I was in a familiar room, with four tall walls cramped too close together, and a single window far out of reach, high near the ceiling. I spun on the spot, feeling fear grip my heart with ragged claws, as the door was thrown open with the scream of rusty hinges.
My father stood before me, as tall, and intimidating as he had been when last I had seen him. In his hands was his belt, so smooth, and worn, from years of flaying my skin. His cold, dark eyes, like shards of ice, watched me, measured me up, as he stepped into the room. My legs crumbled beneath me as I stumbled backwards, and I fell, hands thrown up to catch me. Pain splashed across my palms, and I blinked to see a broken mirror beneath me, drops of my blood bright red on the glass. Jagged gashes lines my palms, and as I scrambled away from my father I left more streaks of scarlet, and watched as they crumbled away to ash.
Still my father closed in on me, gently swinging the belt back and forth, the buckle gleaming cruelly. I remembered its sharp sting.
I scurried further away, a mouse fleeing from a cat, and felt my fingers touch something cold, and metal. Looking down I saw my knife, its blade crusted with old blood, and without thought I grabbed it, pointing it at my father.
"Stay away!" I demanded, my voice small and feeble. I tried again. "Leave me alone!"
He only laughed, slinging his belt over his shoulder. Determination bubbled through me as I struggled to my feet, trying to steady my hand. Would I be able to hurt him? Kill him?
Before I could reach my answer his face began to morph, like hot wax losing shape, and suddenly the guard stood before me. Silver glinted at his throat and he jerked backwards, his blood spraying me, stinging my skin.
"No!" I screamed, jumping away, feeling his blood on my hands once more, "No, I didn't!" but I no longer held the knife. It had a found a new home, in his throat.
And I had put it there.
I woke crying, fat salty tears staining my face and the wooden floor beneath me. It had been a dream? Relief was followed by embarrassment as I realised that Malik would've heard me crying. What else had he heard? My screaming? My pleading for my father to leave me alone? I didn't want to open my eyes, but I forced myself to sit up, feeling the dying warmth of the fire on my cheeks.
"I would've woken you." Malik's words were quiet, soft, and very close by. I blinked, turning, to see him only a few feet away, his mouth set in a tight line. "You were crying, and... well... I know how you don't like me touching you."
"Malik..." I tried, my sleep-addled mind struggling to find words, "No... it's not that..."
"You don't need explain." He said quietly, "It's fine." He sounded sincere, but I could detect a hardness beneath the quiet words, and I wondered at it.
I looked to the small windows lining the wall and realised there was no light beyond, but the storm had died down, with only the light patter of rain remaining.
"It's still a few hours till dawn." Malik said quietly, and I carefully looked at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, and the worn look to his face. Had he slept at all?
"Well I'm not going to be able to get back to sleep." I said stubbornly, climbing to my feet. I wiped the last of my tears away, hating even the memory of them on my cheeks. I hated crying. Especially in front of others.
Especially in front of Malik.
"Why?" Malik asked quietly. He moved to throw another piece of wood on the dying fire. "Are you afraid of what you'll see once you do?"
My silence was as good as an admission. Malik sighed and stood, stretching. With a wide yawn he moved over and offered his hand. I took it and he pulled me to my feet.
"Very well. I shall teach you some basics." His voice was tired, and quiet. I felt a stab of concern for him.
"Did you sleep at all?" I asked.
"Yes." He said through his teeth, "A little bit anyway."
"Malik..." I began, uncertain what I would say.
"I'm alright, Cora." Malik cut across me, "Do you want me to teach you how to fight or not?"
"I... well, yes." I replied, "But not if you're too tired."
"I said I'm fine." Malik said curtly, turning and moving away from me. "Now, I'm not going to teach you how to spar with our actual weapons because no doubt you would lose a limb." He swiped two broken chair legs off the ground.
"Have some faith." I half-joked as he tossed one to me. My hand jerked out and caught it, and I felt a flicker of surprise. My hand eye coordination had never been that good. Malik caught my expression and winked.
"I told you the Marks would be useful." He shifted his grip on his own chair leg and faced me, his feet squarely parted. "Now. I'm going to warn you." he gave me a mischievous little grin. "This is going to hurt."
"What do you...?"
I couldn't even finish my sentence before Malik launched himself at me, chair-leg at the ready. Sharp pain splintered up my arm as he smashed it into my arm. Yelping I scampered away, attempting to defend myself. But he only gave chase, his chair leg now a weapon to be feared.
"Don't focus on the pain." Malik ordered, making contact again on my shoulder, "If you go into battle and are shocked by the pain then you're already dead." seeing him move in for another hit I quickly raised my own chair leg, hoping to block his attack. But he quickly swerved, the leg dancing under mine and smacking over my hip.
Hot pain ricocheted through my muscle, and I stumbled, trying to multitask between watching Malik's movements and not face-planting.
"Good, you're learning." He said, easing away, allowing me to recover, "but remember that your enemy can change his mind just as quickly as you can. Be prepared to change tactics at any moment."
I took a deep breath, feeling the aches in my body fade. Already the first bruise was non-existent, and I could feel the other two hurrying after it.
"How exactly is this training me?" I asked, wiping my hair out of my eyes as I faced him once more.
"I've found that pain is usually a good incentive to not make the same mistake again."
"I believe that's called punishment." I snapped, rubbing the last of the pain from my hip, "Not training."
"It's either you learn on your feet." Malik said coolly, "Or you don't learn at all. Would you rather it be me whacking you with sticks while you learn or enemies with blades?"
"Fine, fine, I get your point." I said sourly, "But at least tell me what to do."
"Have you no initiative?" Malik sighed, resting his chair leg over his shoulder, "If you get caught between a rock and hard place I won't always be there to guide you. You need to figure out how to take things on by yourself."
"Fine." I snapped, "Let's just... get this over with." I readied myself, holding the chair leg aloft and feeling just the slight bit foolish. Malik mirrored me, raising his own chair leg with practiced precision.
"En garde." He grinned, dashing towards me, and I felt a ripple of fear flow through me. I barely had time to twist my chair leg up and deflect his blow before he was dancing around me, lightly touching me on the ribs, shoulder and elbow. Flowers of pain blossomed along my skeleton and I almost dropped the chair leg as a jolt ran down my arm.
"Ignore it, ignore the pain." Malik commanded, stepping behind me, "Ignore it. Focus on me. The pain won't kill you, but your enemies will." I fell to one knee, clutching my ribs, the chair leg acting like a walking stick. Malik sighed and stepped closer, and I tensed, waiting. "Come on, Cora. Up." He leaned down to grab me when I moved, slicing the leg through the air. Faster than possible, Malik leapt backwards, but I felt satisfaction flood through me as I felt my weapon tap his wrist.
It wasn't a solid hit, probably wouldn't even have hurt him, but I had hit him.
"Well, well, well." Malik grinned, glancing down at his wrist, "Resorting to dirty tricks, I see."
"Only doing what you would've done." I smiled sweetly. Malik's lips curled up in his half-grin and he walked over to me, resting his chair leg over his shoulder once more. Standing right before him, I suddenly noticed how much taller than me he was. I barely reached his shoulders.
"I'll have you know," he laughed, "That I fight with honour."
"Oh really?" I raised an eyebrow, amused despite myself.
"Oh yes indeed." He nodded, "one hundred percent of the time."
We were standing close. Very close, I noted with a start. If my heart had been beating it would've pounded its way through my ribs by now, and even as I stood under his gaze my breath caught in my throat. A part of me itched to back away, to put more space between us. But a growing part of me warred to stay where I was. To even move closer.
"Cora..." Malik breathed, and I found myself inching up onto my toes.
"Yes?" I whispered, fear, desire and excitement all tangling into one knot in my stomach. He was so close, I could feel his breath on my skin, could smell that strange scent of smoke on him. He leant down slowly, and I could see something other than that sadness burning deep in his eyes. For a moment fear told me to move away, to push out of his reach, but I quickly stamped it down. i remembered that look of rejection in his eyes, remembered my own regret at having leapt away.
He was so close now I could see a fine white scar on his chin I had never noticed before, could see the shifting greys in his eyes that were never visible before now. But as my eyes fluttered closed and I leaned up I found only empty, cold space before me.
I opened my eyes to see Malik a few steps back, his face smooth an impassive, but his eyes a spinning cauldron of emotions. I felt embarrassment wrap around me like chains and I quickly dropped back onto flat feet.
"I... let's give it another round?" Malik gripped the chair leg like a sword once more and faced me. Feeling a strange sensation clamp over my heart I followed suit, and we sparred once more.
But even though we practiced until the sun rose and dim light filtered in through the windows, I never landed another hit on him, too preoccupied with my thoughts about Malik, and my fears that perhaps I had missed my chance.
That I was too late.