Blood on the Blade

The training grounds simmered under a gray dawn, the air thick with the tang of sweat and iron. Lysander stood in the line of boys, her bare feet scuffing the dirt, the stolen cloaks from last night's hunt draped over her shoulders like a fragile trophy. Her back throbbed, the lashes from her failed thefts a constant sting beneath the rough fabric, but she held her chin high. Gaius's gaze still haunted her—those predator's eyes glinting in the dark, watching her every move. Did he see something? The question gnawed at her, a splinter she couldn't dig out.

Felix stalked before them, his scarred arms crossed, his voice a low growl. "You've hunted. You've stolen. Now you fight—not with sticks, but steel." He gestured to a rack of short swords, their edges glinting dully in the weak light. "Pair up. First blood wins. Hesitate, and you'll bleed more than once."

A murmur rippled through the herd, excitement laced with dread. Lysander's stomach twisted. She'd faced fists and whips, but blades? The memory of Darius's lifeless eyes flashed—blood on her hands, a rock her weapon. Could she do it again? I have to, she thought, clenching her fists. Or they'll see I don't belong.

Damon stepped beside her, his presence a quiet anchor. "We're together," he said, voice steady, though a fresh bruise darkened his cheek from last night's scuffle. His green eyes met hers, fierce with trust. "Like always."

She nodded, throat tight. His faith was a lifeline—and a noose. Every moment with him drew her closer to the edge, where one slip could unravel her lie. He'd bleed for me, she realized, the thought both warming and terrifying her.

Felix barked orders, pairing the others—Thales with Pyrrhus, Linus with a wiry boy named Kratos. Gaius loomed at the edge, his stare boring into Lysander as she and Damon grabbed their swords. The hilt felt cold, heavy in her palm, its weight pulling at her aching arms. She'd trained with wood, but this was real—sharp, unforgiving.

"Begin!" Felix roared, and the grounds erupted. Metal clashed, boys grunted, dust kicked up in choking clouds. Lysander faced Damon, her blade trembling slightly. "First blood," she muttered, more to herself than him. "No holding back."

He grinned, a flash of teeth. "Wouldn't dream of it, Lys." He lunged, fast and fluid, his sword arcing toward her shoulder.

She parried, the impact jarring her wrists, and countered with a slash at his side. He twisted away, nimble as a shadow, and their blades sang—a frantic dance of steel. Her heart pounded, adrenaline drowning the pain in her back. She was smaller, weaker, but she'd learned his tricks—his feints, his rhythm. Use it, she thought, ducking a high strike and aiming low.

She parried, the impact jarring her wrists, and countered with a slash at his side. He twisted away, nimble as a shadow, and their blades sang—a frantic dance of steel. Her heart pounded, adrenaline drowning the pain in her back. She was smaller, weaker, but she'd learned his tricks—his feints, his rhythm. Use it, she thought, ducking a high strike and aiming low.

The tip of her sword grazed his thigh, a thin red line blooming against his skin. He hissed, stepping back, and raised a hand. "First blood," he called, breathless but smiling. "You're quick today."

She lowered her blade, panting, relief flooding her. "Had a good teacher." But the victory felt hollow—his blood, even a scratch, twisted her gut. I can't hurt him. Not really.

Felix grunted approval, moving on, but Gaius didn't budge. His eyes narrowed, tracking her, and a chill slithered down her spine. He's waiting for me to break.

The fights ended fast—Thales drew blood from Pyrrhus's arm, Kratos nicked Linus's cheek. The herd regrouped, swords returned, but Felix wasn't done. "You're not soldiers yet," he snarled, pacing. "A Spartan doesn't just bleed—he kills. Time to hunt for real."

He whistled, sharp and piercing, and two trainers dragged in a boar—wild, tusked, its eyes rolling with fury. Ropes bound its legs, but it thrashed, squealing, a beast of muscle and rage. The boys stilled, tension crackling like a storm.

"One of you takes it down," Felix said, tossing a single sword into the dirt. "Alone. Prove you've got the guts."

Lysander's breath caught. Kill it? Her hands shook, Darius's death replaying—his limp body, her guilt. She wasn't a killer, not by choice. But this wasn't choice—it was survival.

Thales stepped forward, smirking, but Gaius raised a hand. "Not you." His voice was a blade, cold and deliberate. He pointed at Lysander. "Her."

Her? The word jolted her, a slip she prayed no one caught. He meant 'him,' she told herself, but her pulse raced. The herd murmured, eyes on her, and Damon tensed beside her. "Lys—"

"I've got it," she snapped, stepping forward before he could protest. She couldn't let him fight this for her—not again. Not when Gaius watched like a hawk, waiting for weakness.

She snatched the sword, its weight dragging at her arm, and faced the boar. The trainers cut its ropes, and it charged, a blur of bristled fury. She dove aside, dirt spraying, and swung—too slow. A tusk grazed her calf, tearing skin, and she stumbled, pain searing up her leg. The herd jeered, their laughter a whip against her pride.

"Get up!" Damon shouted, voice raw. She glanced at him—fists clenched, eyes blazing—and found her footing. The boar wheeled, snorting, and she tightened her grip. I'm not prey.

It charged again, tusks gleaming. She sidestepped, faster this time, and drove the blade into its flank. The steel sank deep, blood gushing hot over her hands. The beast squealed, thrashing, and she yanked the sword free, striking again—neck, chest, a frenzy of desperation. It collapsed, a shuddering heap, and silence fell, broken only by her ragged breaths.

She dropped the sword, hands slick with blood, her stomach churning. I did it. But the victory tasted like ash—another life, another stain. She wiped her palms on her cloak, trembling, and turned to face the herd.

Felix nodded, a rare glint of respect in his eyes. "Not bad, boy." The others muttered, some impressed, some sullen. Damon stepped closer, his hand brushing her arm. "You're bleeding," he said, low and urgent. "Your leg—"

"It's fine," she lied, pulling away. The cut stung, but she couldn't let him fuss—not with Gaius still watching, his stare a weight she couldn't shake.

"Enough!" Felix barked. "Clean up. You've got drills at noon." The herd dispersed, dragging the boar's carcass away, but Gaius lingered, his shadow long and menacing.

Damon guided her toward the stream, his touch gentle but insistent. "Sit," he said, pointing to a flat rock. "You're not fine."

She sank down, too tired to argue, the cold stone soothing her aching legs. He knelt, tearing a strip from his cloak to bind her calf. His fingers brushed her skin—warm, careful—and her breath hitched. Too close. The bindings around her chest felt tighter, her secret a heartbeat away from spilling.

"You didn't have to do that alone," he murmured, tying the cloth. "I'd have—"

"I had to," she cut in, voice sharp. "Gaius picked me. I couldn't back down."

He looked up, eyes searching hers. "He's got it out for you. Why?"

She shrugged, avoiding his gaze. Because he suspects. The thought iced her veins, but she couldn't say it—not to Damon, not when his trust was the only thing keeping her sane.

He finished the bandage, sitting back on his heels. "You were fierce out there. Like a real Spartan."

The praise warmed her, but it twisted too. A real Spartan wouldn't flinch at blood. She forced a smile, weak and fleeting. "Thanks to you."

He grinned, but it faded fast. "Lys, last night—when I tried to check your back—you pulled away. Why?"

Her stomach dropped. "I told you, it's nothing."

"It's not nothing." His voice hardened, a rare edge. "You're hiding something. I see it in your eyes."

Panic surged, a tide she couldn't stem. "Drop it, Damon," she snapped, standing too fast. Pain lanced through her leg, but she ignored it, turning to leave.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her back. "I won't. You're my friend—more than that. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

His grip was firm, his eyes pleading, and her resolve cracked. More than that. The words echoed, dangerous and sweet, threatening to pull her under. She wanted to tell him—I'm not what you think, I'm a girl, a lie—but the truth would shatter everything. Him. Her. This fragile world she'd built.

"I can't," she whispered, yanking free. Her voice broke, raw and ragged. "Not now."

He let go, hurt flashing across his face, but before he could speak, a shadow fell over them. Gaius stood there, arms crossed, his grin a slash of teeth. "Trouble between you two?" he drawled, voice dripping with mockery. "Or something else?"

Lysander's blood ran cold. His tone, his stare—it wasn't just suspicion. He knew something, or thought he did. "Nothing's wrong," she said, forcing her voice steady, low like a boy's.

Gaius stepped closer, looming over her. "You're a strange one, Lysander. Small. Soft. Always clinging to him." He jerked his chin at Damon. "Makes me wonder."

Damon bristled, stepping forward. "Back off, Gaius. She—he—killed that boar. What more do you want?"

"More?" Gaius laughed, a harsh bark. "I want to see what breaks first—your spirit or your bones." He leaned in, breath sour against her face. "I'll find out soon enough."

He turned and stalked off, leaving silence in his wake. Lysander's knees trembled, but she locked them, refusing to collapse. Damon's hand found her shoulder, steadying her. "He's bluffing," he said, but doubt shadowed his voice.

He's not. The certainty sank into her, cold and final. Gaius was hunting her now—not just her strength, but her secret. And as Damon's grip tightened, warm and protective, she felt the noose of her lie tighten too. One wrong move, and it'd choke her—or them both.