Chapter 5 #3
Evran flushes because that's exactly what he was thinking.
"When I say he's just a man, I mean exactly that," Aether continues, setting down her shuttle to give him her full attention.
She reaches out and pats his shoulder firmly, the gesture both comforting and slightly exasperated.
"You could walk right up to him and start a conversation.
You could go sit with him at dinner tonight—at his table, right beside him if you wanted.
You could ask him the stupidest question you can think of, and I promise you not a single person in this stronghold would bat an eye. That's not how we work here."
Evran feels his face pale at the thought, his stomach dropping. "For you, maybe. You've earned that familiarity through years of friendship. But I can assure you I've done nothing to endear myself to him. Quite the opposite. The less he sees of me, the better for everyone."
He means it. Every time Vaike looks at him, Evran is reminded of that moment in the audience chamber—the cold fury, the disgust, the way the Warlord had dismissed him from his sight. Why would he want more of that?
Aether shakes her head, her mouth twisting up at one corner in what might be amusement or might be frustration.
"You really don't understand how this place works yet, do you?
If Vaike didn't want you here, you wouldn't be here.
It truly is as simple as that. He doesn't make decisions out of obligation or political pressure—he's the Warlord.
His word is absolute. If he's allowed you to stay, it's because he's chosen to allow it. "
Evran doesn't think it's that simple at all.
He thinks maybe the choice was taken from Vaike the same way it was taken from Evran—that the Warlord was left with the option of sending a man back to certain cruelty or finding a place for him among his people.
Vaike may seem severe and uncompromising, but he doesn't seem deliberately cruel.
It's obvious from everything Evran's seen that the Warlord cares deeply about justice and doing what's right.
Once he knew what awaited Evran back home, could Vaike really have sent him to face that? The Warlord who was so outraged by the very concept of trading people as tribute wouldn't have been able to return Evran to his father knowing he'd be punished for something that wasn't really his fault.
So maybe Vaike's hand was forced by his own principles, not by any genuine desire to have Evran here.
Not that he can tell Aether any of that. She doesn't know the full story—no one here does except Vaike and perhaps Leona. Better to keep it that way.
"If you're worried about endearing yourself to him, I think proving you're capable is as good a method as any," Aether continues, picking up her shuttle again and returning to her weaving.
"And you've only been here two days and you're already helping a great deal.
Eira spoke very highly of your work this morning when I saw her at breakfast—said you have gentle hands and good instincts with plants. "
The praise makes Evran's chest warm with pride. "I like working with her. It feels... meaningful."
"It is meaningful," Aether agrees. "But if you wanted to do more—to really prove yourself—well, how's your sword arm? You're a little thin, but you don't look weak. You've got good shoulders on you."
"Most of my fighting has been with fists," Evran admits, finishing up the last bit of the basket and securing the willow with a simple knot the way he's seen the pattern suggest. He sits it on the ground beside his chair, oddly proud of the completed object even though he knows it's probably clumsy compared to what an experienced basket weaver could produce.
"Bar fights and scuffles when my temper got the better of my judgment.
I've had some sword training—basic forms and footwork—but nothing advanced. I'm not opposed to learning, though."
The idea of learning to fight properly, of being able to defend himself and others, holds appeal. Maybe if he'd been better trained, braver, stronger, things would have gone differently with Lord Galen. With his father. Maybe he wouldn't have had to run.
Aether picks up the completed basket and examines his work with careful eyes, turning it over to check the bottom and running her fingers along the rim to test its sturdiness.
After a moment of scrutiny that makes Evran hold his breath, she turns a genuine smile on him and gives him another approving pat on the shoulder.
"Not bad for a first attempt," she says warmly. "The tension's a little uneven in places, but the pattern is correct and it'll hold together well enough for daily use. You're a natural at this—bet you could make something really fine with a bit more practice."
The compliment warms him even more than Eira's praise had. Two days here and he's already learning skills that would have been considered beneath him in the south, and people are treating him like those skills matter.
"Go see Kellin in the training grounds," Aether says decisively, setting the basket aside.
"If you want to learn proper sword work, he's the one who teaches most of our warriors.
He's got patience for beginners and he's good at identifying what someone needs to work on.
Tell him I sent you—he won't turn you away. "
The sun is getting lower now, the afternoon shadows lengthening across the terrace. Evran realizes he's been sitting here for over an hour, the time passing quickly in comfortable conversation and focused work. Other weavers are starting to pack up their materials, preparing for the evening meal.
"Thank you," he says to Aether, meaning it for more than just the basket-weaving lesson or the advice about training. For the easy acceptance, for the glimpse into Vaike's humanity, for treating him like he belongs here.
"Don't thank me yet," she says with a laugh. "Wait until after Kellin's put you through your paces. Then you might curse my name for the suggestion."
As Evran leaves the terrace and makes his way toward where he thinks the training grounds must be—somewhere on the outer edges of the stronghold where sounds of combat won't disturb people—he finds himself thinking about what Aether said.
Just a man. No different than you or I.
He still doesn't believe it, not really. But maybe, if he proves himself worthy of staying here, if he earns his place among the Drakarri, he might someday understand what she means. Might someday be able to look at the Warlord and see a person rather than an insurmountable force of nature.
For now, though, he'll settle for learning to defend himself and continuing to work hard enough that no one regrets giving him this chance.