* * *
We all line up as soldiers in the weapons quarter. Night had fallen the next day, and sightings of a dragon surfaced nearby. Venators made sure streets were cleared of people, windows shuttered, and now the general is parading the room, giving out positions to trainees. For many, this is another mission, for me, it’s my first.
“Ambrose, Farron.” The general walks towards me and Link, a wicked smile as he looks at us, rolling up the parchment. “Patrolling duty around the central.”
Detesting the choice, I glower, opening my mouth with a million protests swirling my tongue but Freya cuts in.
“Father—” she pleads, but his sharp stare makes her lower her head.
“I suppose you can be on patrolling duty as well,” he says coldly. “The Draggards district ought to be your... comfort.”
Cruel is one of many words I’d use to describe the general. How can your own father throw you in where witches and ruffians live?
Hardening my gaze, I lower my tone, “She will not patrol—”
“When do we depart?” Freya asks, and I glance at her with a quizzical frown, but she does not turn to me. She keeps her head down like she already knows better than to defy him.
I, of course, never know.
Unyielding hatred churns in my gut as the general dismisses us with a smug smile, and everyone grabs their weapons in an orderly fashion. Freya turns to me, sighing, and mutters, “it’s okay,” before heading to the wall of bows and arrows.
Link goes with her, and I huff out a breath as trainees fill the room, and in the middle of it all is Lorcan adjusting weapons across his back.
Irritated, I march up to him and grab his upper arm, making him glance down at me. “Patrolling duty?” I ask incredulously, dropping my hand. “After everything, you’re going to give me that position?”
He exhales roughly from his nose. “You just joined. It’s what the general thought most appropriate.”
For what had happened last night, Lorcan had quickly left it behind, or it looks like he has. I know he wanted to apologize; I could see it in his eyes earlier today, but I just focused on training, on getting through the day until now.
“But you said I had more potential than some—”
“This is different, Nara.” His voice struggles to gain control as his nostrils flare. My breathing comes in harsh upheaves, and his gaze slowly drifts to my chest, watching its movements. He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I did try getting you out of that position beforehand.” The words this time sound softer. “But the general had the last word, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”
“You are his second in command,” I say tightly, my face inches away as I look up at him. “If you made an exception with me joining the trainees this late, then you can make another without the general’s input.”
Lorcan’s face is like a blank wall crumbling over my words.
Voices in the room drone out, and weapons hissing as they’re sheathed don’t register in my ears. I know Lorcan wants to say something, even if he can’t seem to when he opens and closes his mouth. His stare is hard and painful to look away from, but as he goes to part his lips once more, Rydan cuts through the middle of us. “Lorcy, I was thinking, me and you—the best of the bunch—team up and fight these—”
“We’re not teaming up,” Lorcan deadpans, tightening his jaw as he adds, “Ever.” His eyes flutter towards me one last time before turning away, with Rydan nagging behind.
He slows down, broad back tensing as he stands beside Adriel and Oran who glare at everyone on the side. Whatever had happened with those frogs, they don’t seem phased anymore, but their hatred towards me is felt, during the day, during meals, and even now, without looking, I can tell.
“Patrolling duty,” I mumble, shaking my head as Link and I stand in the central part of the city where the Marigold tree glows. “It’s obvious the general gave me the role out of spite.”
“At least here it’s less dangerous,” Link says, keeping a tight grip on his hilt. His eyes lift to the starry sky. “Well, I hope it is.”
Nerves, that’s what I’ve picked up on with Link. He always looks nervous wherever he is... Whenever we speak.
“May I ask—what made you join the venators?” It’s a genuine question for someone who feels more comfortable where no danger lies despite it being the opposite of a venator’s duty.
He looks at me like no one has ever asked him that before. After a minute of silent pondering, he says, “I had no place to go.” His voice a faint breeze. “My parents died due to a rümen’s bite when I was five, and I ended up in five different orphanages around Emberwell until my eighteenth birthday.” He shrugs, circling his foot along the pathway. “Training to be a venator seemed the easiest choice rather than have to live on the streets. Sadly, it turns out it’s harder than anything I’ve done before.”
And it is. Not once have I thought differently. “When I first became a trapper,” I say when it goes too quiet. “I stumbled upon my own net trap once.”
Link cocks his head, a spark of curiosity in his blue crystal eyes.
“I was good for a thirteen-year-old, but it wasn’t easy.” Nor when I’d come back with no money from Ivarron’s. “And when I was fifteen, some of my brother’s bullies deliberately made me enter a well, and though it took me hours, I managed to climb out of it. But...” I exhale softly. “What I’m trying to say is that every choice someone makes, whether it’s easy or hard, will challenge you in some way.”