Page 81 of Forcing Fate

He nodded his agreement. “Most men do not leave their coin in the bunkhouse. Those that do, don’t have spare coin for long. Mind you, thieving is a harsh offense if they’re caught. The punishment is thirty lashes.”

I stopped with wide eyes. “Flogging? Whipping? That’s a punishment?”

“You didn’t know that?” His brow furrowed at me before he glanced over at Elenor and Niehm.

“No. No, I didn’t. I only brushed over the laws, not the consequences of breaking them. I thought they were up to the Commanders’ discretion.”

Would I ever do something by mistake that would get me whipped? I sincerely hoped not.

“Some are. The Commander of your company deals with private affairs and mishaps between soldiers. If your offense is against another company, or the army in general, it’s handled by the Corporal on duty,” Willhelm explained as we continued along. “They have more of an organized punishment in correlation to offense. They, more often than not, throw the book, so to speak, at the offender. It keeps crime to a minimum.”

We entered the barracks’ grounds as the sixth chime rang, indicating the evening meal. Elenor and Niehm said their farewells. I trusted Niehm more than enough to keep my coin safe. She was not only my friend and a Master, but she had a golden reputation for being honest—brutally so, it seemed, but honest nonetheless.

I followed Willhelm with my plate laden with food when I spotted the bounty hunter in the corner. He leaned back, watching everyone with his hawk-like stare. He locked eyes with me as Willhelm and I headed to a table accompanied by other Sergeants. I smiled and jerked my head in invitation. With a bored expression, he arched a brow before scanning the crowd again. I frowned, but kept walking.

“Willhelm!”

A beefy man called from the table. He was huge. I would call him overweight, but he moved with strength, as if he knew exactly how to control his immense stature and use it to his advantage.

“Rory,” Willhelm answered, taking a seat beside the man. He scooted to allow room for me.

Two others sat at the table across the way—older men with their gray hair cut short. One tilted his head, curious. “Who is this young lady?” he asked, studying me.

The other man frowned. “She’s the one we’ve been hearing about all day.”

Rory leaned past Willhelm with an open smile. “Well, hello there! You’ve caused quite a stir! Name’s Rory.”

“Commander Rory,” the grumpy man corrected.

“Eh, titles, titles,” Rory muttered, face pinched with distaste.

With an easy grin, Willhelm nodded to the older men. “Recruit Avyanna, this is Corporal Bane and Sergeant Greyson.”

The grumpier of the men was the Corporal then. Discipline suited his sober manner. Sergeant Greyson seemed more open and curious, but not quite friendly.

“Good day to you, Corporal, Sergeant,” I leaned around Willhelm, “Commander.”

“I heard a bit about your riding inspection. Care to enlighten us?” the Corporal asked, leaning over his plate.

“Oh yes! Please do! Showing a little leg to distract the other men?!” Rory threw his head back with laughter, pounding a hand on the table.

“Please, put it into context,” Sergeant Greyson asked, his tone far more polite.

“My dress ripped,” I said simply, shoving a bite of cooked carrot in my mouth. The stew in the bread bowl was hot and hearty. I ate with a passion.

Sergeant Greyson grunted. “A dress is hardly gear for a soldier.”

“She’ll be in uniform soon enough,” the Corporal stated flatly.

My eyes flitted to him, and I straightened. “There are women’s uniforms?” I asked. I figured my brown dress was the closest I’d get to a soldier’s attire.

“No.” Willhelm shook his head. “You’ll be given a uniform tomorrow evening.”

“If you pass your weapons inspections,” Sergeant Greyson added.

A lump formed in my throat. “I can wear my dresses. I can get one similar to the uniform.”

“Dresses?” Sergeant Greyson pulled back and glanced at Corporal Bane. “A soldier in a dress?”

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