The Mosquito and the Lion

two

As quickly as she entered, she turned to leave, but two guards now blocked the doorway. "I'm glad everyone could join us," she hissed, whirling back around and shifting into a subtle fighting stance, inching her feet apart and lowering her center of gravity. Her mind swirled with escapes, each more impossible than the last. Unless she could miraculously punch her way through the guards, she was due for a stint in prison.

"I must say, you've made quite a mess of things." She recognized the speaker as the man who had attempted to stab her earlier that day. Alia did not miss that his hand had not left the pommel of his sword since she burst into her room.

He glanced around her home, sniffing in disgust. Alia struggled to hold back her rage at his smug evaluation of the tiny space. Save for a potted plant on the window sill — a foolish attempt to brighten up the room — the area was characterized by its sparseness. The concrete walls were bare, and she only had a threadbare blanket to go to bed with. Alia kept no trinkets, fencing any knick-knacks she ever pocketed. She knew better anyway. The other tenants weren't exactly upstanding citizens.

Maybe prison won't be so bad, she mused. You may get more living space.

"What was that you said earlier?" he taunted, dragging a finger across the window ledge and inspecting the dust. "Try again next time?"

"Awh." She jutted out her bottom lip theatrically. "Did I hurt your feelings?"

He ignored her childish antics, choosing to nod at the men behind her instead. Before she had a moment to process what was happening, she was being lifted in the air, a strong arm looped around each of her arms and hoisted her up.

Alia knew fighting was meaningless, but that did not stop her from swearing in fury and lashing out her legs. I refuse to go out like this. She reared her leg back and slammed it into the larynx of one of the guards, who went down wheezing and clutching his throat.

A small crowd was forming outside her door. Alia could not see it, but she could hear it, and she felt a pang of regret that she had never tried to socialize with her neighbors. Perhaps then, they would have rushed to her defense, instead of watching her flail and shout like it was a private show.

One of the guards grabbed her leg, though that did not deter Alia. She wrenched it out of his grip and kicked him in the shoulder. The small room was suddenly paying dividends. The guards could not escape her range.

"Stop!" The guard by the windowsill levelled his sword at her, the metal glinting even in the musty room.

In his other hand, he held her potted plant. "Where did you get this?" There was something new in his tone, as if he was standing on an old bridge high in the mountains and did not know if his next step would bring death or safety.

"It's a plant," she spat, trying futilely to release her arms from their cages, but the two men were like elephants — steadfast and impossible to move.

Rage flashed in his eyes, and he brought the sword to her neck, pressing in painfully. Alia dared not swallow for fear that any movement would result in her end. "Where did you get this?" he repeated.

Alia briefly considered lying, but the Kshat guard had plenty to charge her with anyway. One more steal would not change her destiny. "I grabbed a trader's satchel a few months ago," she admitted. "Found a packet of seeds."

He pushed the sword still closer, splitting open her skin. "Whoa!" she yelled. "I'm telling the truth! That's all I know! It's just a plant!"

"Who was the trader?" he gritted out.