"He's strong!"
I turn the dagger sideways, the tip resting on my inward wrist, pushing him back.
"Not bad," he remarks.
I push the strands out of my face.
"Do you find them fascinating?"
My eyes dart up. "What's fascinating?"
He tilts his sword down. "Daggers."
I glance at the blade in my hand, glistening in the sun. "I just find them easier to use," I state, a half-smile curving across my lips.
He moves first...fast. His sword whistles past me, and I twist, narrowly dodging the strike. My body screams to retaliate, to let the dagger fly, but I hold back.
The sand crunches under his left foot as he pivots, striking again. I arch backward, bending until my spine protests, the blade grazing close enough to sever a strand of my hair.
I freeze. If I had been a heartbeat late…
Just how dangerous is this daredevil?
I pause, scanning the circle around us.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Crimson red stains the sand, not one, not two, hands, legs, people on the ground, crimson red soaking the sand.
No one has come close to cutting my hair since I was twelve.
A low, cunning grin spreads across my lips. My grip tightens around the dagger.
So there's no reason to hold back.
I turn the dagger, pointing the tip outward.
"You don't mind if I fight back?"
He pauses, slinging the sword over his shoulder.
"Waiting for it," he chuckles.
I put my right leg behind my left, tilting my body to the right. A deep breath. Clash.
He doesn't hesitate. I haven't had a good spar in a while. He's using both hands. I dart my eyes down his abdomen. A sneer appears on my lips. I knee him in the abdomen as he gasps. I push him back and turn, but not before leaving a little mark as a gift.
He fights well; however, no matter how good a man is, leaving your weak point open makes him no man at all. Still, he's going easy on me. I clench my dagger.
Drip...
Drip...
I made sure to leave just a little mark. He looks down, confused and surprised.
"I'm impressed."
"You went easy on me," I mention bluntly.
"I hate people that underestimate me."
He chuckles, his uninjured hand rubbing the back of his head.
"My fault. However, a cut to the shoulder exactly this precise cut can't just be done by a random Mondaline."
My eyes dart away from him. I was too careful.
A whistle blows.
Phew. However, I do need to be more reckless. I can't have anyone suspect me.
My eyes dart to Boleyn across the field. She has a hand around her neck, her other hand on his waist. So she won. How sad that I didn't see her skills. A waving hand disrupts my thoughts. I look to see Thar.
"We have to head off the field," he says. I dip my head in acknowledgment, my footsteps carrying me to the edge of the field where everyone is catching their breath. I might have been the strongest in Mondaline, but here, I might not be as strong. Powerful versus the powerless what an unfortunate fate.
Both feet move across, finally leaving the field. I look up: the stands tower beside the field, rows of seats stacked like steps, each one creaking under the weight of watching students.
Thar sits on the lowest chair. I was about to sit next to him when he stretches out his hand, stopping me in my tracks. My eyebrow rises. I turn to him.
"I'm injured," I snicker, but immediately stop.
"What am I meant to do with that information?" An exhale escapes his lips.
"It's a union rule," he explains. "Every time after a Daredevil, it was made so First, we know how to help, and second, by doing this, it brings people together especially since a lot of people hold grudges after fights. Tending to another's wound eases that tension."
I blink, then blink again. I pull out a colorful scarf from my waist, where half was tucked in and half out guess Boleyn's scarf wasn't useless after all.
I step in front of him. "Stretch your arm out. I need pressure on the shoulder, so tense it a bit," I instruct. He doesn't hesitate. I lean in, putting the scarf under and tying it on top.
I finish tying, leaving a small bow. Just as I am about to lean back, I tense as he grabs my hand. My mind goes on full alert. I look into his green-blue eyes, staring back at mine.
"What's going on here?" The words make Thar release me, causing me to stumble back. I turn to see Boleyn, her arms crossed.
"It was too tight," I murmur, eyes darting to Thar. I sigh, leaning to pull it apart a bit.
"There?" He nods.
"Want me to heal you, Thar?" My eyes snap up to Boleyn. Everyone is full of surprises today.
"No need this time. I need a little pain anyway," he remarks, she nods and glances at me, finally releasing her crossed arms. My eyes flicker, a small crease forming on my brow. She chuckles.
"I'm a healer," she says.
I nod slowly. "I realized," I state suddenly.
Boleyn's smile widens. Suddenly, I feel something crawling up my legs. The dagger is still in my hand. I look down to see roots crawling up my leg. I lean down and swiftly cut them to shreds before standing back up.
Boleyn chuckles. "Probably Alex. Also, you were meant to drop all weapons before coming off," she utters. I look at the dagger in my hand.
"Oh." I throw it toward the field, and it lands after a long arc. Everyone freezes.
"That's so cool!" my head darts to the voice. A guy peeks his head from behind Boleyn's shoulder.
Messy curls of dark blonde hair fall into honey eyes that hold a sharp glint, half-hidden behind the faint freckles dusted across his nose. His shirt is undone at the collar, carelessly dishevelled, as though appearances never concerned him. Thin pink lips curve faintly, unreadable, against his light skin.
Thar sighed. "And that is Alex."
Alex stretched out his hand eagerly. "Hey, I'm Alex."
His eagerness pulled a small smile from me. I took his hand. "Zeythria," I said softly.
"I know. It's nice to meet you. I've always wanted to meet the girl who threw a dart at someone."
Boleyn shook her head. "He's the unserious one."
Alex huffed. "I can be serious at times."
Boleyn glanced at me and shook her head.
A deep voice cut through the air. "In what century have you ever been serious, Alex?"
My eyes flicked up-
DRAEVON.