Chapter Fourteen #3
Iryana didn’t think. She climbed onto a dulled spike partially buried in the dirt, lodged her foot into a crack to steady herself, and drew her bow.
A two-horned dakya burst through the line of spears, black pouring down its sides, and launched itself at the soldiers.
Pyetar met it midair, dark forged spear driving deep into its chest, holding it long enough for a soldier with a metal-forged warhammer to bash its skull.
Another beast made it through, skidding into the nearly set spikes two rows before her.
It roared as wood tore into its underbelly, and Iryana finished it with three arrows to the throat.
Pyetar kept barking orders, the soldiers rallying around him. He moved through the fray, repositioning archers, bracing spears, and steadying the line.
Iryana’s arms trembled as she fired again and again, blood roaring in her ears. She looked for the next dakya to aim at, but a horn blast came from the wall, short and sharp, signaling the threat gone. It took a moment for her mind to catch up with her tense arms, for her to lower her bow.
They’d survived it, defended the fort against so many dakii.
She didn’t want to admit it, but if it hadn’t been for Pyetar, she doubted they would have held. She was in a bit of a daze as the soldiers began to drop their stances, release their forged weapons.
The injured were taken to the medics, more soldiers arriving to help haul the bodies of the dakii away. Iryana sat on the lip of one of the trenches, bow resting in her lap, as she looked at the new damage to the rows of spikes.
It would take days to finish the repairs now.
Her arms still shook, though she didn’t want them to. Her chest felt hollow, her throat ragged from breathing so hard. The golden brown hair that had escaped her braid blew wildly around her in the breeze.
Pyetar passed nearby, hands slick with mud, a gash on his forehead already crusted over with dried blood. He slowed, then paused. She didn’t speak.
He made a vague gesture toward the forest. “Could’ve gone worse.”
She huffed, not amused. “Could have.”
Silence.
He kept looking at the trees, as if he could see through them. His jaw shifted slightly, like he wanted to say something but changed his mind.
Finally, Iryana muttered, “Didn’t think you were the type to command soldiers.”
His head turned just a fraction. “Didn’t think you were the type to listen to my orders.”
She shrugged.
“You did well,” he said, as if it grated on him. “How a soldier acts under pressure says a lot.”
A dry laugh almost escaped her, but Iryana reined it in. “Maybe I’m more cut out for this than you think.”
“Maybe.” His face tightened, and he didn’t sound convinced.
She heard the crunch of boots behind them and looked up.
Karvek strode between the trenches, the lack of mud and blood on his polished armor standing out against the other soldiers.
His presence was sharp, cutting away the fatigue in her muscles.
Iryana straightened immediately. She hadn’t known Karvek was back.
Beside her, Pyetar stiffened. Karvek’s eyes swept the wreckage, then landed on Iryana.
“Major,” she greeted, the word rushing out a bit too quickly.
The corner of his mouth tipped upward. “My little guardian. Had a taste of battle today, did you?”
She nodded, unsure what to say beneath his pointed gaze.
“Doesn’t make you reconsider trying for the 18th?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Not in the slightest. I don’t shy away from a fight.”
He nodded, seeming pleased at her answer. Pyetar shuffled awkwardly a pace away. Karvek ignored him.
“I look forward to seeing how you’ve progressed since I’ve been away,” Karvek said, his voice lower now. His smile was knowing. She tried to match it.
He studied her for a drawn out moment. Not with challenge or even approval. Just appraised her. But just as suddenly as he’d arrived, Karvek was moving on, passing through the rows of other soldiers.
Iryana took a steadying breath, heart beating oddly in her chest. She’d done well that afternoon, but would it offset whatever Darish or the rest of her team would have to say when Karvek spoke with them? Would he think less of her for not fitting in with her team?
“You seem pleased with Karvek’s attention,” Pyetar said, voice flat.
She glanced at him. “Well I am trying to join the 18th, and he is the major.”
Pyetar snorted. “Right. Just don’t wag your tail too hard. Karvek loves to pick his favorites. Then he abandons them when they aren’t useful anymore.”
She crossed her arms. “That’s rich coming from you. Practically breaking people’s arms for stepping out of line.” His mouth tightened, but she kept going. “So don’t lecture me about sucking up to your brother when you’re the one beating people bloody to keep your brother’s boots clean.”
Pyetar’s hands flexed at his sides, then curled into fists, as he worked his jaw back and forth. “You’re wasting your time trying to get into the brigade. You don’t belong here.”
She stepped forward. “Why not? What is your problem with me?”
“It’s not you,” he snapped. “It’s what you are.”
Iryana almost laughed. “You really hate the guardians that much? I helped today. You know I did.”
“And yet you’re still going to cause more trouble between the 18th and the duchess’s settlement.”
“Oh, like you care,” she shot back.
“This may surprise you,” he growled, “but you don’t know everything. I keep your family in line so they don’t get themselves killed. So we can keep the walls standing.”
Her hand twitched at her side. She almost slapped him.
“You are such a liar. You don’t give a damn what happens to my family. I’ve heard the threats you’ve made. Saw you slamming my cousin against a wall to make him listen. Should I be grateful you didn’t break Tonhald’s arm?”
“Your cousin was being an idiot,” Pyetar said, voice low.
“And you’ve been a liar since the first moment we met.”
He frowned, confused. “At your post?”
She let out a bitter laugh. “Years ago, when you let me think you were just some volunteer passing through.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes.
“You mean when you flirted with me?”
“I wasn’t flirting with you,” she immediately argued. “Just trying to be helpful.”
He narrowed those sky-blue eyes at her. “You told me there was a storage shed that was always empty, that it was a good place to… destress. That you could show me if I wanted.”
She opened her mouth to argue, cheeks red with mortification, but he cut her off. “I can recognize the look in a woman’s eyes when she wants me. You certainly weren’t trying to hide it.”
“Fine. Yes,” she cut out, if only to make him stop. “But it was because you let me believe you were someone else. Took advantage of it.”
Pyetar gave a cold, humorless chuckle. “You assumed. It’s not my fault you couldn’t recognize a soldier.”
“You could’ve corrected me. And not flirted back.”
“How was I supposed to know you’d care who I was?” he shot back. “You were the one talking about that private storage room and—”
“Stop,” she demanded, cheeks blazing. She looked around, but no one else was close enough to hear.
His expression didn’t soften. He folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head slightly, watching her like he was bracing for her next swing.
“You didn’t mind the attention then,” he said. “Before you knew who I was.”
“That was before I knew what kind of man you are.”
Pyetar flinched—barely—but it was there.
“We all do what we have to,” he said, hard and quiet.
Iryana looked out at the spikes and drying black blood.
“I’ve bled for this fort just like you have,” she pointed out. “And I’m not going anywhere. So you can either keep trying to shove me out, or start dealing with the fact that I’m not yours to order around.”
Pyetar’s eyes sharpened, but he didn’t say anything as Iryana grabbed her things and turned back toward the fort, her hands no longer shaking.