Villainous [Wattys 2021 Shortlist]

3: Beginnings

In the days leading up to her departure, Delilah joined Hawk and his imperial guard at their training courtyards: huge open pits in the mountains, where the sky looked impossibly far away. As soon as she walked outside she noticed men cringing away from her every step, and smug satisfaction warmed her at the thought of her fearsome reputation spreading.

The first time she had insisted on training with them, ignoring Hawk's protests entirely, she'd 'accidentally' broken a man's arm and leg in several different places.

Served him right for mocking her.

She scanned the guards, noticing a few soldiers chatting by the weapon racks. Despite Vale's fall from grace, Dante kept his fighters well-equipped and ensured they honed their skills to precision.

Hawk swaggered up to her, his shoulder-length hair swinging and the stubble darkening his jaw making him look unkempt. "Back again, Princess? Can't stay away?" He gave her a suggestive look.

"I haven't fought you yet, Captain," Delilah purred. She had decided to test herself. Hawk's skills were just shy of legend in the dining halls and citizens whispered about him reverently, as if he would be the chosen general who would march with Dante to freedom.

His response was blunt, no official acceptance of her challenge, just: "Swords or knives?"

"Knives. I like to get up-close and personal."

A few soldiers sniggered. Sparring partners almost leaped out of the sandy fighting ring, their eyes wide and weapons clattering to the floor. Silence fell, but Delilah kept her eyes on the captain while she tied her hair up and palmed two fighting knives. Today she had dressed in supple black and stretched until her muscles felt loose and springy.

Hawk backed into the ring and she followed, making note of the way he scanned her, reading her movements, searching for weakness.

She pounced. She didn't like waiting. Hawk met her with bone-shaking blocks, forcing her knives away from his body before lunging in to stab at her momentarily unprotected stomach.

The knives were steel, and sharp. Dante did not allow practice weapons - he wanted the loser to suffer so they would work harder next time.

Delilah twisted like a cat, dodging his strike and dancing around him to attack from the side. He whirled to follow.

The soldiers and guards were shouting, egging Hawk on. Lieutenant Hawk, she thought. Hawk wanted to be Dante's right-hand man and he hated her guts, she knew it, as each attack he made became more and more vicious.

Delilah kept herself calm and fluid, emptying her mind of anger, imagining a river of peaceful, flowing water. Anger had been her downfall, before. She had learned since then.

She hooked a leg around Hawk's arm and twisted. His shoulder cracked and he let out an agonised sound through clenched teeth as he was forced to drop a knife. Delilah lunged, but hadn't anticipated on him working through his pain – the arm swung up and his knuckles caught the edge of her cheekbone.

White-hot pain exploded behind her eyes and she felt metal. Knuckledusters. How unfair.

She staggered back, almost to the edge of the ring, snarling as she willed her eyesight to come back into focus. Hawk laughed darkly, his boots scraping as he went for her with the other knife.

Delilah dropped low, relying on her other senses to compensate for her as she swiped out with a foot, knocking Hawk off balance. She barrelled into him and they rolled, sand spraying everywhere as Delilah tried to stab and he tried to heave her off him.

Hawk was made almost entirely of muscle, but she was faster, and they struggled, both unable to see as Delilah's hair tangled around them. She couldn't feel half her face. She wondered if Hawk had shattered bones with that punch, which had almost missed. She decided she would rather not experience a blow like that square-on.