Alpine swiped the sweat from her brow and glared at her teacher.
“Now now, that won’t do any good. Come, I know you can land at least one hit.”
Charlon Kavernay tapped into a resting position, fwipping his rapier in front of his face with a blindingly quick flit. It made sense, really. His dull green head feathers were belied by his bright red cravat, very clearly revealing his ruby-throated heritage. Quickness was the name of his game, and partly why he was known as the best swordsman in the Feathered Isles.
Alpine’s blue speckled head feathers flared as she lunged at him with her rapier, each of her stabs parried without so much as an extra breath from Charlon.
“You’re powerful, and you lock onto and follow your target easily,” he explained past her flashing blade and sweat-blinded rage. “But you don’t understand the delicacies of swordplay, dear.”
A simple, well placed flick threw the rapier from her double fisted grip, and Alpine stomped on the ground with a screech.
“Well maybe I don’t understand any of this, have you thought of that, pipsqueak?”
The chastisement was unfair, especially from a kingfisher, but Alpine had had enough. Being the center of attention was already torture, and learning to effectively use a sword was beginning to push her over the edge. She stormed to a shaded step at the edge of the arena and flopped down, not even caring that she was sitting directly on her tail feathers. With an irritated groan, she put her face in her hands, picking at her downy head feathers. A very bad habit, but one she hadn’t been able to shake since she was a fledgling.
After a few moments, she heard a rustle of feathers and clothes gently light down next to her.
“I understand it’s been difficult. You don’t… Nobody should have to face the Beast unless they feel called to.”
Alpine barked out a coarse, humorless laugh. “Well, lucky for everyone else this season, the calling was done for me. What’s even the point? Why me? I’m just a podunk kingfisher from the edge of the isles, and I don’t even… I was just going to fish my whole life and die someday after feeding people. That would’ve been more than enough.”
Her hands fell to her lap as her anger burned out. It was replaced by something colder and much harder to look at, so she wasn’t disappointed when searing tears blurred her vision.
A cool hand rested on her palm, and she looked up at Charlon with a start.
“If it were up to me, you wouldn’t have to do this.” He was staring at his hand in hers, his voice carrying a sudden weight. It was almost as if Alpine could see the edges of what he was shouldering, almost as heavy as her own burden. “Nobody would have to do this. It’s hard enough sending out bright eyed little ones, barely able to fly, much less someone who doesn’t want to fight.”
He looked up, and her heart skipped at the determination in his eyes, a deep mix of mahogany and ruby. She had never seen his eyes so closely.
“But trust me. If you want to survive the Beast, power isn’t enough. You have to know how to fight.” He squeezed her hand. “I need you to know how to fight, so you can come out alive.”
Her face flushed and she stood up quickly, slipping her hand out of his as if it were a fire. “I… I’ll try. If only… If only so you don’t lose anybody else. Deal?”
She heard him stand, and turned to see him offering her sword to her. In that moment, his eyes were soft, his frame perfectly cut in the afternoon light, and Alpine felt a rush of emotion mixed with dread. Don’t do this to yourself, she thought desperately, even as she felt herself falling.
“Deal.”
She took the handle and felt the steely determination settle in both her hand and her gut. She would fight for herself, and for him. And perhaps, if she pushed herself as far as she could go, the world would be rid of the Beast for good.
