12. Chapter 12
12
Chapter 12
Adar
I stared at her limp body swaying slightly on the stage, her blue-tinged hands marked with desperate scratches where she had fought against the binds. Her lifeless blue eyes stared blankly out at the thinning crowd, empty of the fire that once made her so intolerable.
Diana Blackwood.
She had been a thorn in my sister’s side, one of the cruelest voices mocking Bronwen and me for years. And yet, as I stood there, watching the vultures circle above, I felt no satisfaction in her fate. She didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this.
The future Father of the coven stood on the stage and did nothing.
My chest tightened with the weight of my actions. I had been part of this. I had torn down her door, stormed through her home, and found her hiding beneath the floorboards. I bound her hands, shoved the cloth into her mouth to prevent her from speaking a spell, and drug her to the square. When her eyes met mine, they burned with betrayal, and I knew she would have exposed me in a heartbeat if given the chance.
But what did that make me? A coward? A hypocrite? I hated the Legion for what it stood for, but here I was, wearing their uniform, playing my part in the very thing I despised. It was a role I hadn’t chosen for myself, and it hollowed me out with every step. Even if I’d wanted to save her, I couldn’t have. Diana had trusted the wrong person, shared her secrets with a boy who feared witches more than he cared for her. It was a mistake she couldn’t take back, and the town had made their judgment.
The crowd buzzed with morbid excitement. They cheered the snap of her neck as though it were a festival. To them, witches were monsters, evil incarnate. Diana was no longer human in their eyes. I glanced at my family in the crowd. Mama’s tears streaked her face as she clung to Papa’s arm. Bronwen stood stiff, her green eyes cold and distant, likely imagining what she would do if anyone dared lay a hand on her.
And me? I stood on the stage, the perfect Legion soldier, wearing my mask of indifference. My face gave away nothing, not my disgust at the crowd’s bloodlust nor the shame clawing at my insides. But inside, every instinct screamed at me to do something—anything—to end this. I could feel the weight of my failure pressing down on me, choking me with its silence.
“Adar!”
I turned to see Rhydian motioning to me, a wide grin plastered on his face as he lingered near a group of young women. Of all the Legion soldiers, he was the only one I tolerated. He was here because of his father, a punishment to make a man out of him. It hadn’t worked. His mask of humor hid his discomfort well, and that made him bearable.
One last glance at Diana’s body, and I forced the guilt down like a bitter drink. I needed a distraction—anything to escape the weight of what I’d just witnessed. Her death would haunt me, I knew that much, but there was no sense in dwelling on something I couldn’t change. At least, that’s what I told myself.
Rhydian’s grin widened as I approached. “Ladies, this is Adar. He’s the most disciplined soldier among us.” He shot me a wink, knowing full well how false that statement was.
The blonde closest to him turned her attention to me. Her fair skin and soft curls framed striking hazel eyes that sparkled with mischief. She stepped closer, her gaze roving over me in a way that left no room for interpretation.
“Is that true?” she asked, her voice smooth and teasing. “Disciplined?”
I smirked, letting the mask of a soldier slip into something easier. “Only when I have to be.”
Her lips curled into a sly smile. “And when you don’t have to be?”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice just enough to draw her in. “Then I’m exactly what you want me to be.”
Her cheeks flushed slightly, though her confidence didn’t falter.
“Do you know where the Legion camp is?” I asked.
She nodded, and my smirk grew. “Come tomorrow. I’ll make sure you have a memorable visit.”
She grinned, biting her lip before nodding again. “Tomorrow, then.”
As she walked away, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. For a brief moment, I had escaped the weight of Diana’s death, the judgment of the crowd, and the expectations of my family. But I knew it wouldn’t last.
***
The next day, the camp buzzed with activity. The clang of swords against shields echoed across the grounds, a rhythm as familiar as my own heartbeat. Fires crackled in scattered pits, their smoke curling into the air and mingling with the pungent smell of sweat, leather, and steel. Soldiers barked orders, their voices sharp and cutting, while rookies scrambled to obey.
Nearby, a blacksmith worked tirelessly, the rhythmic pounding of his hammer punctuating the chaos. Sparks flew with each strike, briefly lighting up his determined face before fading into the haze.
I moved through the camp, my steps heavy, each one an effort to ignore the oppressive energy around me. The camaraderie that others found here felt hollow to me, a facade that barely masked the weight of what we did. Laughter rang out from a group gathered near the mess tent, their amusement grating against my nerves.
This was their reality—a cycle of drills, bloodshed, and distractions. And I was part of it, even if every fiber of my being wanted to be anywhere else.
“Did you see the way her eyes popped?” A soldier’s voice cut through the yard, followed by cruel laughter.
My grip tightened on the hilt of my sword as I turned toward the sound. Two rookies stood near the training circle, their smirks widening as they mimicked Diana’s struggle on the stage. Fury boiled in my chest, spreading like fire through my veins, but I forced my breathing to remain steady .
“You think that’s funny?” I asked, my voice cold and measured as I approached.
The taller one met my gaze with a smirk, his confidence brimming with ignorance. “What, you feel sorry for the witch? She got what she deserved.”
My jaw tightened as I stepped closer, my knuckles white around the hilt of my sword. “Careful,” I said evenly, though my voice carried a warning that hung heavy in the air. “Keep talking, and you’ll find out what I think you deserve.”
The smirk faltered, but the shorter one laughed nervously, glancing between his friend and me. “Relax, Adar. It’s just a joke.”
“I’m not laughing,” I snapped, my tone sharp enough to make the taller one take a step back. My hand itched to unsheathe my sword, to silence their mockery with the edge of my blade, but I couldn’t. Not here. Not now.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Rhydian approaching. His usual grin was gone, replaced with a wary expression as he placed a hand on my shoulder. “Let it go, Adar,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “They’re not worth it.”
My gaze remained locked on the rookies, my muscles coiled with tension. He was right. A confrontation here would only draw more attention, and I couldn’t afford anyone questioning my reasons. I released a sharp breath and dropped my hand off of my sword.
“Get back to training,” I said over my shoulder, my tone leaving no room for argument.
The rookies muttered under their breath but turned away, their laughter replaced with a forced focus on their drills. Rhydian gave my shoulder a light squeeze before stepping back.
As I walked away, the tension in my chest remained, each step heavier than the last. Their words echoed in my mind, stoking the fire I couldn’t seem to extinguish. Diana’s lifeless eyes flashed before me, a reminder of my failure and the inescapable truth: no uniform, no mask of indifference, could erase the weight of what I’d done.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of drills and exercises. My body moved automatically, blocking, striking, parrying, but my mind was elsewhere. The guilt I had tried to suppress clawed its way back, and I needed a distraction better than sparring.
The hum of conversation grew louder as the visitors arrived. Women from the nearby villages filtered into the camp, their laughter and chatter filling the air. It was a common occurrence, a distraction encouraged by the commanders to keep morale high. The men’s attitudes shifted, their postures relaxing as they abandoned their drills to mingle.
Among them was the blonde from the day before. She stepped into the camp with a confidence that drew eyes, her hazel gaze searching until it landed on me. A smile spread across her lips as she approached, her steps unhurried.
There was my distraction.
“Adar,” she greeted, her voice soft but teasing. “I hope you haven’t forgotten our arrangement.”
I sheathed my sword, my lips curving into a smirk. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She tilted her head, studying me. “Good. I’d hate to think I’d come all this way for nothing.”
“Not a chance,” I said, stepping closer. “Let me show you around. ”
As we walked, the other soldiers watched with envy and amusement, some offering remarks that I ignored. The blonde stayed close, her arm looped in mine as we moved through the camp. She asked questions—about the Legion, the training, the battles—but her eyes lingered on me more than anything else.
When we reached a quieter corner of the camp, she turned to face me, her expression softening. “You’re not like the others, are you?”
I raised an eyebrow, amused. “What makes you say that?”
She hesitated, her confidence faltering for the first time. “You just . . . seem different. Like you don’t want to be here.”
For a moment, I considered brushing her off, but something in her gaze made me pause. “Maybe I’m just good at hiding it,” I said, my tone lighter than I felt.
Her lips parted, as if she wanted to press further, but she let it go. Instead, she smiled and reached for my hand. “Then maybe you can show me what else you’re good at hiding.”
I chuckled, letting her pull me closer. For now, I allowed myself to enjoy the distraction, pushing thoughts of Diana and the weight of my guilt aside. The world outside the camp could wait.