Gold to Dust

Chapter Five

Five

"Well done," said Father, breathing heavily in the cold autumn air. He held his hands near his head in surrender, lips pulled into a wide, approving grin. "Lovely lunge and feint, Ellegra. Tricky, but you managed the removal maneuver. I'm impressed." Her heart raced with excitement and pride. His smile became contagious. "However, your feet need to move as fast as your sword. You tripped twice."

Her smile faltered, but she bowed her head and nodded. "Yes, Father." His appraising smile was interrupted by a fit of hacking coughs that shook his body. "Are you alright?"

He waved her away, wiping a handkerchief at his mouth. "I'm fine, nothing to worry yourself with. Now. Let's go again. Only this time, let's—"

"There you are."

Ellegra's body tensed. Cilas strode forward, long legs covering the grass towards  them in long strides of shadows. "I've been looking all over for you." Their father frowned. Cilas's gaze swung to Ellegra. Clouds seemed to brew above her, darkening the sky. The shadows that had followed him now seemed to wrap around her. She squirmed with the fear beginning to rise in her chest. "I see you're practicing your exercises, sister. Might I try a hand?"

King Lorence grimaced when Cilas stared back at him again, dissolving into another fit of coughs. He glared at the napkin before staring at his son. "Cilas—"

"Just one hand, Father." He grinned, but it wasn't something that showed excitement. "I promise to go easy on her." The shadows crept around the king, and for a moment he seemed panicked, eyes darting back and forth as they tightened in a ring. "Father?" The king threw down his sword. Cilas gracefully picked it up, rotating it in his hand and over his fist. "Much obliged."

Ellegra glanced at her father once more before turning her gaze back to her brother, noting just how helpless the king looked. Swallowing, she watched Cilas circle her, quick to respond with her own movement. She didn't like the way he stalked her, like she was a prey just delaying its inevitable capture and death. She hated the way her brother's eyes always reminded her of the glare of a sword just before it sliced into her. Everything inside her wanted more than anything just to lay it down and surrender. But she couldn't.

Twice he lunged at her, only to feint and pull away, making her body contract and jerk back. "Why do you run away?" he asked when she deflected his swing and pulled back. His toothy smile widened. She could tell that he knew just how scared of him she truly was, despite the impassive expression of her face and her struggle to keep it there. His eyes flicked to the sweat dripping from her forehead.

"Because I know you'll hurt me."

When he lunged again she didn't jerk away. She stayed in place, ready to strike when he turned away at the last minute like he had before. Only this time, his blade followed through, and his feet propelled him forward. Ellegra pulled back, lifting her sword to block the blade that was driving its way to her face. But it was too late. His foot crunched down on hers, rooting her to the ground just as she jumped back. The grass rushed to grab her and her elbows smashed into the earth with the hopes of protecting her.

She imagined he would stop, bask in the glory of her surrender as she cowered. But the blade kept coming. She didn't see it, she felt it: searing, white-hot pain that engulfed her entire face and lit her body on fire in a wave of convulses and sobs. She screamed.

Ellegra woke with a cry trapped inside her throat, one hand snaked around her neck and the other covering her right eye and the puckered white flesh of the scar. She coughed and gasped for air, dropping her hand from her throat. The other lingered a moment longer before falling away.