Chapter 16 #2
There was a storm in Darcke’s eyes, and I leaned into Ivren when his nostrils flared. Darcke’s face went impossibly harder, his knuckles whitening where his hands hung by his sides.
“Unfortunately no one has lived to see that side of Darcke.” Darcke’s smiling friend came up behind him and placed a hand on the warrior’s shoulder. “Well met, initiates. I’m Torden.”
It remained quiet. Ivren shuffled even closer to me as a low sound resounded in Darcke’s chest, and Fedic subtly moved so his hands were free. Viljan also inched forward, his eyes on the neck of the warrior as if he couldn’t wait to strangle him.
Torden grimaced. “Well, this is cozy and all, but the king has ordered that the training continues, so I suggest you all sleep.”
Ottoh came strolling into the hearth, a black eye painting his face. “Is that why my mother’s ship is calling to me from the harbor? Please tell me we’re not traveling to some other gods-damned island.”
“What?” Rakkel asked weakly from where she pushed up to sit on the cot, throwing her legs over the side. “No! Can’t we get a few days’ rest? Everyone isn’t even back yet.”
“Everyone who made it is,” Guner snarled as he stormed through the doors.
My shoulders tensed, and I averted my eyes from Darcke when Ivren whispered, “We must have lost over a third of the initiates.”
“The heir can count,” Darcke drawled. “I thought you had someone to do it for you.”
Torden smacked his shoulder. “Easy.” He nodded to Guner before continuing.
“The ones who survived but didn’t make it back in time are being shipped off to their fylkis again as they do not have what it takes to become warriors, iron-bound, or heirs.
The king doesn’t want to waste any time this year. ”
“What’s the rush?” Ottoh asked.
It was silent for a long, awkward beat. A restless energy rippled through the hearth, and Torden wrung his hands, while Guner’s gaze remained buried in the soot-stained floor.
Only Darcke kept his eyes level, his features carved into his usual dark, mocking mask of amusement and spite. It was quite an unnerving sight.
“The enemies,” I said slowly when the king’s second shared a long look with his warriors. “That’s the rush? This… the attack on Rakkel wasn’t the first time, was it?”
Viljan coughed, and when I looked at him, he gave a violent shake of his head. But they wouldn’t know what had happened back at Oenskan—not from only a question. Still, the way Guner’s jaw tensed made my chest constrict.
“The king wants the choosing over with,” Guner snapped. “He wants to know who he’ll be dealing with in the future. The heir replacing Adrion has been selected, and he needs to see him interacting with others.”
“Wait,” Rakkel’s partner said from where she’d taken a seat on a cot opposite me. “Is she right? Are our enemies here? Have they come all the way to Nordoen?”
Guner ignored her. Despite Darcke’s murderous expression, Viljan sidled up beside him, and my guard captured my eyes. Only the vein at his temple revealed the turmoil inside him.
I pretended to wipe my nose, turning away from the king’s second and the others.
“They’re hiding something,” I mouthed so only my guard could see.
Viljan only inclined his head an inch, but Darcke still stiffened.
They were definitely hiding something.
“Why are you not answering us? Are they here?” I asked again, pretending not to notice Viljan’s teeth grinding together so loudly that Ivren and Fedic frowned.
“If I were you, I’d focus more on the training and less on stupid fucking questions,” Guner growled. “You barely survived the wolves.”
“She doesn’t know any better,” Darcke drawled. “These silver-spoon heirs… they expect everything to be served to them like a fine meal, carved and deboned.”
“I—”
“I said enough,” Guner screamed as his face reddened. “A’lian is right. You are expected to do the work, heir.”
“I’ll do the work,” I snapped. “But I’m just asking—”
Ivren pulled me back against his chest when the king’s second and the warrior made a sudden movement toward us.
“I doubt they have managed to get all the way here. There is no way they could get past Darcke’s men at the borders. They’re too skilled.” He leaned in until he could hide his face in my hair, lowering his voice into the quietest of whispers. “Careful, darling. We’ve already lost one heir today.”
The expressions on the people standing around the hearth were baffling.
Guner and Darcke looked about ready to snap my neck. Torden seemed almost as if he was in pain. Rakkel and her guard were pale, and so was Viljan as he whipped his head back and forth, trying to understand what was going on. Ottoh seemed equal parts confused and bored.
I clenched my jaw.
The way they reacted only made me more anxious to understand what was going on.
If our enemies were going around attacking initiates here at the Hird, shouldn’t we know?
Relaxing into Ivren’s chest, I breathed, “Have your people been attacked at home?”
His island was the closest one to here.
Ivren’s arm moved around my back, his other hand pretending to play with my hair. “Not now,” he whispered. “It’s not safe.”
Darcke’s eyes narrowed as they followed Ivren’s movements, and I avoided them as I nodded, something cold snaking over my shoulders.
“Later, then,” I whispered.
The skin at the nape of my neck prickled when Ivren breathed, “Yes.”
What if what happened to my father and brother wasn’t an isolated event? It would explain why the Hird was even more ruthless this year—why the king needed us to be ready for battle even before we’d started the academy, why he’d already pitted us against his enemies.
“Why are you all still sitting?” Guner growled. “I said the king wants the training to go on. The moon won’t set for a few hours, so go get some sleep.” With that he stormed off to yell at initiates at some of the other hearths.
“What are we doing now?” Stefen asked as he slid an arm under Rakkel’s shoulders, helping the heir onto shaking legs.
“Fight training aboard our ships,” Torden responded. “The king wants everyone drilled in defensive readiness and evasion tactics.”
“Fitting,” I mumbled, earning myself another warning look from Darcke.
Torden gave us what I think was supposed to be a grounding smile, but Darcke’s mocking scowl limited its impact. “Good luck,” he called over his shoulder.
It might have been the least encouraging thing I’d ever heard.