A Court of Blood and Feathers

7

Branwenn

pluck, pluck, pluck

they pluck them all

O birdie, sad little birdie

I bare my teeth as I trail off with the haunting melody of the last line, allowing the shield of red and silver magic drop. The magic dissipates and falls apart like shattering ice.

I crouch down to be eye level with Devlon. Peering into his depthless eyes, I narrow my own brown-golden ones and whisper, "You will train me."

The cuts and bruises had healed with the flare of magic that had occurred seconds ago. All that remained to show for the damage was dried blood on the side of my face and clothing.

Watching Devlon, I see a flicker in his eyes for the first time. The only emotion I will ever see but frustration and cruelty. Doubt. Not fear, but doubt of what I was and the threat I pose. I saw it in his eyes, and it's never going away now that the seed has been planted. 

I finally have a foothold.

But I mustn't show weakness right this moment. Not when I am seeing a glimmer of hope.

The world around us finally seems to come back to me, low murmuring tones and scuffling of boots in thick mud. Looking up I see the two warriors the closest to Lord Devlon and me of the surrounding warriors. Ianto and Delwyn.

The two watch silently from the side, not seeming to care that I, a skinny puny 14-year-old female, am crouching over their commanding officer. More of a wariness of what I imply. Change possibly?

I hope.

I turn back to Devlon who proceeds to wipe his face of a streak of mud that had found its way onto his jaw when my flare sent him flying to his ass. Suddenly a bit of nerve enters my stomach as reality catches up with me. I technically just attacked my commanding officer, a grown adult male who is responsible for the task of handling me, my training, and my punishments. Haste causes my movements to become clumsy as I straighten and take a quick step back to give room. 

Devlon rises from the filth, shooting a glare at all who gawk. Without a word he turns and makes his way out of the crowd, shouldering past Ianto and Delwyn with a snarl. I clench my jaw. I had blown it. Fear wels in my heart. I'll be stuck in the kitchens with the rest of the females for the rest of my years, hands withered and cracking from the scorching water used when washing dishes. 

But as Lord Devlon hits the edge of the ring he growls in a low register, "Don't be late tomorrow, hannerling, or I'll make you regret it."