#what can i say Renu's gorgeous drawing Inspired me

[dove-actually]

“Of course he’s wrong, and of course it’ll end poorly. But this isn’t a fight I can win.”

Ahni’s lips pressed into a small, teasing smile. “Lady Sarra Mendi, the famed Claw in the Glove, losing a fight? Surely that would never happen.”

(thank you so much @redotter​ for the AMAZING ART 💞💞💞 check out more of Renu’s OC art here)

title: Lost Fights word count: 1000 setting: knight-training fortress, a couple of months after the end of Knight Errant, during Storm Day (e.g. summer solstice) celebrations

“Of course he’s wrong, and of course it’ll end poorly. But this isn’t a fight I can win.”

Ahni’s lips pressed into a small, teasing smile.“Lady Sarra Mendi, the famed Claw in the Glove, losing a fight? Surely that would never happen.”

I rolled my eyes, but disingenuously; irritating as that moniker was, a small, childish part of me was proud of it.  

“Not never, just very rarely.” I wiggled my eyebrows, “And I make sure those who see me lose don’t live to tell others.”

Ahni laughed, a carefree, happy sound that echoed along the old balcony stones.

“I’m sure you do. You have quite the reputation to uphold, after all.” Amusement dancing in her eyes, she leaned in, touching my arm conspiratorially.  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret.”

She smelled of palm-oil and bara fruit, a seasonal hair pomade that I’d seen used in Dejali province in summer. The mix weighed down Ahni’s usually tight curls, turned them to looser, shiny waves that flowed down her shoulders, and the rich, sweet fragrance made the balcony feel like a lush orchard.

People in Dejali called the palm-and-bara mix the lovers brew. Newlyweds used it on their wedding nights. I wondered if Ahni knew that. Probably—there wasn’t much in the way of plants and potions that escaped her.

If she knew, I wondered what it meant that she’d chosen to use the mix, today.

“I lost a fight once, right there.” She pointed to the south training yard, distracting me. “Worst defeat of my training years. Sir Vicente had all knights-appellant—protectors and healers—practice battlefield moves together, and I got paired with Marin Abarro…”

“The Butcher?” I grimaced. I’d trained a few years behind Ahni, but Abarro’s reputation as a brutal, sadistic bully had reached everyone. “I heard even the teachers were afraid of him. Apparently he once ripped off a healer-appellant’s arm…” I trailed off, jaw dropping. “No.”

“He didn’t rip it off.” Ahni hummed, rubbing her shoulder absently, “Though not for lack of trying. My magic flared during the fight—it can happen under extreme stress, if the user isn’t fully trained—so it kept putting me back together faster than Abarro could take me apart. He wasn’t happy about it.”

If Marin Abarro hadn’t left court and retreated to some corner of his family’s land years ago, I’d have gone and ripped him to pieces right then.

“I can’t believe that was you.” I shook my head. “The whole fortress heard about the fight, but almost no one knew who he’d hurt. Lady Danya wouldn’t let us near the hearlers’ wing—I heard she even yelled at Sir Vicente…”

I paused, as noises erupted below. A gaggle of children in training tunics spilled from around the corner, blowing storm whistles and waving blue flags. We watched them cross the yard, shrieking, and I smiled as I recalled my own days fighting for the storm-the-fortress trophy, on Storm Day. Bastian and I had organized our team better: no pointless yelling, no idling around the yard…

Ahni chuckled. “You look like you want to go down there and lead them.”

I didn’t dignify her correct assumption with an answer.

“I can’t believe you fought The Butcher.” I looked back to her as the uproar died below. “Why didn’t you refuse?”

“Because Sir Vicente had ordered it. And I could take Abarro.” Ahni narrowed her eyes at me. “I could. He wasn’t skilled. He swung his sword like a bat and had no leg game—he won fights only because he broke the rules of engagement and people feared him. In a fair fight, I’d have won.”

I’d seen her fight. She was good, but too deliberate with her strikes, too focused on trying to disable rather than kill her opponent. Anyone but an equally honorable opponent would take advantage of that.

“People like Abarro don’t fight fair,” I said. “The best way to beat them is not to engage.”

She arched her eyebrows. “That’s exactly what Lady Danya said, after my fight—and it sounded far more convincing coming from her, because as far as I know, she never rode into battle on a blind horse and armed only with a chicken leg.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “The horse wasn’t blind; his eyes were just covered. And it was a very big chicken.”

Her nose wrinkled in an expression of amused doubt, and I thought to myself, again, that she was the most beautiful person I’d seen.

“Abarro was my chicken-leg battle,” she said softly. “We’d had some run-ins, over the years: he bullied healer trainees, I reported him a few times... He tried to intimidate me, too—Lady Danya caught him following me up to my quarters once, and threatened to turn his digestive system inside out.”

There was little love lost between Lady Danya and me, but I mentally cheered for her.

“When we were paired to fight, it was important to me to stand up to him. Which I did. Right up until he broke my legs, at least.” She bit back a smile, “In any case, I may have lost the fight, but I claimed the moral high ground.”

“Which I’m sure was hard to stand on, with broken legs.”

Ahni laughed, and swatted my arm, playfully. Another storm-the-fortress team ran across the yard, and we watched them attempt a failed surprise attack on the west tower.

“We broke into Abarro’s quarters, later that week,” I said, after a minute. “Dumped a bucket of tear-bean powder in his closet. And I rubbed wolf-weed over his saddle, so all the fortress horses would refuse him as a rider.”

Ahni gave me a strange look, and I shrugged.  

“We didn’t like that he’d hurt someone weaker—I know, I know, you could’ve taken him.” I held up my hands, laughing, “I didn’t even know it was you! Just wanted to teach a bully a lesson. He deserved it.”

“He did,” agreed Ahni, and for a moment we watched the training yard in silence, until she nudged me gently with her shoulder. “Very heroic, Lady Sarra. Avenging my unfair defeat.”

I snorted.

“No wonder your reputation precedes you.” She put a note of girlish breathlessness into her voice, and leaned in, squeezing my arm. “The bravest [spoiler], the [major spoiler]—the unerring champion of Scanians everywhere.”

I winced at the reminder. “I’m nobody’s champion.”  

“You’re my champion, today,” said Ahni, and she kissed my cheek, her warm hand squeezing mine briefly. “Thank you for teaching that bully a lesson.”

My cheeks heated.

“You’d have won, in a fair fight,” I said, and I squeezed her hand back.  A hunting horn yowled across the yard, making another assault in the Storm Day games, and we turned to watch, shoulder-to shoulder, surrounded by the sweet scent of palm and bara fruit.

____THE END____

And a full-sized rendering of Renu’s gorgeous depiction of this scene, because I couldn’t get this to size properly in the title photo...

LOOK AT THEM AREN’T THEY THE PRETTIEST.