Osrik looks at Twig. “Go on, boy. We’ll train tomorrow.”
Twig nods and scoops up his clothes. He hesitates, turning to me. “Umm, Miss?”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Thanks for thinking you were protecting me...but can you not do that again? They’re gonna give me shit for this forweeks.”
“Umm, yes. Sorry.”
Osrik and Judd snicker.
“Language, Twig.”
The boy’s head swivels toward Rip, who’s somehow made it all the way over to us without me seeing him move. “Sorry, sir,” the boy replies with immediate contrition.
Rip nods at him. “Go on.”
Twig doesn’t need more encouragement. He turns and sprints off like he can’t get away fast enough.
I turn and start to walk away too, but of course, I don’t even make it three steps.
“Not you.”
With a sigh, I turn around, but I keep my attention stubbornly off of Rip. Instead, I choose to watch the retreating soldiers as they make their way back into camp.
Soon, the only people left are Rip, Osrik, Judd, and me.
Their intense scrutiny makes my skin crawl. It was foolish for me to step in and make assumptions, but the fact that Rip saw it somehow makes it so much worse.
I feel vulnerable. Beaten. Like I was one of those soldiers who got bloodied in the snow.
My eyes settle on the commander, my body braced with tension. “Alright, out with it.”
Rip arches a black brow, those tiny, stubbed spikes lifting with it. “Out with what?”
I wave a hand at the three of them. “Mock me for stepping in. Get pissed for my assumptions. Make fun of me. Whatever you’re going to do, just get it over with.” My voice warbles at the end, and I hate myself for it.
“Maybe later,” he replies with a tinge of amusement. “For now, we’re going to be busy with something else.”
Alarm pulses through me like a drum. “With what?”
I can’t read the expression on Rip’s face, but I’m sure it’s nothing good. “You heard Os. You stepped into the fight circle. You’ll have to fight before you can leave it.”
My mouth drops open. “You can’t be serious.”
“The commander is always serious, love,” Judd cuts in. “It’s one of his worst qualities.”
Rip lets out a long-suffering sigh and says, “Os.”
Without missing a beat, Osrik reaches over and smacks Judd on the back of the head. The mustard-haired man just laughs.
I shake my head, bewildered at the sight as realization clicks.
They’re...friends.
I knew Osrik was something of a right-hand man to Rip, but now, I can see the camaraderie between them, the trust. The fact that the notorious killer is actuallyfriendswith these two men somehow changes things. It leaves me reeling, like my mind is trying to look at every interaction and reanalyze it.
“Nothing to say?” Rip asks me, tearing my attention back to his question.
