Page 37 of Crown of Iron
Hand.
Foot.
Hand.
Foot.
My unpredictable body is susceptible to dizzy spells and spasming limbs just at the mere thoughts of climbing. One faulty move and I could plummet to my death, yet I let it carry me higher. The times I’ve failedclimbing this wall are countless. Others pull themselves over with no problem. My body seems to conspire against me.
Hand.
Foot.
Hand.
Foot.
In my peripheral vision, a black blur dashes across the training field. I grip the rope and squeeze my eyes closed.
“Don't look; you don't need to look,” I tell myself, but one eyelid inches open and my head turns.
You damn traitor!
Kyron hunches over Samson's back, gripping the reins and speeding out of camp. It strikes me as strange how he keeps leaving by himself. I understood his bi-weekly trips to help Shianne, and I get it if he is helping other families. What has me baffled is the frequency of these trips. He is the leader of the Lucent army, a valuable player in the war, shouldn't he have someone with him to watch his back? Even if he’s off to do another good deed, he shouldn’t be so reckless.
“Don't give up. You're almost to the top.”
My gaze shoots down, and Terro smiles up, gesturing for me to keep going.
My head spins and my muscles shake. “Shit,” I hiss and do the action I've unintentionally practiced more than any other since training. Fall. Just as the ground rushes upon me, I remember to grip the rope sliding through my hands. It slows the drop and although the landing is jarring, I'm still on my feet.
“At least you know what to do when you make it to the top and need to go down the other side,” he says, looking somewhat impressed.
“Shut up.” I duck my head to hide my grin and grab the rope.
Terro pries it out of my hand, and says, “Oh no, you're done for tonight, nanny goat.”
I roll my eyes at the nickname. Ulric gave it to me after comparing my climbing obsession with goats in his home region. Terro found the story overly entertaining, especially when his friend went into explicit details about the breeding habits of the animal. I'm a bit traumatized from the incident and will never look at goats the same.
“But I've gotto?—”
Terro grabs my hand and pulls me along. “The wall will be here tomorrow. The life of a soldier is rigorous, and part of being a good one is knowing your limits. You have to take care of yourself, and I have the perfect way for you to unwind and have some fun.”
I'm taken back by his words, letting him guide me away from the obstacle that stands in my way of becoming a true soldier. I've been granted small kindnesses here and there. And like many other new recruits, the higher-ranking soldiers have taken an interest in my progress. This is different though, more intimate, more in the realm of friendship.
I dig my heels into the ground and bring us to a stop. “Why?”
“Why what?” he asks, furrowing his brows.
“Why are you suddenly concerned about my well-being? Why ask me to have fun with you?”
He hums and clasps his hands behind him. “I have several reasons. One: camaraderie and respect are key to building a strong army. A soldier must connect not only with those in the trenches with them, but their commanding officers. If we don't show that we give a damn about you, you won't give a damn about us or this cause when it matters the most. Two: you’re never going to conquer the wall if your body is exhausted from trying. And three: how could I not want to be friends with someone who challenged and stood her ground with the most formidable soldier I've ever met. I like you, Elle. Plain and simple.”
“You do?”
“I do, and I'm not the only one,” he says, flashing a big smile which consumes his face.
Terro may look harmless, but his knowledge of the creation and use of military weapons is lethal. The man can throw a hatchet across the training field and land it dead center on a bullseye. For fun, he enjoys using his Jorden powers to forge metal into the most terrifying torture devices. He could give the warmest hugs while embedding the most wicked knife in my back.
