We are rapidly approaching the end of part 1 of Partisan and I am so excited! This literally means nothing posting-wise, but I'm still excited. I've got some fun stuff lined up for you. Well, fun for me. :)