A Taste of Authority

Angelique clenched her jaw, arms crossed tightly as she watched Isaiah ignore her. The tension in her muscles refused to ease, her breath slow and measured to keep her temper in check. He hadn't spared her so much as a glance, as if her very presence was inconsequential.

His first words to her had been, “Your appearance inspires thoughts of... frustration.”

It took every ounce of restraint not to snap at him right then and there. Frustration? After she had nearly died? After she had been thrown into the filth of the surface with no preparation, forced to leave her life, and dragged through chaos? Not even a basic show of concern or respect, just dismissiveness wrapped in irritation.

Isaiah reached a hand down to Darius, his second-in-command. He pulled him to his feet as if he weighed nothing. He had already begun his assessment, eyes scanning the environment.

“Casualties?” Isaiah asked, his tone flat.

“Five dead,” Darius responded, voice just as level. “Two Unproven, three soldiers. One other’s injured but stable. Supplies took a hit—we lost most of the rations when the transport flipped.”

“Weapons?” Isaiah’s jaw tightened, but he only nodded.

“Some damaged, but salvageable. Ammo’s running low. We’ll need to conserve until we restock.”

Isaiah exhaled slowly. “Great. Wonderful!”

" Your orders, brother?" Darius placed a hand on his heart in salute. The others from the transport had gathered nearby, some still dazed from the attack. Isaiah surveyed them, his gaze sharp.

“Salvage anything useful. Weapons, supplies, even scraps of armor. We move out in ten.” Isaiah commanded firmly.

"For our Lord, for our Brother!" A chorus rang out from the soldiers of the transport before they scattered getting to work.

"Darius." Isaiah leaned in, whispering to Darius. “Thoughts on the sister?”

"Well..." Darius smirked slightly. “Her appearance inspires thoughts of sin.”

"Acting on them is grounds for execution. Don't forget." Isaiah said.

"Come on. You have to admit it." Darius dug in like a flea chewing at his soft spot. "It's a sin to not honestly express yourself."

"I have." Isaiah grunted.

"Sorry, sorry. I guess you'll just have to adjust." Darius laughed. "She'll inspire those thoughts."

Isaiah sighed, running a hand through his hair. Then, after a pause, he added, “Good work.”

“Was that a compliment?” Darius arched a brow.

“Don’t get used to it.” Isaiah muttered, picking up the pace.

Angelique watched as Isaiah ignored her, whispering his stupid little secrets to Darius. Does he have any sensitivity at all? Angelique let out a loud, slow breath, trying to ease her anger.

“Something to say, Angel?” Isaiah gave her a look, unimpressed. "Please, let's hear it."

Darius stood behind him gesturing and mouthing the words, "Sorry, sorry." Isaiah looked back at him just as he pretended to look the other way.

"No sir." Angelique gritted her teeth. "It's Angelique, by the way."

“Are you injured?” Isaiah asked, already turning away.

“What does it matter?” she snapped. "I'm just a waste of time."

Isaiah gave a throaty chuckle instead of answering, pulling a small vial from his belt and tossing it to her. She barely caught it, fingers closing around the cold glass.

“Drink it,” he said flatly.

She stared at the vial, then back at him. The liquid inside was deep crimson, nearly black in the dim light. Her stomach twisted. “Is this—?”

“My blood,” he confirmed, already turning his attention elsewhere.

She recoiled slightly, her grip on the vial tightening. “That’s disgusting.”

“It will heal you. Faster than waiting for a medic to get to you.” Isaiah sighed, rubbing his temple as if she were the one being unreasonable.

“I’d rather take my chances.” Angelique lifted her chin, defiant.

Isaiah rolled his eyes. Then, before she could react, he stepped forward and grabbed her face with one hand, his grip firm but not painful. Her breath caught as he forced her chin up, pressing his thumb against her lower lip.

“If you don't want to be called a waste of time, then stop being one.” He ordered. "Open."

“Let go of me!” Her heart hammered in her chest. Instead, he popped the lid from off the vial with his thumb and tilted it toward her mouth.

She struggled, punching him square in the face, kicking at his shins, but he didn’t budge. It was as if she were literally nothing to him, unmoved by her weak attempts to break free. The thick, metallic liquid slid past her lips before she could turn away.

She gasped, swallowing before she could spit it out. The effect was immediate. A rush of heat flooded her body. Her head cleared, the ache in her scalp replaced with an itching sensation as the cut closed.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it Angel?” Isaiah finally released her, stepping back.

Angelique wiped at her mouth furiously, glaring. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re welcome.” He replied dryly, before walking past her.

A small murmur began to pass through the group, questions of the Unproven that were working on the transport. They were small, hardy but weak, their frames too frail for the trek ahead. Angelique gathered them around, hoping to assuage any anxiety they had about being abandoned.

"It's alright little ones. I won't leave you." Angelique's words flowed like song on the wind.

The Unproven cooed and pulled lightly at the loose edges of her new robes. Silver. Were it that these robes were gold, these little ones wouldn't be here. Yet, regardless of color, Angelique was the same. Whether gold or silver she would never allow these Unproven to be left alone.

She turned, in resolution, ready for an argument, only for Isaiah to saunter past her. Without a word, he crouched and hoisted three of them gently to the air. One on each shoulder and one clinging to his back, his cape looking to almost cradle it and hold it up so that it wouldn't fall.

“Brothers!” Isaiah called. “We pair with the Unproven. If they cannot make the trip, we make it for them!”

There was no argument. No complaint. The men moved without hesitation, lifting the remaining Unproven with practiced ease.

Angelique watched Isaiah adjust the weight of the three clinging to him. He barely seemed affected, his stance steady, gaze already focused on the path ahead. For a moment, just a brief one, her irritation wavered. Then he glanced at her.

“Still mad?” He asked, amused.

“Yes.” She scowled.

“Good.” He said, starting forward. “You’re more tolerable when you’re too angry to talk.”

Angelique exhaled sharply through her nose, resisting the urge to throw something at the back of his head. She had been assigned to Isaiah for one reason—to help him. Save him, she was told. But right now, she was certain of one thing. She hated him.

Or at least, she wanted to.