Chapter 2 Declan
By the time I strode into the dining hall, the sky outside twinkled with stars, and most of the food had been put away.
Only a handful of cadets still sat at the tables scattered throughout the dimly lit room.
I scanned for other Second Years I might join, but quickly resigned myself to eating alone.
To my dismay, I found the redhead and his companion parked in the far corner. Neither seemed to notice me enter.
After a few moments of haggling with an exhausted cook who simply wanted to clean the kitchen and head home for the night, I lowered myself into a chair at a table and began eating my meager supper.
The ale was warm, and the food was cold.
I sighed and took a sip, washing down congealed gravy and tough meat I couldn’t identify.
It bordered on disgusting but was filling.
Midway through my meal, I glanced up to find the hall empty and eerily quiet.
Most of the candles and lamps had either died or been extinguished, shrouding the chamber in the dim glow from the last remaining hearths still offering warmth.
Only two tables remained occupied: one nearby with two officers and one across the hall with Ayden Byrne and his companion.
I focused on my plate, keeping my head down.
“ . . . know there’s something going on here.” One of the officers’ voices rose above a whisper and made its way to me. “The Cap doubled the guard at the crossing and has all the patrols on high alert. What in the Spirits happened?”
I snuck a glance without raising my head. The officer who hadn’t spoken was looking from me to Ayden’s table, probably deciding how freely he could speak in the nearly empty hall.
He turned back toward the other officer. “You know I can’t talk about—”
“Come on, Ross. What’s going on?”Ross exhaled and stared at his companion, then lowered his voice so I only heard snippets.
“ . . . taken from . . . She’s Lord . . . daughter. The whole Triad . . . The Guard in Saltstone is . . . minds.”
“Spirits,” the other officer said.
Ross nodded and sat back, downing the last of his ale. “That’s all I can tell you. Not a word—”
“Come on, Ross. It’s me.”
Ross chuckled and pointed across the table. “Exactly!”
Both men laughed, then stood. As they passed my table, Ross eyed me, but the other man ignored me completely.
A kidnapping? I wondered. Crime in Melucia was fairly common, but it usually involved petty theft or other minor offenses. Serious crimes like murder and kidnapping were extremely rare, even in the larger cities. If a nobleman’s daughter had gone missing . . .
Movement nearby made me look up, and brilliant azure eyes locked onto mine. I’d been so lost in thought that I hadn’t noticed Ayden and his friend leave their table. The infuriating man had crossed the hall and now stood only a few paces away. A quick scan confirmed that Ayden and I were now alone.
I dropped my head and shoved buttered peas around my plate as though trying to examine their very essence, intent on ignoring the noble arsehole. I managed to scoop a few onto my spoon just as Ayden’s voice startled me. I hurled the offending peas across the table.
“Cadet-Sergeant Rea.” Ayden’s voice seemed to savor the words, and a wry smile teased his lips. “Thank you for allowing us to observe your testing today. It was a pleasure watching you work.”
I glanced up. I hadn’t noticed how square Ayden’s jaw was before, and caught myself staring, before quickly looking back into my plate.
Ayden simply stood, watching.
I couldn’t decide which unnerved me more, the little lord’s overly polite tone, his compliment about the testing, or the haughty precision with which the prick spoke.
Despite being an orphan without two coppers to rub together, I’d grown up with children of the nation’s upper crust, and this one reeked of privilege as much as any I’d known.
Slowly, I laid my spoon on my plate, placed my palms on the table, and allowed my head to rise.
For the second time in the span of heartbeats, my breath caught.
There was no smugness to Ayden’s face, no sneer on his lips or glare in his eyes.
His friend had borne all of those, but Ayden simply stood with hands clasped before him, his fiery locks stuffed behind his ears.
Those eyes, I thought. How can eyes be that blue?
I realized he was staring again and gathered myself. “Yes, well, thank you, Lord Byrne. I would appreciate it if, in the future, you and your friend kept your jibes to yourselves.”
Ayden’s brows rose. “I am not Lord Byrne quite yet.”
Without another word, Ayden offered a stiff nod and strode away.
“That’s all we need, an arrogant little lordling strutting around like some fucking peacock,” I muttered, scooping the last of my peas and glaring after the man as he vanished through the door.
The next morning, I rose before the sun, ate a quick breakfast of slightly charred eggs and very charred mushrooms, and headed to the practice yard, where I was surprised to find a lone figure standing near the edge of the sparring ring.
“Aaron, you’re early.”
The boy shuffled his feet. “I thought, maybe, we could spar and you could count that as my test.”
I couldn’t hide a grin. Aaron was inventive, no doubt about that.
“It doesn’t work that way. You have to face another First Year.”
Aaron’s shoulders drooped. “There’s no way I can win against any of them. They’re all bigger and stronger than me.”
“But you’re smarter than the whole unit combined,” I countered, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder and drawing his gaze upward.
“And you don’t have to win. The rules say you have to finish a round without losing to pass. Next year, you’ll have to win to graduate, but we can worry about that later.”
“What’s the—” His eyes widened. “Oh, really?”
I nodded and pointed to an hourglass sitting on a waist-high stump a few paces from the ring’s edge. “The bouts are timed. If you can stay in the ring and not lose any blood—”
“Blood?” Aaron gulped.
“It’s a figure of speech, Aaron.” I shook my head. “For First Years, just hold on to your sword, the same as every other bout you’ve fought all year. Leave the ring or drop your sword, and you’re out.”
“You mean all the other bouts I lost all year?” Aaron muttered a little too loudly.
I balled a fist, then forced myself to breathe. “Do you want to be a Ranger?”
Aaron’s head snapped up. “Of course—”
“Then step up and take your place. Stop acting like you can’t do things. Just do them.”
“Like that’s easy. You aren’t at risk of getting sent home,” Aaron pointed out.
“True.” I stepped into the ring, smoothed out some of the sand, then looked back at Aaron. “The others are competing to win, and not just a single bout but the whole competition. The higher they place, the better their standing in Second Year. Find a way to use that.”
“How am I supposed to use their desire to crush me so they can advance?”
I shrugged and resumed tending the sand as though the answer should be obvious. To me, it was.
Aaron flopped onto a nearby stone bench and stared into the distance.
A few of the other First Years approached and began stretching. By the time the sun crested the horizon, all ten members of my unit had gathered.
“All right, cadets, it’s time for your Test of Swords. No one expects a Blademaster’s performance today. Just stay in the ring and don’t drop your blade. The goal of this test is to disarm your opponent, not harm them. If you draw blood, you lose,
though I doubt that will be a problem with the practice swords.”
A round of nervous whispers passed through the cadets.
They hated using the wooden swords, but none yet held the skill to wield a real weapon without risking everyone within reach.
I cleared my throat and continued. “I’ll pair you for each round. Winner advances. Losers will have additional pairings to ensure everyone has a chance to pass.”
A muscular boy with steely gray eyes spoke, “What if nobody drops or steps out?”
“Good question, Cormac. If time runs out, that would be a draw,” I said. “But if I think you’re gaming, you’ll both lose and have to compete again to survive. Compete with honor or not at all. Understand?”
A chorus of muttered agreement rose from the men and women.
“Anyone else?” I asked. When no one spoke, I called, “Silivan, Wallace, you’re first.”
Cormac Silivan was the natural leader of the group. A mountain of honed muscle, he was as charismatic as he was strong. His smiles landed as easily as his punches, and the men and women of the unit loved him. As Cormac strode toward the ring, he clapped his opponent on the shoulder.
“Best of luck, Lachlan.”
The most reserved man on the team, Lachlan Wallace, stood taller than all the others, but where Cormac’s muscles were thick, Lachlan’s were lean and wiry. While Cormac smiled, Lachlan stared with an intensity that could frighten a boulder into running. Cormac was powerful, but Lachlan was swift.
This should be good, I thought as I stepped out of the ring and allowed the competitors to enter.
The other cadets gathered a few paces outside the circle, eager to watch and cheer on their companions.
I glanced up as I gripped the hourglass, a flash of something catching my eye. I craned my neck, peering past the cadets, and spotted Ayden leaning against a tree a dozen paces back. He wore a different tunic and deep blue leather leggings.
Why is he here? And who has two uniforms? I nearly laughed out loud at the ridiculous question. Why was I thinking about Ayden Byrne at all? I had a test to oversee. I turned back to the men who’d just drawn wooden swords from a rack and entered the ring.
“Ready, fight!”
In the first bout, which stretched nearly until the last grain fell, brawn beat speed. Cormac, realizing time was nearly out, swung wide, forcing Lachlan to parry far from his body, then charged forward, shoving the lithe man so he stumbled and stepped one foot out of the ring.
“Win, Silivan,” I announced to a grumbling crowd.
“He just shoved him out,” one cadet called.
“Yeah, he didn’t use his sword,” another echoed.