A Court of Ashes and Daybreak

Nesta

I dragged myself out of bed and along to the townhouse, feeling (and probably looking) like half a zombie. 9am? Cassian was fucking masochistic. And looking way too awake and certainly way too pleased with himself, as I glared at him with sleepy eyes from beneath the wisps escaping from my messy braid. I was regretting this request for him to train me already.

"We're going up to the house of wind," said Cassian.

"Ok," I said, and when he didn't move, "which way is it?"

"No," said Cassian, "we're going to have to fly up there." I sighed loudly, letting him know what I thought of flying, and dragged myself over to where he swept me up into his arms. He looked almost surprised at my lack of resistance. I managed to keep surprised off my face at just how easily he picked me up. Musclebound idiot, I told myself, pretending it wasn't to distract me from just how much all that muscle wrapping around me was affecting my senses. I can think of things other than Cassian when I'm in his arms, I told myself, like....birds. There were some birds down there. Wait. Oh crap. We were miles up in the air now and I'd been so lost in my little Cassian dreamworld I hadn't even noticed. Damn him. Mostly damn me.

We landed on the top of the house of wind, where the training arenas were. Cassian set me down, looking almost nervous before his usual shit-eating grin returned. "Firstly, my dear Nesta, we are going to see just how fit you actually are." I glared at him. Bastard.

"You're going to need some different clothes," he said, running a critical eye over my cotton dress and cape. "Come."

I followed him into a small building set off to one side, where he dug around in some chests and rifled along a clothes hanger before handing me some Illyrian fighting leathers and some light shorts and a shirt. "Put on the shorts and shirt," he instructed, "the leathers will be for later on when we start actually fighting."

"Shorts." I said, wrinkling my nose at him, "you want me to wear shorts?"

"Well, it's not cold," he said, flipping a hand towards the open door.

"You're not wearing shorts," I pointed out.

"I'm not going to be running."

I stalked into the small changing room and looked grimly at the shorts. What was he going to make me do next, prance around in my underwear? My legs looked awful in them, stick thin and so white it almost hurt my eyes. The grey-blue shirt brought out the colour of my eyes, but that was all that could be said for my outfit. He'd better not laugh.

After two laps of all of the training rings, I slowed beside him to call, "Are you really just going to sit there and do nothing?"

He looked up, cruel amusement sparking in his eyes, "I've already had my morning run. But I'll come and show you what real running looks like if you really want..." I tried to back out but he'd already stood up and set off, running so fluidly he looked like a deer or a gazelle. And after four more laps he still looked exactly the same. I was staggering by this point, a stitch tearing at my side, muscles aching so badly it felt like every step was agony. I tried to keep my head high, but I was sweating and panting and my lungs felt like they were turning themselves inside out. Cassian was going at a pace that was slow enough that I wasn't falling much further behind, but still too fast for me to catch up. There was no way I was going to beg for a halt. I wasn't going to shout after his retreating back for him to go slower. My pride was the very last thing I had left.