Page 13 of Crown of Iron
Leif shrugs and spurs his horse through the gate. “No worries, Raul. I'll accompany her to her assessment.”
I wait until we are out of earshot and move Nortus alongside Leif. “Assessment?” I whisper.
“You didn't think we would just take on anyone who comes to our gates, did you?”
“Well, no, but what's he going to want me to do?”
“Each higher-ranking officer has their own way of testing a future soldier. They have traits they believe make for a strong unit. Since you’re at Basecamp, you'll have the honor of being assessed by the general.”
Leif leads me to the back of the camp where a stable made of wooden slats and a thatched roof stands. We dismount our horses, and he takes them to two empty stalls with full troughs of food and water. He removes Nortus' saddle and tosses it to me. I stumble back and carry the heavy, engraved leather to a hook on the wall.
“What traits does the general find important?” I grunt, hoisting upthe saddle.
He brushes his horse's mane and says, “A strategic mind, expertise in weaponry, pure and utter obedience.” He looks back at me with a raised eyebrow.
I scoff and lean against the railing of the stall, watching as he prepares his horse for the night. “I can be obedient. I've spent my entire life doing just that, and I’ve studied strategy.”
“I’m sure he is looking more at combat planning and not diplomacy.”
“You learned all that, I can too. Besides, I’m a fast learner.”
“Let's hope your father's successor feels the same.”
Leif walks with confident steps out of the stables, and his pace doesn't slow as we reach the dirt street. I struggle to keep up and wear the same stoic expression as him. This differs greatly from the Leif who strolls the streets of the capital. He doesn't stop to kiss the knuckles of attractive onlookers or spare a flirtatious wink. The only acknowledgment he gives to those around us is a curt nod. And unlike my best friend, who is comfortable in all situations, I feel like a lamb thrown into a den of lions.
I'm met with scrutinizing glares and whispered exchanges. Nobody seems to recognize me, but they appear intrigued by the new recruit. Even after this morning's squabble, I'm in better shape than many of them. Dirt and even blood cake their uniforms, bruises and scrapes litter their skin, and dark bags circle their eyes. I can't help but wonder if they recently saw battle.
We reach the center of the camp where the largest of the wooden buildings stands. The hub is nothing spectacular, a wooden exterior with no windows, and a heavy iron door. We step inside and make our way down an aisle of occupied desks. Soldiers hurry through the room with notes in hand or focus on the maps and journals laid out before them. There’s no talking, just the tapping of boots and the scribbling of pens.
Leif nods to a guard at the back of the building and leads me down a dimly lit hallway. Oak doors with branded plaques nailed to them sit open on either side of us, and inside, soldiers are hard at work. We turn down another corridor. This one slants down into the bowels of the hub.
If I thought things were abnormally quiet on the ground level, I was sorely mistaken. This is the kind of place where people lose their minds, with only their thoughts to keep them company. The soldiers we pass don't exchange a word, and something tells me everyone conducts their businessbehind the steel doors and walls.
Leif taps his knuckles against an engraved door plaque that readsCaptain Leif Stone.It's strange to know that my best friend has an important job that requires an office and desk. This is the boy who swims in the nude and cracks dirty jokes. I have a hard time picturing him buckling down to complete a serious task.
We stop in front of enormous metal double doors at the end of the hall, and without warning, Leif knocks.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, smacking him on the arm.
“Taking you to your assessment.”
“Leif—”
“Captain Stone,” he says, correcting me.
I release an exasperated sigh and say, “I'm not ready.”
The doors click, releasing from the jamb, and creak open. The simple act sends my heart racing to break free of my chest.
“Well, it looks like you have no choice, recruit.” Leif smiles and pushes his way inside.
“I've brought you a recruit,” Leif says, moving to the side and leaving me framed in the doorway.
The scent of cinnamon and campfire overwhelms me, and my heart flutters. It still smells like my father here. I take a step closer, absorbing every detail. Wood paneling covers the metal walls and rows of dark cabinets undoubtedly hold a vast selection of weapons. My gaze lingers on the desk, a replica of the one in his study at home. It's littered with maps and stacks of old war journals. He would have never left it in such disarray. The floor to ceiling bookshelves with a ladder perched in the center, the leather couch, the artwork depicting past battles; my father’s stamp still remains in the room.
Hope ignites within me, and I quickly take in the faces of the four figures seated at a round table. It’s difficult to discern who is the head of this army. Not one of them looks to be older than their mid-twenties. A slender man watches me from over his shoulder. His red beard is a stark contrast to his pale bald head, and his blue eyes are an unnerving mixture of kind and menacing. I question if the man next to him is old enough to join the army. Jaw length braids frame his russet baby face, and his smile demands I return the friendly gesture. The only woman in the group glares at me beneath thick lashes. She puckers her full lips and flexes her arms, which are easilythe so thick I wouldn’t be able to wrap both hands around them. A long chestnut ponytail sits high atop her head, with the hair on the sides buzzed to her scalp. The last person at the table slowly closes the book in front of him, trapping a piece of paper inside. He brushes a wayward strand of jet-black hair away from his sharp, deep-set eyes, and I suck in a breath when our gazes meet. His irises are pitch black with gold rings surrounding his pupils.
A gasp leaves me and I stumble a step back.
