A Deadly Bite

11 || Falling Apart

When she was a child living within the confines of the castle, Sarielle thought that there could be no-one who could get under her skin as easily as her father's fellow noblemen. As a soldier, she was convinced that Nash was the pinnacle of irritation. For a short time, she entertained the possibility that Fiesi might triumph over them all, though she finds herself bumping him several places down the list in this particular moment.

For she is beyond certain that the most frustrating person she will ever meet is Gelani Kynig.

Perhaps it doesn't help that he shares the same punch-worthy face as his son. They do look eerily similar, save the shorter, tidier style Gelani has trimmed his hair into, and the slight shift in the shade of blue that paints his eyes. That gaze seems to flick her way every few moments, as if subtly poking and prodding for a fight. She observes the gentle curve of his face, the point of his nose, and grits her teeth. Her knuckles ache from gripping her sword hilt so tightly.

"I don't feel that your people would fit here regardless," he is saying from his spot perched on a crooked tree stump. His cloak is draped in obnoxiously bright waves around him, long enough to pool on the floor behind. She hopes it's picked up plenty of dirt. "It must be awful to be surrounded by magic far from your grasp."

"It doesn't bother us at all." Sarielle struggles to keep herself from snapping, holding tight to the careful grace she always heard her father administer in his meetings. She accompanies the words with a polite smile. "Thank you for your concern, but we can cope just fine. We have observed plenty of Fiesi's use of flame already, after all."

Gelani lets out an amused grunt. "Fiesi is hardly a fitting example of the power we hold."

His smugness has a subtler edge than Fiesi's frequent showy grin. Somehow, she hates this technique even more. "He's fitting enough," she grounds out. "Besides, this is only a temporary measure. It's likely many of us soldiers will leave after a short time once we've developed a plan of how to proceed with our fight. The main point of this is to keep our king--"

"Why do we continue to toy with such a ridiculous idea?" Ischyri, second in command to the irritation supreme, chimes in. He remains standing beside Gelani, bulky arms folded over his chest. The furry, auburn mound of an animal is visible behind him. A bear, she gathers, laid in the grass with fiery red eyes trained on her and Dalton. She's never seen one of the creatures outside of illustrations, although she doubts this is any ordinary bear. She casts the beast a sharp glare in return.

While Gelani plays with words, Ischyri and his pet are attempting to be intimidating. She doesn't want to admit that it's having some effect. She consoles herself repeatedly with the knowledge that no Tía would ever openly choose to harm her or any Cormé, though it's difficult when these seem far less terrified by the concept than Fiesi.

"It's a no, milí zoi," Ischyri adds. "You have no such authority to demand these things. I'm of one mind to teach you a lesson."

"Now, Ischyri." Gelani's voice is silky. He holds out a placating hand towards his fellow Tía. "There's no need to scare the girl. We've already made her well aware of the place she should sit beneath us."

Ischyri huffs. "And yet she requires a constant reminder."

Sarielle isn't aware of her own movement until she hears the tiny, scraping sound of her sword lifting in her sheath. A hand laid on her shoulder pushes it back down. "Don't rise to it," Dalton warns in her ear. "Trust me, I know, but biting back doesn't help our case."

Biting her tongue, she nods. It's the cool, logical thing to do, but nothing seems to be helping their case at the present moment. Diplomacy is useless against a group so stubbornly stuck in their ways. Perhaps ramming a sword through all their inflated egos would yield more progress.