Page 48 of Fallacies

I charge before he does, taking up the offensive instead of being forced to defend like every round prior.

Easton swipes for my torso, but I dodge it, and on the upswing of his next thrust, I grab his wrist with both hands and put all my weight into pushing it down. My grip, thanks to the sweat, starts slipping. The knife begins rising…

I release him and turn, side-stepping the thrust of the dagger and barely missing a knife to the forearm. Backing up only a few steps, I put more distance between us and wipe my sweaty palms in the dirt, hoping that will give me better purchase.

Easton moves to my side of the ring, and just like that, I’m on defense.

Again.

He tries to get past me, but I hook a foot behind his ankle, reaching for his wrist as he stumbles forward. He shifts at the last second, his hand twisting, and I hiss when the blade splits my palm.

Fresh blood runs down my wrist, panic settling into my veins at how slowly the wound heals.

“Running low on mender magic…” I grit out in Callan’s direction.

“Flags don’t talk,” he throws back at me, and I roll my eyes.

Easton is back on his feet in seconds, but I’ve already wiped my bloody palm in the dirt, wincing at the burn of the cut. I’m charging forward before fear can prevent me from doing so. I grab his wrist and yank it behind him, pivoting so I’m able to kick in the back of his knees at the same time. With the combination of my body weight and his vulnerable angle, I’m able to push him to the ground. Barely.

I can tell by how quickly his muscles fold that he’s getting tired. Maybe not as tired as I am, but he’s certainly not as sharp as he was four hours ago.

His movements might be sloppy, but his skin is just as slippery as mine. We both pant as he fights to free himself of my hold while I fight to keep it, shifting my grip to get closer to the hand that holds the dagger.

Running out of options, I swing a leg up, dig my knee into the back of his neck to keep his face in the dirt, and begin prying his fingers off the hilt.

“Fucking hell, Easton,” I grit out, fighting with his iron grip. “Let. Go.”

“No!” he grunts, shimmying his shoulders in an attempt to roll me off. Easton manages to get his other arm beneath him, lifting us both off the ground in a trembling one-handed push-up.

He tosses me off his back, and I curse as I hit the ground, forearms slamming into the dirt. Forcing myself to my feet, my vision focuses on Easton, who is now sprinting towards my unguarded flag.

“Dammit!” I swear, taking off after him, every muscle and bone in my body protesting at the movement. In the last step he takes towards Callan, I leap towards his ankles, managing to drag him back to the ground with me.

Easton shouts as he hits the dirt, the knife flying from his hands and landing a few feet away. There’s a brief moment when neither of us moves, and then it’s a scramble to see who can get there first.

We’re a tangle of tired limbs and dirt-covered skin, and by some gods-damn miracle, it’s me. I make it first.

Snatching the dagger off the ground, I force my body in the opposite direction and charge to where Devon sits.

Unguarded.

I push myself harder than I have so far, practically flying across the training ring and throwing myself in the dirt behind Devon’s chair.

All I manage is one severed rope before Easton catches up to me, grabbing my biceps to haul me back. Before his grip can tighten, I thrust my elbow into his stomach.

He pulls harder.

I press back against him, shifting my angle so that when my elbow slams back, it connects with something hard.

Easton curses loud enough that I flinch, and judging by how close his scream was to my ear, that must have been his nose.

The aftershocks of the strike throb through my elbow and up my arm as I continue sawing through the rope, and with one final slice of the knife, the rope at Devon’s wrists falls. It hits the dirt behind his chair, and I slump down with it.

Fucking finally.

Easton kicks the dirt, one hand cupped over his nose as blood drips down his chin.

“Sorry,” I sputter, but he waves me off.