Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Iryana was in a full out panic now, desperately trying to find some way to fix things, to not have to admit what she’d done. “I knew this would happen if I went to the fort; it shouldn’t have been me.”
“What did you do!” Hadima screeched, and some of the cousins and villagers stopped to stare. To listen.
“I was trying to weaken him, get some of the new soldiers to abandon him…” Iryana curled in on herself, voice nearly toneless. “I burned his field of Beast’s Poppy to the ground. Four days ago.”
Hadima’s eyes fluttered shut, her hand clutching her head. “The day after we refused to pay, there was an attack on his fields. He thought it was us.”
When Hadima finally opened her eyes, Iryana froze. Her sister’s gaze was heavy with accusation and betrayal. It was like she was seeing Iryana for the very first time and did not like what she saw. Every muscle in her body screamed to run away, but Iryana was rooted to the spot.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” Iryana pleaded weakly. But she knew it wouldn’t be enough.
“Of course you didn’t know! Because you never talk to us, you won’t work with us!”
Iryana flinched. Hadima’s words stung, but they were the truth. She deserved it. Hadima would never look at her the same way again. Maybe that was a good thing.
Hadima started pacing. “You should have told us your plan. You should have talked to us before you attacked them! Especially after you left us to handle things!”
“I’m so sorry.” It was all she could say.
“This is your fault!” Hadima screeched. There was a crowd around them now. “You refused to be Third, said you couldn’t help. And then you just left. What did you expect us to do?”
Iryana let the words batter her and didn’t bother offering an excuse. She didn’t have one.
She so desperately wanted to just let her family deal with the 18th, to say she had tried and step away. But her family couldn’t afford to anger Karvek anymore. Another move and he would burn the whole post to the ground.
Iryana rubbed her eyes, trying not to throw up, vaguely aware that Hadima was still yelling. The whole family would know what she did soon enough. They wouldn’t forgive her.
She had already lost them.
An unsettling numbness settled over her.
“Hadima,” she shouted, snapping her sister out of her tirade. “Leave it to me. I will take care of Karvek and the brigade. Tell grandmother to pay—extra if she can. The Kleesolds need to stand down, assure Karvek it was all a mistake that will never happen again.”
Hadima just blinked at her in confusion, eyes still teary. “What are you talking about, Iryana?”
“I am so sorry for everything. But I will fix this. Find a way for the Kleesold clan to prove to the duchess that you have this under control.”
“I thought it was too dangerous. That you couldn’t.”
Iryana swallowed. “It doesn’t matter. I will take care of it.”
Hadima nodded slowly.
“Go,” Iryana urged. “Tell grandmother.”
For the first time, Iryana was too numb to fear letting them down. To fear their rejection.
She headed back to the fort, the forest a blur of the oranges and reds of autumn crawling between the blue-green pines.
Iryana tensed and then sprung the moment she saw Mezhimar move. Her forearm collided with his arm, knocking his practice dagger away while she thrust hers at his ribs. He blocked—barely—and Iryana shoved her shoulder into him, almost knocking the much larger man out of his stance.
His face twisted in actual aggravation, more than was warranted from sparring, but then again, Iryana wasn’t fighting like it was just sparring.
She was fighting like everything depended on her, though not with her forged weapons; that would be far too dangerous.
She had found practice ones that were close enough.
Becoming as strong as she could meant no pulling punches.
It had been a week since Karvek had punished her family. A week since she promised to find a solution.
Dust kicked up under her feet as she skidded out of the way of his attempt to latch an arm around her body. Her braid was losing the fight to contain her hair, light brown tendrils sticking to her neck and face.
She lost herself in the fight, putting all her strength into keeping his dagger from her body and pelting him with blow after blow until finally one landed.
Mezhimar coughed, falling a few steps back from her. “Damn Kleesolda, I’m not the enemy.”
She was too worked up to apologize, and just took her stance again and waited for him to be ready. Other soldiers from around the training yard were throwing concerned glances their way. She didn’t care.
“Is there a problem?” a familiar voice interrupted.
“Yeah,” Mezhimar admitted, rubbing his shoulder gingerly. “I feel like a punching bag. She’s hitting too hard this week.”
Pyetar sighed and looked at Iryana regretfully. “Switch,” he ordered.
Mezhimar offered a grateful smile and let Pyetar take his place. Pyetar’s expression was nowhere close to relieved, and his steps were hesitant; he looked more pained than anything else.
He still seemed like he was in pain any time he had to be around her. Her presence was like poison.
“You’re fighting a bit hard, aren’t you?” he asked softly as he sunk down. Knees bent, stance wide, and dagger held in a fist between them.
“No,” she snapped, flying into movement. An obvious blow to his face that turned into a feint and slice across his stomach, which Pyetar blocked. He was so much faster than Mezhimar, so much stronger.
Iryana growled as he stopped defending and started his own offensive. She tried to defend against a punch to her shoulder, but he caught her arm and trapped it against her side. His other hand caught the wrist of her dagger hand and yanked her closer.
His skin against hers was searing, and Iryana regretted her choice of weapon for the morning. Dagger fighting was far too intimate. Especially with him.
“You’re being wild, not smart,” he hissed.
Iryana growled and shoved her knee into his thigh, jerking her body to the side to escape his hold.
They circled each other, teasing with slices that were too far away to be an actual threat.
Anger surged through her. She was tired of running off everyone she got close to. She was tired of seeing that look on Pyetar’s face when he’d pulled away from her, the look on Hadima’s face when she’d realized what Iryana had done. She was so damn tired of it.
Iryana threw herself at Pyetar, let him think she was going to hit him with all her weight, and instead tangled her legs with his, pushing at his center of balance, and twisting him in front of her.
They both fell to their knees, Pyetar’s back now against her front.
“Give in,” she ordered, pressing the blunted edge of her dagger against his throat.
Pyetar swallowed. “I don’t think either of us is winning here.” The tip of his dagger pushed against the skin between her ribs.
She had a far better angle than he, with his arm twisted behind him, but it could still be deadly if he threw his weight into the dagger with his slice.
“Did you deliver the punishment to my family?” she demanded quietly so no one else could hear.
The thought of it had haunted her all week. She needed to know. She’d pictured it so many times. Pyetar stalking through the Dovaki post, shoving her family aside. Lowering a torch to the food stores like she had the poppies. Flames rising before him.
He was quiet for a moment other than his breathing. “No. And I learned of it too late to do anything.” His voice was as low as hers, barely a whisper.
“And would you have done anything, had you gotten the chance?”
“Depends,” he answered softly, and she pressed the blunt dagger harder against his throat. “If I could have done something that wouldn’t immediately give myself away, or make things worse for your family, I would have. Given the opportunity.”
Iryana tried to catch her breath, staring at Pyetar’s profile as he looked back toward her. His face was so serious, like it always was around the rest of the brigade. A hard mask of indifference that hid so much. Hid the passion he had shown her in that brief moment in her room.
Shaking that thought away, Iryana shoved him forward, sprang to her feet and retreated. She couldn’t hide the glare on her face.
“Iryana, a moment.”
She tensed and spun to find Karvek standing just inside the gate of the training yard. He looked between her and Pyetar, something like satisfaction crossing his face.
She sneered at what he’d done to her family, but immediately tried to soothe it away. She couldn’t let him see that anger.
Tossing the dagger to an initiate waiting their turn for space in the yard, Iryana didn’t bother looking back at her captain for dismissal. Pyetar could say nothing against her talking to Karvek, at least not in the open like this.
She followed Karvek back to his study in the main house. As she cooled, her damp skin left goosebumps along her arms. Karvek prowled toward his desk and poured himself a drink.
She waited, tense, hoping this had nothing to do with the burning of his poppies.
“I have a mole,” he said, still facing away from her.
Fear clutched her, but she hid it before he turned, piercing her with his gaze. She didn’t dare speak.
“Someone is leaking information to your family. To the Kleesold clan. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“No, I would never betray you.” She swallowed, jaw tense.
He stepped closer, crowding her. “They are your family, though.”
Her mind spun; she had to throw him off. She had to convince him; otherwise, everything was lost. It would be harder to sell an outright lie; best to show him something real.
She braced herself, because it was going to hurt.
Iryana let a hint of her anger show on her face. “They abandoned me. My father hurt me, hurt my mother. For years! What did the others do? They sent fresh bread and extra stew from family dinners once a week.”