Page 11 of Marked

For most of her life, Blair had been more comfortable with books than blades, but that had changed recently.

Her days of teaching turned into nights of training.

For the past week after school, she'd been practicing relentlessly, her hands growing steadier with each dagger throw.

The first few days had been frustrating; her throws were wild, missing the target entirely or landing with awkward clinks on the ground.

But now, the blade danced through the air with a satisfying thud when it struck the target.

Even after hours of daily practice, the dagger never faltered or chipped, maintaining its pristine image.

By the end of the week, Blair was almost surprised at how natural it felt.

The weight of the dagger was no longer foreign to her; it had become an extension of her arm.

She could almost sense the arc of it as it spun in the air, guided by a steady hand and a calm mind.

At this point, the dagger always remained close to her.

Knowing that she felt more comfortable carrying it, she'd taken the time to craft something more practical: a sheath for her thigh, made of a few leather scraps and an old belt.

It was snug and subtle, designed to be hidden under her skirts.

No one could ever tell she had it, and it filled her with a sense of adventure.

During the day, the dagger remained sheathed.

Come afternoon, it was out as she practiced and then at night, she slept with the dagger under her pillow.

She was no longer scared of handling it.

She knew that the day might come when she'd need it.

When the calm routine of her life would be interrupted by something more dangerous.

If she was being honest with herself, there was also the fact that the dagger gave her a sense of confidence.

Through it all, she waited for the danger to spike again.

For another stranger to come into town or a scream of agony to signal impending doom, but soon, the exact opposite happened.

The stories began to dwindle, and SilverDawn's friendly demeanor came back.

Within the next week, all of her students had returned to class. Their rosy-cheeked faces void of fear.

In almost every aspect, everything was normal.

Other than the lock (which had never moved from her house) and the dagger that had become a part of her everyday ensemble, everything was back to the way it was.

Even Damien had slunk back into the isolation of his forge and had yet to be seen since he presented Blair with the dagger.

Her thoughts rarely visited him and the shadows he potentially wielded.

She had almost convinced herself that whatever she had seen wasn't what the traveling merchants discussed, nor what was written in the book.

Thoughts about him aside, everything had settled.

Besides the stranger who had walked into their town a month ago, no other danger had surfaced .

The hunters had patrolled like they said they would.

Walking the streets, checking the market, and keeping to themselves.

The only interaction she had was once when they walked into her yard while she was practicing.

She was just able to pull the dagger from its spot in the tree when a hunter appeared, eyeing the distressed bark.

He watched her for a few more moments, eyeing the marks and her body language, before asking her a couple questions.

He pulled a mask down from his face, nodding in greeting.

"I've been told you visit the town square often. Have you seen anything suspicious or out of the ordinary lately?"

Blair shook her head no, sliding the dagger into the back of her waistband and leaning one arm against the tree beside her. Her brain slipped immediately to Damien, and she prayed her face didn't betray her words.

"Nope. Can't say I have unless you count the ridiculous price they're asking for eggs," she responded with a small smile. The hunter paused, glancing back at the tree and around the yard.

"Do you live here by yourself?" he questioned, his eyes squinting slightly in suspicion.

"Sure do," she answered, moving her hand and crossing her arms over her chest. He nodded slightly again.

"Thanks for your time."

She watched him walk away with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She went to bed that night, thinking the worst was over and that whatever storm of unease had blown through was now behind her.

Although she planned on continuing to wield her dagger, she realized the need for it may have subdued.

That thought settled her mind, and she went to sleep the fastest she had in weeks.

Dawn was awakening, and the colorful lights cascaded into Blair's open window.

She awoke with a content smile and slid her hand under her pillow, making contact with the dagger.

She pulled it out, stretched her arms, and flipped it easily in her fingers as she sat up.

Her soul was happy, and she began to hum.

Standing and moving to the clothes she had set out, she pulled on a blue cotton dress and shorts.

She sheathed the dagger to her thigh and produced a patterned ribbon to tie her hair into a messy bun.

The humming turned into outright singing as she collected her things for the day.

Throwing a few things into her bag, including the lock Damien gave her, she descended her walkway, heading out to start her day.

This particular morning seemed bright to her and filled with hope. An optimistic energy flowed through Blair as she decided to use the extra time she had. She walked past her schoolhouse to the bakery nearby. Most mornings, they awoke before the sun to start making breakfast rolls.

The old shop smelled of flour and seasoning, and as she approached, the wind carried the aroma to her.

The door was open, allowing the morning air to enter.

As she reached the door, she could spot the counter through the window.

Pausing, she noticed a man leaning over the counter, very close to the owner.

She set her bag down along the brick that lined the building and moved behind the corner of the door as she watched .

"You've seen something," the hunter growled, voice hard. "Don't lie to me again, Orlin."

"I told you.” The shopkeeper stammered, backing into a shelf of rolls. "I haven't seen anyone who can do that. I don't even know what you're talking about.."

With a sudden snap, the hunter's gloved hand shot out, and he swiped his arm across the counter. Bottles and bags full of flour, sugar, and other contents exploded across the floor, spraying glass everywhere. Orlin cried out, shielding his face as the hunter advanced.

"Don't insult me by pretending ignorance," the hunter said, stepping around the counter.

"I swear, I know nothing!" Orlin's voice cracked, high-pitched and pleading.

The hunter turned again, seizing a wooden chair occupying a table, and hurled it across the room.

It shattered against the far beam with a loud bang.

Then came another chair and a jar of spiced salts, each reduced to fragments with cold precision.

Orlin flinched at every crash, his back pressed hard to the wall.

Then, a soft thud. A sound too out of place in the violence to go unnoticed. The hunter froze and slowly turned his head toward the sound.

At the shop's entrance, half-concealed in the doorway, stood Blair. She had dropped her satchel on the wood floor as she walked in. She hadn't meant to intervene, but she couldn't just watch. Her body had moved on its own, walking straight into the heated argument .

The fury in the hunter's eyes stifled like a candle caught in a sudden wind. His chest rose once, then again, slower. He turned away from the trembling shopkeeper and stared at the broken remains scattered across the floor. His fists unclenched.

"I'm sorry to hear about the damage that happened," he said, voice flat but no longer venomous." I'll make sure to report it immediately."

The shopkeeper didn't answer, only watched as the hunter stepped back and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'll come back later to check on the situation," he muttered, looking up at Orlin. He then turned his body and walked out, brushing past Blair and coming to a halt.

His eyes shot to hers, and his expression seemed to darken. "What is your name?"

"Blair Griffin," she stared blankly as she picked up her bag and took a step toward the shopkeeper, who was watching with horror in his eyes.

The hunter grabbed Blair's wrist, stopping her. "I need to ask you some questions."

Her anger rose, and she yanked away, "You can ask me after I help Orlin, or better yet after I'm done teaching for the day." Blair walked away, setting her stuff down to help with the chaos that surrounded her.

The hunter clenched his jaw and pulled his arm back, pulling it under his cloak. "I guess I'll find you after then."

Blair waved him away in response as she found the broom and swept up the glass shards and broken wood .

Once his figure was out of sight, Orlin rushed to her and embraced her in a hug. "Thank you, Blair. I'm not sure what he wanted, but someone sure made him angry."

She hugged him back, dropping the broom and wrapping her arms around him.

"Yeah, that didn't seem very friendly." She pulled away, nodding her head around the room, "I'm sorry about your shop."

"Don't worry too much about it. My assistant will be here soon, and he will help. Why don't I grab some breakfast for my fearless protector as a sign of appreciation."

Blair nodded, gladly accepting the food, but she glanced back at the door and the way the hunter had grabbed her. Something didn't sit well, but her line of thought was broken as a bag was shoved into her hand.

The rest of the day was like any other; Blair taught reading in the morning, followed quickly by math and science, and today, there was even art.

Each lesson had blended into the next with barely a moment to think.

Between tying shoelaces, settling disputes, and reprimanding the boys about the careless play in the forge, Blair barely noticed how quick the time had passed.

Before she knew it, the sun was beginning its slow descent over the town of Silverdawn.

Blair dismissed the class and waved goodbye to her students.

One student, a loud and energetic redhead, ran back to her and squeezed her tight as she kissed the top of his head.

His blue eyes beamed as he said good evening to her and skipped away.

She double-checked that all the students had left with their families, and she closed the door to her room.

She tilted her head back and forth, debating on whether to go home, but she still felt uncomfortable about the morning's events.

Although she would love to go home to the comfort of her bed, she decided to stay and work through her uneasiness by trying to install the lock.

As much as Blair used the dagger, she didn't want the lock to go to waste. She also definitely did not want to take it back to Damien. With that, she took a deep breath in and decided to install it.

Blair stood in the middle of her classroom, just staring at the heavy iron pieces in her hands, a mixture of determination and stubborn pride on her face.

She had just found the tools she needed, and she was ready for the next step.

Eyeing it from a far, it definitely appeared to be sturdy enough for a siege.

She straightened her shoulders and mentally walked through what Damien had said.

After following the first few self-appointed instructions, she was struggling to hold and hammer. She paused, muttering to herself and glaring at the lock as if it was laughing at her.

She kicked off her shoes, rolled up her sleeves, and approached the door with a boost of confidence. The lock was supposed to be simple: just a few screws, a bit of hammering, and maybe some swearing.

But the moment she lifted it up to the door, the weight hit her like a ton of bricks.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," she grunted, wobbling slightly. It was heavier than she'd anticipated. A lot heavier. Her arms trembled as she tried to steady the lock with one hand and fish around in her toolbox with the other.

She bit her lip and breathed through the effort it took her to hold it.

Lifting the lock higher, she positioned it toward the top of the door.

The door creaked, and she tried to level it to the wood.

Of course, the weight made it dip on one side.

"Come..on..," she said, struggling. "It's like he made this intentionally to piss me off. "

After several awkward attempts to hammer in the brackets, hold it up, and not drop anything on her foot, she felt like she had gotten the hang of it. The lock was almost attached, but she was still struggling to get the final screw in.

"Why is this thing so heavy?" she groaned, rolling her eyes.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of twisting and muttering, she managed to get the lock almost entirely in place. The final screw was still a little loose, but there was no way she was going to let that stop her.

"Good enough," Blair said with a grin. "No one's getting through that door anytime soon."

She stepped back and admired her work, hands on hips, thoroughly satisfied.

With one final break she grabbed the door and closed it.

Before the door had even finished rattling, one side of the lock fell hard and hit the floor with a highly offending thud.

Blair stared for a few moments at the piece on her floor and counted to five.

Nope. Not happening. She was done. She turned, collected her things, and headed home, almost two hours late and feeling completely defeated.