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Their weapons clash and the force of his blow sends a tremor through Althea’s arms that almost makes her lose her grip. But even though she manages to keep the sword steady, he can see the effort it takes her in her posture.
With an irritated scowl, Zenos bats her sword arm away as if it is nothing.
“Why do you insist on entering battle with such an inferior blade?” he growls, eying the worn-down katana in her hands like it is a particularly disgusting stain. And perhaps to him, it is, Thea thinks as she takes a step back to get back in position.
“I can’t very well brandish the sword you gave me, can I now?” she hisses back as she wipes a stray strand of hair from her face.
“It’s a far superior tool,” Zenos simply argues. “You are hampering your progress with whatever that is. You might as well fight with a common stick.”
“Well, I am very sorry that my attire is not up to your royal standards.” She barely manages to block his next hit in time. “But your particular choice of weapons is quite distinctive. Enough so that the resistance would start asking questions.” Thea twists, swirling the sword around her in tune with her moves. It is not nearly as fluid or fast as she wants it to be. The katana is slightly unbalanced, its grip a tad too narrow, and the material too sleek. She has to put far too much force into holding on to it to make her move count. Her teeth gnash under the knowledge that he is right. A second later, he hits her wrist with the hilt of his weapon, hard enough to make her yell out in pain as she is forced to drop her weapon.
“This is neither worth my time nor yours.” Zenos frowns before sheathing his sword. “Find a way to wield a better weapon, or I’ll find one for you.”
Thea splutters, indignation welling up in her as she tries to ignore the pain in her wrist and reach for her sword again. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Zenos has already turned, walking away with a calm and disinterest in the battle still raging around them that shouldn’t be possible yet is so very him it feels perfectly right. No one dares to stop him. Neither his people nor hers have any desire to be felled on the spot for a useless act of bravery. If he wants to leave, two armies instinctively part and clear the way for him, no questions asked.
Thea stares at his retreating form with a painfully throbbing hand, and the knowledge that she is far too curious to see what solution he may come up with, to do anything against the unveiled threat.
It’s on another battlefield, a completely different fight, that she finds out.
Around her, soldiers struggle to stand as she wields her Astrolabe instead of a sword. This battle doesn’t need more fighters; she had known that going in. What it needs is support, protection, and the blessed relief of healing magic, making sure most of their number lived to fight another day.
Althea is so engrossed in focussing her aether, in providing aid wherever she can, that she quickly loses track of her surroundings. It happens more often when she is like this. When she looks out for her comrades rather than for herself. All her attention on seeing who is injured makes her enemies a secondary thought. It bothers her more than she likes to admit, relying on others to keep her safe, but it’s something that cannot be helped.
Smoke and ash fill the air as the Imperial war machinery sows destruction all around her. She can barely see two yalms ahead anymore, thinking already about retreating, when something shifts. Her ears twitch, picking up the distinctive sounds of armor much heavier than standard infantry issue. Steps she would know anywhere, for they haunt her sleep each night since that first day in Rhalgr’s Reach. Before she can cast even a basic shield around herself, a wave of force hits her square in the chest, sending her stumbling back before hitting the floor. Her weapon goes flying before it clatters to the ground.
“I see you didn’t bother bringing the useless stick with you this time.” Zenos’ voice cuts through the fog, and a moment later, he is in front of her, looking down with an amused smile. His eyes wander to her discarded weapon, and a spark of delight shines in them. “Instead you brought something way better.”
Thea can’t help but frown at him in confusion. By all means, she would have expected him to scoff at her, to complain she was wasting her time with something as fundamentally opposed to the pure violence that shaped his every move as healing magic was. But there is nothing but delight on his face.
“You may be at ease, hero, for I come bearing gifts.”
With all the calm in the world, as if they weren’t on a battlefield, Zenos turns the monstrosity that houses his swords and draws out a blade she hasn’t seen before. The first thing Thea notices is that it looks intricate, expensive, and made with the finest craftsmanship available. The second is that it seems far too small to be made for him.
“You are insane.” Her voice is but a whisper as she frantically looks around to see who might be witnessing this. They are surrounded by thick smoke, but still, there is no way she could leave this battlefield with a weapon like that and not be noticed. “You can’t give that to me, and especially not here,” she insists, scrambling to get up.
Zenos’ eyes narrow dangerously. “I can do whatever I desire,” he growls, and a moment later, he moves.
Thea flinches, but there is no attack coming. Instead, she hears metal against metal as he kicks her Astrolabe towards her with a casual flick of his boot. Before she can pick it up, he is suddenly too close and an armored hand clasps around her chin, tilting her head up.
“It’s all in the delivery.”
Thea swallows harshly as she feels his breath on her skin, but before she can think of a reply, he eyes the discarded tool on the ground again.
“I’ve asked you before, but I am curious - just how good is your healing magic?”
Defiance burns in her at his patronizing tone, and Thea glares at him. “I am excellent at what I do!” It only causes another genuine smile on him as he looks back at her.
“I wouldn’t have expected any less,” he says with a hint of admiration before he suddenly drags her closer and kisses her fiercely.
His mouth is insistent, relentless lips prying her own open to let his tongue sweep through her mouth like he owns it. For a moment, Thea is too stunned to do anything but let him. They are in the midst of battle. Anyone around them could suddenly take a step too close to them and see, but Zenos doesn’t care. Under the onslaught of his kiss, Thea suddenly shakes from an entirely different realization, as his earlier question brings up a memory of their very first kiss. The night he had first asked her about her healing magic. But the epiphany comes far too late as Zenos suddenly shifts, and a blinding pain shoots through Thea with an unyielding force.
Against his unrelenting mouth, Zenos swallows her cry of agony with a greedy gasp. Not letting up, holding her locked in his kiss, he drives the katana all the way through her stomach.
Zenos has hurt her before, both in battle as well as in the throes of passion. Breaking bones locked in a fight nearly to the death or cutting deeply into her flesh while driving her insane with pleasure, Thea feels almost foolish for being surprised by this. Had he not threatened, he would find a way? It should not be a shock to her that he did, nor that he is making sure that it is both painful and memorable at once.
But what throws her off most is not even what he did; it is the stark contrast of everything around her. The steel is relentless, mercilessly cutting through her flesh. Hard and unbending, as is his grip on the sword and his hold on her face. Yet after the initial roughness, his mouth is soft on hers, his lips caressing hers with a gentleness that feels as terrifying as the bottomless pit of pain in her stomach does.
When he draws back, there is something so unsettlingly warm in his eyes it makes Thea think she would have preferred the certainty of something far more simple. Hatred. Insanity even. Anything but this.
“There, now you may simply claim this a trophy of surviving. No one will question you.” His eyes shine bright with adoration as he looks down at her before his smile widens. A moment later, he kisses her once more, making sure her scream is for him to savor alone as he twists the sword ever so slightly.
When Thea’s legs shake and start to buckle, he leans down with her, gently lowering her to the ground onto her knees. He lets go of the katana, and it stays firmly lodged in her flesh as he reaches for her Astrolabe and puts it to rest right against her legs, where she can reach for it easily. “Do not squander this gift,” he murmurs, and something in Thea breaks free as she lets out a pained gasp that is close to a laugh.
“Why am I not surprised that a gift from you feels surprisingly much like dying,” she wheezes, her fingers starting to tremble from the shock as she closes them deftly around the Astrolabe.
An armored finger traces a trail of tears on her face. A gesture so gentle it is thoroughly out of place, just like the calm smile on his face is.
“You should know by now that all good things do,” Zenos replies lightly before he rises to his full height again.
“When you’ve healed up enough, you know where to find me,” he says low enough that it is for her especially sensitive ears only. “And don’t forget to bring your healing tools and your new weapon.” Something in his eyes turns darker with an unspoken promise hovering in the air between them. “Who knows, maybe you will enjoy wielding it as much as I did.”
When he turns and walks away, Thea shakes in exhaustion as she draws on her aether and starts channeling the healing magic necessary to keep her from bleeding out. There is no way she can remove the blade on her own, but she knows it won’t take long until someone breaks through the smokey fog around her and finds her. Still fighting for air, her eyes get caught by the intricate pattern on the hilt of the sword. There, between the artfully engraved lines, she spots a single letter carved along with them. It is not very obvious, but once she sees it, it burns itself into her mind. A simple, elegant ‘A’, and it is all the confirmation she could ever need to know, that this blade had indeed been made explicitly for her.
How fitting, she thinks, that hers would be the first blood it drew.
As the pain rages through her and she distantly hears someone calling her name through the chaos, Althea wonders if Zenos isn’t right when he claims they are alike in many ways. If the same insanity that drives him isn’t just as much part of her. As her vision darkens around her, she feels a flutter of joy at the thought that this is undoubtedly the most personal gift she has ever received. And that she couldn’t wait to put it to good use.