Chapter 21 Declan
“Why does ale hate me?” I groaned, gripping the sides of my head as I rolled off my pillow. Cadets stirred around me, some already dressed and ready to tackle their day’s challenges, while others, like me, groused about the sun’s obnoxious early rising.
“Good morning,” a familiar voice said with entirely too much enthusiasm.
I squinted up to find Ayden, fully dressed in his cadet leathers, gloves strapped beneath the epaulet on his shoulder, and a wide grin plastered across his annoying morning-person face.
Even through crusty, sleep-filled eyes, Ayden looked like a town square’s statue with his infuriatingly sharp jaw and brilliant eyes, and the way his tunic struggled to contain his chest and showed off his slim waist.
Even the deep greens and browns of his uniform offset the fiery curls that fell across them.
No one should look like that so . . . naturally.
In that moment, I wanted to stare at him and never move.
“I hate you,” I mumbled, then covered my head with my pillow.
He chuckled. “Oh, no you don’t. You hate yourself for drinking too much with Shira.”
“How do you know—”
“Declan, really? You drink with her at least three times each week. You are too conscientious to drink to excess with your First Years, and you dislike most of your classmates. If you’re grumbling like this in the morning, it means you were out with Shira.”
“Not true,” I said, tossing the pillow aside and leaning forward.
“Arsehole,” one of the other cadets in a nearby cot called out.
“We hate the fluffy-headed fucker, too,” another cried.
“My hair isn’t fluffy. It’s full!” I immediately regretted engaging with the enemy, as my fingers rose and vanished beneath an ocean of unruly curls standing at attention in all directions.
A chorus of half-hearted laughter and teasing jeers drifted through the now bustling hall.
Flimsy straw mats lay empty atop rows of racks lining the walls of the long hall as cadets rose to dress and make ready for the day.
For some reason, I’d become the center of attention without even raising my head.
I wanted to crawl back under my green-and-brown patchwork covers and hide.
“Nice chest.” Ayden grinned as his eyes roamed my now exposed upper body.
Suddenly even more self-conscious, I yanked the sheet to my neck. I’d lived communally with dozens of men for nearly two years, and somehow this one man made a single comment about my nipples and I blushed all the way to my toes.
Damn you, Ayden Byrne.
“Okay, Prudence. I will let you dress in peace. The Lieutenant is already waiting outside to ferry us to the crossing. I would hurry, if I were you.” Ayden turned and took a step, then glanced back. “I am thankfully not you, because you reek of ale.”
With another smirk, he strode out of the barracks, leaving me clutching my sheet and nursing throbbing temples.
Ten minutes later, I stepped out of the barracks, shielding my eyes from the obnoxiously bright sun, who seemed determined to make me wither beneath her intense gaze.
“Rea, move. We’re already behind schedule because of your drunk arse,” our Lieutenant griped. Ayden sat on the back of the cart, one brow raised, a snarky grin on his stupidly perfect lips.
Spirits, I hated his lips.
And I wanted to taste them and lick them and—
“Rea, today!”
I nearly leaped out of my boots. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
I hopped onto the side rail opposite Ayden and clung to the wooden bench as reins snapped and the cart lurched forward.
Ayden sat with his back straight and chin high, like some royal about to survey his kingdom.
The wind blew his hair just so, brushing it past his scruffy jaw, letting the sun set his crimson stubble ablaze.
“What are you staring at?” Ayden asked, cocking his head.
I startled and looked out at the passing town. “Nothing. Thought you had something on your cheek, that’s all.”
I could feel him grinning. The arse saw right through me. He had since the first day we’d met.
But rather than rub my discomfort in my face, he asked, “You ready for this?”
“For what?” My mind was clearly not on mission.
“Crossing duty,” he answered. “This is our first time.”
Each of the two other times we’d been assigned to crossing duty, the full Rangers were out front, handling inspections, making the calls.
Today, they would sit back and watch us try our hands, only intervening if they noticed some threat we missed.
It was a true test of how ready we were—or were not—to don green cloaks.
This wasn’t some training exercise. It was proper work performed by real Rangers every day.
I shrugged. “How hard could it be? We check to see if people are hauling what they say they are, then we stand aside. Senior Rangers will be watching. It’s not like we’ll be out here on our own.”
“True.” He nodded and stared into the distance. “Still, it is nice to finally be doing something real, something that matters.”
I wasn’t sure how much crossing patrol mattered, but, then again, it was the primary place citizens of Melucia and the Kingdom entered each other’s countries—the honest ones, at least.
I supposed those who harbored ill will would try to cross elsewhere along the thousand-mile chain that separated the two nations.
How stupid would a bandit need to be to cross where there are the most Rangers possible?
Still, Ayden was right. We were doing something real. There was something exciting and new about that. I felt almost as though we really were Rangers.
As the crossing came into view, the first thing I noticed were the caltrops.
Standing taller than my head, the X-shaped wooden braces bore sharpened points facing the Kingdom border.
The line of them stretched from one side of the trees to the other, with only a small opening to allow travelers to pass once inspected.
On the road that led from the Kingdom, several wooden barriers were placed on either side to force carts to slow to navigate back and forth, preventing anyone from racing forward and punching through our defensive line.
I questioned what cobbler or chicken Merchant might try such a feat, but it was standard border protocol.
A team of eight Rangers stood watch at the line. Less than a quarter mile away, another twenty were housed in barracks built specifically for crossing guards. There were more men in green cloaks in this quarter-mile area than anywhere outside of Grove’s Pass.
Now there were two Second Year cadets added to their number.
A barrel-chested Ranger whose face looked like it had seen the business end of a caltrop strode up.
A forest green cap poorly hid wispy strands of brackish hair.
He bore the same Lieutenant’s chevron as the man sitting in the front of our cart.
“These the rookies of the day?” He glanced back and scowled, though the scars on his face made it hard to tell scowl from smile—or any other expression.
“You know it. That’s Rea, and that’s Byrne.”
The scarred man’s brow tried to rise. “Byrne? As in Lord Byrne?”
Ayden’s head lowered. This happened more times than I could count, virtually every time we met someone new.
“The same. The little lord is yours to command. Enjoy it.” Our Lieutenant glanced back. “Byrne, Rea, get the fuck out of my cart and don’t let barbarians invade my country. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.” As we made to climb down, I noticed Ayden avoiding eye contact with our officer of the day. He’d lost his usual humor, and a sternness had settled into his eyes. I was fairly certain that had nothing to do with the duty we were about to perform.
The moment our feet hit the ground, the cart jolted forward, then spun about and headed back down the road toward town. Ayden and I turned to face our duty officer.
“Here’s how this’ll work,” he said, his voice somehow rougher than his face. “You two take point. That means you’ll inspect every cart, horse, buggy, and fuckin’ handbasket. Nothin’ gets by without your eyes on it. Understand?”
We nodded.
“Good.” He eyed a cart currently being inspected by a team of four Rangers, then turned back to us. “One of you will stay with th’ driver, while th’ other inspects. Never leave a driver alone, and never let their hands touch th’ reins.”
He paused again.
We nodded again.
“There’s an entire team behind you. If ya ain’t sure, don’t let ’em pass. Get one of us t’ help. Don’t fuck this up. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” we said in unison.
“Questions?”
Ayden didn’t hesitate. “Are we looking for anything specific, sir? I heard rumors of kidnappings.”
“Keep your voice down,” the Lieutenant snapped, leaning in. “You want to panic folk?”
“Uh, no, sir,” Ayden said.
“Ask ’em what they’re carryin’. Check for anythin’ not disclosed. Anything different. And yeah, look for women with gags stuffed in their mouths and ropes around their wrists. That would be a fuckin’ clue. Now get to th’ line an’ do yer damn job.”
As he marched away, I heard a muffled, “Fuckin’ rookies.”
I glanced to Ayden, but he still stared after the Lieutenant, his jaw set with defiance and fire blazing in his eyes.
“Here we go,” I said, nudging him forward.
Four hours passed.
Four endless hours.
We stood and waited.
We paced the length of road we’d been assigned, only to have the Lieutenant bark at us to return to the exact spot that marked the crossing, as though walking ten paces to the north might allow someone to race past unchecked and threaten the safety of the Empire.
Ayden fumed, but I was too bored to care.
One cart and one horse passed through the checkpoint. The cart carried potatoes and beets, and the horse bore only its rider, a messenger carrying letters to Huntcliff.
We chatted quietly about what might come through, who might try to trick us, and we played games trying to come up with scenarios of how we might handle a barbarian invasion.
There hadn’t been barbarians on our continent in four thousand years, but it was a fun game to pass the time.
Ayden was confident he could shoot faster than I could strike with my sword. He was probably right.
We stared into the trees.
We watched the road.
We chatted with the Rangers assigned to babysit us.