Fire In Her Eyes

Chapter 5 - Blood Will Out

Once Marc and Ember had caught their breath, they began to tidy up the repurposed ballroom in companionable silence. It didn't take long, since the routine was one they knew well.

Ember was the first at the door, holding it open for her companion as he passed through and they began their journey through the empty corridors. Every so often a shaft of moonlight shone through a crack in a drape, lighting the hallways for a brief moment before they passed.

Embers' eyes adjusted to the low lighting without much effort and she glanced over at the silent man beside her. Had she not known he was there she would not have heard a sound as he moved through the shadows. As it was, the only sound she heard from him was the slight brush of leather against leather as his scabbard brushed against his leg. Had he been attempting to remain silent, she knew his hand would have put a stop to even that sound.

If Marcus was aware of her appraisal, he did not show it, instead, he fixed his gaze on every shadow they passed.

"You think I can do it?" Ember wasn't sure if she was asking or telling him.

Marcus glanced over at her, "Of course." He wasn't sure why she even had to ask.

Ember nodded sharply having made her decision, "I'd like you by my side when I talk to the king in the morning."

He nodded once, "Micah will probably be there, petitioning for a retraction."

She sighed, "I know, which is why I'd like you there. He doesn't listen to a word I say, perhaps he'll listen to you."

"We can but hope." They arrived at the point where they would have to go their separate ways to their bed chambers and looked at each other for a moment before simultaneously forming a fist and bumping the backs of their right wrists together. It was a unique way they had managed to avoid shaking hands growing up when the General had required it of them after a match, and somehow, it had stuck and become their own sign of respect and camaraderie.

They nodded to each other and turned to go their separate ways.

Marcus had almost reached his room when he noticed his door slightly ajar and instinct kicked in. He held his sword at his side and pressed himself into the shadows as he crept closer, then peaking into the room he relaxed and ran his hand down his face, breathing out a tired sigh as he realized that he would not be sleeping any time soon.

Squaring his shoulders, he walked into his room and closed the door behind him, looking at the figure pacing across his floor. "Micah." He stated more than greeted.

The young man in question spun around come flying at the second son with eyes blazing. Marcus stood dead still as he watched the fist come towards his face. He knew that he could have avoided it, but also knew that such an action would only serve to rile his friend up even more. Which is how it came to be that the two were now sitting on the edge of the bed nursing a swiftly blackening eye and a sore fist, respectively.

"Did you instigate this?" Micah realized that he probably should have asked the question before socking his closest friend in the face.

"No," Marc's voice was quiet but certain, "but I support it."

Micah looked at him sharply, "How can you? She's a girl!"

Marcus looked at his friend and remarked dryly, "You don't say..."

Micah breathed a frustrated sigh, "She's a lady, Marc. A lady should be cared for, not sent to war. It was fine when she was just playing at fighting, an unnatural hobby for a woman, but okay. But this, Marc, this I cannot allow."