I step over the rest of the disarrayed woodpile, catching up to him. “You really don’t like me, do you?”
He grunts, as if my blunt question surprises him. “I don’t like Midas, and you’re his symbol.”
I falter, footsteps stopping for a moment before I snap myself back into movement. “What do you mean I’m hissymbol?” I’ve never heard anyone refer to me that way before.
Osrik leads me past a circle of horses huddling around bales of hay, making me step around the manure peppered over the ground.
“You’re his trophy, sure, but you’re also his mirror,” Osrik tells me. “When everyone looks at you, all they see ishim. All they think about is his gold-touch power and what it would be like to have magic like that, that endless wealth. You represent his reign—not just over his kingdom, but over all the greed in Orea,and he fucking loves it.”
I’m stunned, too surprised by his words to form a response.
“So yeah, when I look at you—his little golden pet that he shows off—it pisses me off.”
“Then don’t look at me,” I retort, my voice carrying a hard edge.
Osrik snorts. “I try not to.”
I don’t know why shame crawls up my neck and into my cheeks, leaving me with a rusty blush, but it does.
“For the record, I get pissed off when I look at you, too,” I reply.
A rough, quick bark of a laugh escapes him, so loud and sudden that it makes me jump.
“I guess neither of us should look at one another then.”
I dart a look at him. “I guess not.”
We walk the rest of the way in silence, but I notice that this time, Osrik chooses an easier path.
Chapter 13
AUREN
Osrik leads me to alarge tent, one that’s different from the others. It’s clearly a meeting space, based on its size and shape—rounded, like a tent in a royal tournament.
I follow him inside, finding furs on the floor and a circular table in the middle of the space. Three soldiers are sitting there on stools, speaking with the commander, who sits directly across from the doorway. When they see us enter, everyone’s head turns, their attention landing on me.
Rip’s eyes shift to his men. “We’ll reconvene later.”
The soldiers nod and stand up, shooting me assessing looks as they leave.
When it’s just the three of us, I hesitate near the entry. Commander Rip is studying me in that unnerving way of his, looking no different than he did this morning, except the spikes on his arms seem to be shorter than usual, like he’s retracted them partially.
“Have a seat,” he finally says.
I skirt the table, choosing the spot farthest from his. He smirks as I pull out the stool, as if he knew I would choose to sit here. I glare at him. His smirk widens.
Osrik gathers the papers laid out on the table, and I silently kick myself for not taking the time to try and study them while I had the chance. I see a hint of a map and some written missives before Osrik removes them, letting them roll up to prop against a wall of the tent.
With the tabletop now clear except for a couple of lanterns, I glance around nervously. For some reason, the emptiness of the space makes the commander’s attention more daunting.
There’s nothing else for me to focus on, nothing else to distract me. Maybe he planned it that way.
Osrik pulls out the stool beside the commander and sits down, though I’m not sure how he fits on it. It’s got to be a half-ass kind of situation.
I look across the table at them both, and although my hands are wringing together in my lap, I make sure that the movement is hidden from their view.
They’re intimidating when they’re apart, but together? It’s like being stuck in the middle of a pack of ravenous wolves.
