A Deadly Bite

1.2 || Useless

"I don't know how long this will last," Fiesi says, absentmindedly spinning the spear in a full circle. "It's more of a risk to push the flame deeper without Rigel's support." His smooth tone does a good job at hiding the pricking implications of his words. He must miss his bird almost as much as I miss my flame.

He places his heel on Elyas's back, rolling it over his spine so that his navy tunic creases. "How are the others doing?"

"I'll check." I hurry back to the rock, eyes darting about the dark for any further sign of soldiers clad in midnight blue. The first form I lock eyes with is Dalton, only a few paces from the gap, curved blade streaked with blood held aloft. He shoves it into his sheath as he hurries towards me.

"You're not supposed to be here." The words are shaky, breathless from his recent fight. I'm simply glad to see he isn't obviously wounded.

"Are they all gone?" I won't ask if they're all dead, although that's the true meaning behind the question. Bitterness taints the back of my throat.

He leans through the gap, studying me with care. "I think so. Did any see you?"

"Just the one." There's no need, and yet I find myself pulling straighter, sure to meet his eyes evenly. Merely foolish pride that still kicks in when in his presence. Dalton is my friend, loyal and courageous and certainly not trying to make me feel small. But perhaps that's exactly it. He's stronger than me by miles, and some part of me squirms at that knowledge.

"It's all good," Fiesi calls. "I dealt with it." He shifts his position, stood over the fallen soldier.

"Great," Dalton says without much conviction.

"I'll just be waiting here for your verdict on whether to torture him for information or brutally murder him like the good people you are."

Dalton sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. Its red tint has softened in the gloom to a coppery brown that sparks in what little lamplight drifts our way. "I'll go get Sarie. Nathan, stay close to Fiesi in case there's any more hiding in the dark."

Because I'm simply something that requires protection, a child to watch over. Swallowing a senseless retort, I edge over to Fiesi as Dalton runs back to join the other white smudges further down the slope.

He shakes his head. "Such little gratitude. I'm only keeping you safe from harm."

"You shouldn't have to." I rub at my arm, gloved fingers sliding over my skin.

He looks up, eyes turning gentle, and nudges my side. "No-one begrudges it, you know. You're worth protecting. And you're getting stronger each day, I'm sure."

Opening my mouth, I make to protest that I feel the exact opposite, that every new morning is harder to drag myself into, but then the soldier beneath him gives a low groan and our attention is snatched. Adjusting his stance, Fiesi adds pressure to the foot planted on Elyas's back.

The sound merges into a muffled laugh, growing in strength as Elyas twists his head to look up at him. "So it's true," he says. "You play with witchcraft now."

Fiesi casts me a pointed glance. I oblige, taking a hesitant step back, careful to stay behind him and out of sight. "Magic," he corrects, fingers tapping at his spear. "Witchcraft is an outdated term. Tends to conjure up a rather unflattering image."

"Whatever you say, witch."

He digs his heel in, a smirk forming in response to Elyas's hiss of pain. The spear's wispy tip drifts towards his face. "Careful now, mili zoí."

My lips twitch. I've heard him use that phrase a few times -- mostly directed at either Harper or Dalton when being forced to obey orders -- and I've figured by now that it can't mean anything complementary. It's somewhat reassuring to hear him use it on someone who might deserve its hidden implication.