I ignore his response and stride past him with my shoulders back.
‘You know, sometimes I think you have a death wish,’ Jonas says as he trails after me.
‘I don’t,’ I assure him. ‘I just don’t make friends with arseholes.’
‘I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.’ He grins. ‘Now, let’s see what youremember.’
It turns out,I remember precious little. After three days of getting up in the dark to train with Zelle before the other Rettlings awake, and then training with Jonas and the Eastern Islanders all day, my muscles are so sore that I can’t remember what it’s like not to ache with every breath I take.
Breakfast in the dining hall is always a noisy affair because waking up and knowing we’re actually going to see another morning feels like enough of a reason to celebrate. Which, in the Retterheld, I guess it is.
‘How are you still able to walk?’ I huff to Llinos as I follow her to our table. ‘Do your muscles not feel like lead?’
‘They’re definitely tight,’ she admits, ‘but we’ve trained a lot. You know, since birth.’
So had I. Even when we were first stripped and moved to the fifth, we trained daily. It’s just these last few years in the slums that saw it slip. Badly. It’s hard to practise running laps anywhere when you’re so hungry you get light-headed just walking to the market.
Unspoken rules have formed among the groups. The knights sit nearest the food tables. I’m pretty sure a couple of them know the cooks, or at least, they’re definitely favoured by them, as the piles of pastries on their plates are substantially larger than on anyone else’s. Zara, Shim, and the other Rettlings from Rowell take the table by the main staircase. I’m pretty sure it’s so they can glare at everyone coming in and out, which is what they do best. Thankfully, I use the thinner staircase at the other end of the hall, meaning I get to avoid some of their glowers, though they normally switch their attention to me when they see I’ve arrived, and in truth, I can’t blame them. Zara’s burns have mostly healed – rumour has it she goes to see the healers for hours every night – but there’s still scarring. I suspect there always will be.
The only Rowell Rettling I’ve ever heard speak beside Zara is Oke, who is equally vicious. So much so that she sent one of her group, Mattieu, to the healers on the first day of training with a knife throw to the arm. He was back sitting with her the next day, suggesting they’re a close-knit group, but I’ve never seen any of them laugh or even crack a smile. I’m not actually sure they’re capable of it.
So far, there have been no more threats on my life, but I don’t doubt Zara’s biding her time. I can’t blame her. If there’s one person I wouldn’tmind sending to Mortidem’s eternal darkness to have her powers redistributed, it’s definitely Zara.
I also wouldn’t mind sending Kyor. Or Holden. The list is ever-growing.
I’ve learned the crazy old lady from Dorain is called Seiren, and the younger, exceptionally tall woman who looks after her is Kestria and that every Rettling from Galreck is male. Rumour has it that the duke there forbade women from making offerings, but I struggle to believe that’s true. The dukes answer to the king and I can’t imagine any would be foolish enough to make their own rulings against his.
My group sits at the end near the fireplace – a choice of table for which I’m pretty sure I’m responsible, as my time shivering in the slums makes me naturally seek out heat. I’m still in awe of the size of the fires here. The four of us – the three who remain from the Eastern Isles and me – are a constant, but Jonas tends to spend just a short while with us before flitting around all of the other tables, excluding Zara’s. Estel joined us the first morning, though I haven’t seen her since. And as for Kyor … I’ve been blessed not to see him in the dining hall at all.
Unlike Zara and Shim’s group, it’s clear that Benny and Llinos have adopted humour as a way to cope with their loss, and the laughter is fairly constant. Normally, they are ribbing one another for mistakes they made in training or recalling some in-joke from years back, but for once, I’m not listening to the goading.
‘What’s that you’re reading?’ Llinos asks, leaning over my shoulder.
‘It’s a book on weapons.’
‘Ah yes,readingabout fighting,’ Benny says, amused. ‘The best way to ensure you don’t actually win a fight. But hey, at least you’ll be able to evaluate what you did wrong when you’re stabbed.’
I shoot him a glare as Llin thumps him on the shoulder.
‘Thank you,’ I say with a smirk.
‘Any time.’
‘And I’m not reading about fighting,’ I inform him. ‘I know how to fight. I’m looking for something in particular.’
‘Want to tell us? Maybe I know what it is,’ Llin suggests. ‘I was a bit of a weapons geek when I was younger. And my party trick was telling you the exact length of any blade just by feeling its weight.’
‘Which is why the guys are grateful she chose women as her preference in bed.’ Benny snickers.
Llinos’s glower narrows. ‘One, not a choice. Two, a true blade masterknows it’s not the length of the blade, but what you do with it. Too bad I heard you’re failing on both counts, Benny.’
‘If you ever want to find out …’
Llinos mock gags. ‘Please don’t. I’m eating.’
I shake my head.
‘It’s not just any weapon,’ I say, deciding to go with the truth. After all, Kyor has already seen it, and I don’t see any harm in telling the people I actually trust here. ‘It’s the knife the priestess used in the blood vow,’ I explain. Immediately, their faces pale and I realise what an idiot I am. Of all the things they didn’t need reminding of. ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
