Chapter 168 - 166: Anytime.

Chapter 168: Chapter 166: Anytime.

The feeling lasts only a second, but for that entire heartbeat, Binny remains himself inexplicably rooted to the spot, breath stuck in his throat and his body pinned in place by the sudden, crushing pressure that fills his small bed chamber.

He sees the knife, though. Frozen, unable to do anything but watch, he sees it leave Khobi’s hand and carve through the air directly towards Loac.

​In the same heartbeat, Loac turns aside, and the blade glances uselessly off the stone with a tinny clang.

It’s a beautiful throw, and an even more beautiful dodge; both movements executed seamlessly and in almost perfect timing.

​"Tsk," Khobi scoffs, clearly disappointed by the miss, but not entirely surprised.

He lowers his hand, still outstretched from where the knife had left his hand, and his red eyes –narrowed and clear –settle on the man leaning against the wall as if he hadn’t just sidestepped a projectile at short range.

​"What’s he doing here?"

​And just like that, just as quickly as the pressure had risen, it dissipates.

Air fills Binny’s lungs again, and he finds himself inexplicably able to breathe again.

​"Honestly couldn’t tell you," he chirps, and Khobi groans irritably, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he struggles with his tangle of bedsheets.

He does not look pleased at his sleep being disturbed. Binny doesn’t blame him. It’s the middle of the night, and the whole reason he’s here in the first place is because of Loac.

It’s pretty clear that he’s about to say as much, but Loac isn’t gracious enough to let him.

​It’s testament to his unbelievable speed and skill with a blade that Binny doesn’t even see it leave his hands.

The sword goes skittering across the stone with a grating clamour; finally skidding to a dramatic rest an inch from Khobi’s body, where it waits, gleaming in the low candlelight.

​Khobi just stares blankly at the sword. Blinks, then shifts his blank stare up towards the man who has just tossed him his own sword.

It’s clearly far too late, or far too early for whatever is going on here.

​"What?"

​Loac’s jaw clenches. And then after a long beat, he looks away. Binny has to say, he shares Khobi’s confusion.

​Moments tick by. He can see an angry vein starting to twitch in Khobi’s forehead, and an identical one, but less angry, and more something else, pulsing at Loac’s throat.

​"Anytime," he finally mutters, and Binny has never in his life been more grateful for a silence to be broken.

And that’s saying something. His voice sounds different from usual though, and he can’t quite place his tone. "Before, you said anytime."

​The irritation in Khobi’s face lessens. That’s not to say it vanishes, because it’s still the middle of the night and this is still one of his least favourite people in the castle, but he seems to understand.

​Binny’s glad someone does.

​"I did, didn’t I?" he snorts, scowl deepening as he rolls a crick out of his neck. He slowly gathers himself to his feet, joints popping and weary, still-quietly weeping muscles pulling taut in protest. It’s decisive, the way he snatches up the sword from the floor beside him, and when he meets Loac’s gaze, the last remnants of sleep have all but burned away.

"I guess there’s nothing for it."

​Nothing for it??

​Binny has no idea what’s going on but he’s certain it’s a really bad idea.

Nothing good ever comes from Khobi getting that look in his eye.

The feeling only grows as Khobi scoops his shirt off the floor and drags it over his head. It’s inside out, but if he notices he doesn’t care.

Then he goes for his shoes. Another bad sign.

​"Khobi, it’s the middle of the night?" Binny complains somewhat frantically, alternating between hovering at his side and making sure Loac isn’t going to try anything else.

It’s almost more concerning that Loac is now standing in the doorway with his back to them, gaze cast over his shoulder. Like he’s waiting.

"Where are you going??"

​"Training grounds," Khobi informs him, like it’s obvious.

​"At this hour??"

​Khobi just shrugs, the way men shrug when things just can’t be helped. And then with his next words, thick, and steady, directed at Loac’s back, the air itself seems to crackle, and changes again.

Not enough to make Binny freeze; not enough to steal his breath or drag him down, but enough that his skin starts to prickle all over, and the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end.

​"We have a score to settle."

​It’s not cold, but Binny shivers all the same, and in that moment is endlessly glad that he’s not caught between them.

​He’d be burned to a crisp, he’s sure.

​Binny considers leaving it at that. Then thinks better of it and grabs his tunic. It’s a bad idea, but he’s definitely not going to miss out on it.

​"Of course you do."

...

In all the time he’s been trapped in this castle, the training grounds have been a place where Khobi has found freedom.

It was the place in this castle where he first took up a sword. Where he first crossed blades with men not as guards or enemies, but as something closer to friends.

It was the place where he first experienced real glory, like the swordsmen of myth, and burned, as a crowd roared for him and his triumph.

​For but a single day it had been transformed into an arena; an almighty exhibition of bloodshed and will, where mere men become the stuff of legends.

Decked out in ribbons and colour; draped in sigils and banners from kingdoms far and wide, and filled to bursting with noblemen and soldiers and merchants of all those far off places, all captivated and enraptured by the scale and spectacle.

​It had been everything Khobi could have ever dreamed of. More, maybe.

​They could never understand, though, that the true magic had never been in the arena, but in the men who fought and bled in it.

​And never had that fact been more true than tonight.