Chapter 32
Ash
The seventh bell rang, announcing dinner time, and with a collection of groans — the loudest from the inexperienced novices — all of the novices lowered their practice blades.
Rider called an end to training and jerked his chin toward the bags of rocks sitting at the base of the boulders marking the running trail.
“Extra lap time,” he barked, and Sawyer marched across the practice yard with Tyon trailing a few paces behind him.
The pudgy human, a former chef’s assistant, kept his distance from the boy, his round face carefully blank, but I knew if anyone was going to befriend Sawyer, it was Tyon.
They were closest not necessarily in age — especially since Sawyer was barely sixteen, if he was even sixteen — but in situation. With his limited physical abilities and his soft physique, Tyon was almost as much of an outcast as Sawyer.
If Sawyer hadn’t completely fucked up by coming through the ring after dark, Mikel and his group would likely be picking on Tyon instead.
“You only have a bell to clean up and eat before class,” Talon called out with a quick clap, earning another collection of groans from the tired novices. “Only two more to go then lieu time.”
That perked the novices up enough to pick up their pace in handing back their practice sword and hurrying toward the Tower to clean up before dinner and class, all except Mikel, Durand, Hamelin, and Bramwell.
Sure, they handed back their weapons, but they held back, and from the tension in Durand’s jaw and the hardness in Mikel’s eyes as they watched Sawyer heft the bag of rocks on his shoulders, I knew they were pissed.
I handed my practice weapon to Quill, my friend’s gaze sliding over me and confirming I hadn’t fucked up and still maintained my cover. He shoved the sword in a canvas bag and hefted it over his shoulder before elbowing Talon who was staring at the mouth of the running trail.
Talon jerked and a hint of shadow flickered in his eyes, just a whisper of darkness through those pearlescent orbs that I doubted anyone who didn’t know better would notice.
But I knew better, and the fact he’d been stuck staring after the boy would only make Sawyer’s life more difficult.
With luck, Mikel and Durand hadn’t noticed.
I turned back to the group. Mikel’s eyes were narrowed and a muscle in Durand’s jaw ticked.
Just great. Sawyer had the worst luck of anyone I’d ever met.
It was bad enough they still thought Sawyer was getting special treatment — even though he wasn’t — but the fact that Talon was still obviously enthralled only made them angrier.
Best to keep on their good side.
With my expression flat, I strolled over.
Ambrose didn’t really care about Sawyer Herstind and what the Lord Commander and the Captains of the Black Guard did, but he was part of the special group of human novices who had military experience prior to becoming guardsmen, and he did agree that the boy needed to learn respect and become a better swordsman.
Which was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. The boy didn’t go around lording it over others and he was already a damn fine swordsman — better than Bramwell and soon to be better than Hamelin.
Behind me, Rider grunted. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He glared at us, his expression hard, then he turned and stormed toward the Tower. Talon and Quill hurried after him leaving me with the four assholes who thought they knew best.
Well, really it was two assholes and two followers who weren’t bothered by the assholes’ plans.
Mikel huffed, his attention behind me, following Rider, Talon, and Quill. He rolled one shoulder, working out the stiffness from training, but his gaze stayed fixed on the retreating figures.
“I can’t believe all we can do now is ignore him,” he hissed, his voice low. “It’s been days and he doesn’t even look bothered.”
“No shit,” Durand growled. “Talon’s probably fucking him every night. He’s not being isolated at all.”
My chest tightened. I didn’t like the implication of that. To men like Durand, there was no other explanation for why Sawyer wasn’t suffering. The isolation should have broken the boy, the silence crushing him.
But Sawyer was stronger than that. He’d proven that when he’d taken Mikel’s ambushes and turned them into personal training, and when he’d finally had enough, he’d threatened us and broken my nose.
But in Durand’s mind, someone had to be propping him up. And if Sawyer was getting fucked by the fae captain, that meant he was still getting special treatment, something he didn’t deserve even if Durand thought it was disgusting.
Talon was going to lose his shit when he heard about this.
“Yeah,” I drawled, “because Sawyer looks like someone who’s taking it every night.”
“It’s not Talon,” Hamelin said, his voice low and his gaze darting around the now-empty practice yard. “It’s Kit’s team.”
The practice yard was quiet now, the other novices long gone. A breeze kicked up dust where dozens of boots had churned the ground during drills.
“But half of them are in the infirmary,” Bramwell added.
“Which means the runt sits with them whenever he likes.” Mikel’s jaw tightened and he adjusted his sword belt, a restless motion. “Wouldn’t surprise me if that’s why he was given infirmary duty this rotation.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Sawyer had been given infirmary duty because it wasn’t nearly as strenuous as mucking the stables and he’d demonstrated that he was smart. Rider had hoped learning basic healing would make it easier for the other novices to warm up to him.
So much for that, since Reef had relegated him to cleaning duties and ignored him. Or at least ignored him until the moron had taken him and Garridan beyond the Tower walls and nearly killed everyone.
“And we can’t do a damn thing about it,” Durand spat, his shoulders bunched.
Every day Sawyer didn’t break, Durand got worse. It was clear, the man needed to see suffering, and I didn’t want to think about what he’d do if he didn’t get it.
I shifted my weight, positioning myself so I could watch all four of them. The sweat from training had cooled on my skin, leaving a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air.
“And now Payne won’t shut up about the hound attack,” Durand added, his tone venomous. “Says he didn’t even hesitate to fight back. Like that makes him one of us. Maybe he’s letting Payne fuck him, too. We already know the big guy likes them smaller and skinnier than him.”
Oh, Great Goddess! Was he that stupid? Did he really think that kind of attitude would work with the rest of the Guard? If he wasn’t careful, one of the fae guardsmen was going to gut him and no one was going to care.
“Reef is saying it, too,” Bramwell added.
“He says Saw— the runt moved like he knew what he was doing and that he saved Garridan.” Bramwell’s voice stayed even, but he kept his gaze on Mikel, not even glancing at Durand.
“The hounds would’ve torn him apart if Sawyer hadn’t gotten him into the wagon. ”
“You mean Payne says that,” Durand sneered, his face turning red.
“No, Reef. I heard him in the line at breakfast telling the guardsman in front of him about what happened. And we know Reef didn’t like Sawyer,” Bramwell pressed. “We heard him complaining about him at lunch the other day.”
“So what?” Durand replied, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. “He didn’t kill any of them. Real guardsmen kill shadows. They don’t hide in covered wagons.”
Which meant Durand had been paying attention to the rumors swirling around.
Mikel nodded as if Durand had made a significant point. “Surviving’s not the same as doing your job.”
Except someone had needed to protect the injured merchant and the frozen novice. Getting them into the defensible position of the covered wagon had been smart and ensured that Sawyer, with his inexperience, wasn’t getting in Payne or Reef’s way.
“And it doesn’t change what he is.” Mikel’s voice was flat, but his gaze tracked the trail where Sawyer had disappeared. “Or how he got here.”
“What’s the point anymore?” Hamelin asked, his voice quiet, his attention on the ground in front of his feet. “He had Garridan’s back when it mattered.”
Durand whipped toward him, closing the distance between them in two sharp steps. “Are you fucking serious?”
Hamelin held up his hands, taking a step back. “I’m just saying—”
“You’re saying we should back off?” Durand snarled. “Let the runt think he won?”
“Maybe…” Bramwell shifted his weight, his attention sliding to the Tower like he was calculating how fast he could get there.
“Maybe what?” Durand spun on him, and Bramwell flinched. “You going soft?”
Durand glared at Bramwell, daring him to answer, and Bramwell swallowed hard.
“Quill and Talon still treat him like a child,” Mikel said. “But he’s a guardsman now. He needs to be a man. We back off now and we’re saying he earned it. That we were wrong.”
“And we weren’t wrong,” Durand growled. “He’s still the same arrogant shit who waltzed in after dark thinking he’s better than us.”
“So what do we do?” Hamelin asked. He crossed his arms, tucking his hands in his armpits, and hunching his shoulders. “Keep ignoring him forever? It’s not working.”
“We try something that works,” Durand said.
His hands flexed, the violence in his posture barely contained. I could see what he wanted: Sawyer alone in the Tower, cornered in the barracks, or bleeding in the practice yard.
But then his gaze jumped to the Tower, and the knuckles of the hand gripping his sword hilt turned white.
Rider had made himself clear. Sawyer was untouchable. The best they could do was hit him harder than necessary during sparring and ignore him… at least I prayed that’s what they were thinking.
Fuck, I didn’t have time for this. I couldn’t spend my nights keeping an eye on Sawyer’s door to ensure one of these idiots didn’t try something.
“I don’t know about you,” I said, “but I’d rather not piss off the Lord Commander. He can grow fucking claws from his fingers.”