Downstairs with Práta, the pair were directed to a room away from the rest and sat before a meal of venison and quail and vegetables of every type. They were brought soups and so much that Socair began to wonder if they hadn’t been mistaken for more important folk.
“I heard from a Company soldier. They will be here tomorrow.” Práta had set her knife and fork on the table. She leaned forward and her voice was slow, careful. “Are you…”
“I have fought with worse.”
“For what fighting you will do…”
Socair’s eyes fell to the table with no focus. “Ah. Right.”
Práta’s face broke her heart in its sadness. She had not wanted to do such a thing and Socair knew as much. A forced smile would be wasted. Resolve was what Socair needed. Strength. The only thing she’d ever had. The weakness she had let crawl through her mind was pulling at the edges of her. Pulling her away from what she knew and what she loved.
“I am sorry, Práta.” Socair said the words, looking up. She found her voice slowly as she spoke, wishing to sound as she had not so long ago. “I have treated you poorly. And myself. I have ignored important battles because they did not look as I wished them to. I took them lightly. I took you lightly.”
“Well. Good. An apology is a start.” Práta smiled, and let out the slightest giggle. She stood and came to Socair, kissing her deeply. “There is time, love. And I am patient. I will have you work for my forgiveness.” She smiled and Socair could not help but do the same. “Now, if you are run through tomorrow, is this what you wish for? Such a somber meal?”
She was right. It was rare to be otherwise with Práta. Socair had spent so little time in her own mind that such small things had come to subsume her in such a short time. Simple questions which, in years, would be ones she could not remember.
“What a pitiful corpse I would be. Crying instead of screaming for war.” Socair stood and Práta stumbled back in surprise. She lifted her chair and carried it around to place it next to Práta’s.
“There is hardly room at this table—”
Socair sat in spite of the protest. “I know. I mean to eat yours.”
She picked up the knife and fork and proceeded to do just that. Práta rushed to her seat and scrambled with Socair for the utensils. The fight went poorly for the smaller elf. A sneak attack was the thing. Práta picked her meat up and threw it. A wet slap sounded in the room and quiet after. Práta’s cheeks puffed and a failure to hold the beginnings of a laugh turned to a snort. The meat had stuck to Socair’s face. Práta was beet red from laughter and looked as though she might die, at least until a wet glob of boiled cabbage was placed on her head, and rubbed in vigorously.
“Oh…” Práta’s jaw fell open and her eyes narrowed mischievously.
What would have been dessert became a less than polite insistence that they please vacate the room and see themselves to the bath. The stalls had hot showers but no room for two bodies. Two smaller bodies, maybe. Socair cursed her size. She could hear Práta’s muffled laughs in fits. They returned to the room hand in hand.
Nath stood as they entered, a clean plate on the table beside her chair.
“How was your meal? I enjoyed it very much!”
She was chipper, staying at the chair with her hands at her back.
“It was delightful.” Práta offered the answer instead of Socair and went to prepare herself for bed.
“She has the right of it. Very good indeed.”
“I’m happy,” Nath said. She sat back in her chair, smiling idly.
“Should you not prepare for bed?”
“No.” Nath looked at the window as she spoke. “I am not yet tired. But the both of you should. I will come when I am ready.”
Socair nodded. She had said she would not treat her as a child and if Nath would take the role of an adult, so much the better.
The bed was comfortable and saw Socair to sleep quickly. She smiled as she fell away from the waking world. It had been too long since Práta had been the body next to her. There was strength in her heart, more than there had been.
A scream. Close. High and pained. And then the feel of a body clambering over her own. Socair shot up in the bed when her chest no longer had weight on it. She looked left, to the wall. Práta. She scanned her as her eyes found their way in the dark. Something stuck out from her gut. A dinner knife. Blood poured from the jagged wound.
Socair spun and came to her knees in the bed, looking for the attacker. A slow mess of tangled hair rose from the floor at the edge of the bed. Nath. Her eyes were wild. She reached out with bloodied fingers, nails missing from half of them. A scratch had pulled blood from three wounds down her cheek.
“Now… now I will—”
Socair’s hand came across the girl’s face with as much force as she could manage. Nath’s feet left their place on solid ground and she came down again well away from where she’d stood. She came up slow, holding her cheek, a look of shock across her face.
“What have you done?!” Socair’s voice cracked with rage, her eyes burned. “Medic!” She screamed the word as loud as she could.
Nath fumbled with the door, yanking it open and fleeing into the hall.
Socair screamed
