“I trained. With the volunteers and the guardians.” Just her Uncle Dinhal really, but Vaneshta didn’t need to know that. “And I took a lot of watchtower shifts, spent a lot of time outside the wall.”
She kept the details light, not wanting to reveal how dire things were for her family. She kept her answers like that, vague and short, as Vaneshta continued questioning her training, her skills, and even why she’d left. With each one, Iryana grew increasingly uncomfortable, but they kept coming. She even repeated some questions, worded differently, as if her answers might change. The others didn’t seem bothered, just stayed quiet and let Vaneshta do her thing.
Iryana found herself hoping they’d run into a pack of dakii just to end the conversation.
When they finally finished the tedious routes around the fort, ensuring the nearby territory was free of dakii, it was already late. Vaneshta had eventually returned to her post and the team’s chatting had resumed. It had been shockingly normal, like she’d expect hiking around with a random group of volunteers from the post would be. It left her feeling unsettled, like she was waiting for the villainy to reveal itself.
The sun had sunk behind the dense pine forest and great wooden walls, the sky a darkening, bruised blue.
Iryana marched with her team through the fortress, passing groups of soldiers that nodded to those in her team. Not to her, of course.
There was a sharp distinction between those who were on duty and those who weren’t. Armored teams headed out for evening patrol or to take over for the first night shift around the walls. Others had abandoned their uniforms, wrapped in cloaks or thick jackets, as they headed for one of the fire pits in the main yard or for the hall like Iryana’s team. Some didn’t seem to be soldiers at all, rushing around for their chores or joining the off-duty soldiers. There were even children playing in the yards.
She’d asked about it a few days earlier, and Vaneshta had explained that the Myura River Fort was home to an assortment of civilians, people who owed allegiance to the brigade but weren’t official members. Some were the families of soldiers, but not all. It surprised Iryana that people chose to live there instead of finding a safer settlement. The brigade must have paid well, thanks to all the tribute they demanded.
“Dinner in the hall?” Vaneshta asked her, voice coming out of nowhere. Iryana almost tripped on a wooden block that was slightly higher than the others on the paved road.
She wanted to say no, desperately. She was exhausted and craved time alone—but that wouldn’t help her cause.
“Yeah, I’ll come.”
Surprise lit in her eyes, but Vaneshta smiled slightly.
They dropped their gear off in the barracks quickly, Iryana only having time to unbuckle and throw her armor on her bed and grab a wool jacket, before she had to follow Vaneshta out. Her shirt was damp with sweat, and she would have preferred to change and clean off, but she didn’t want to leave the others waiting.
When they entered the hall, Darish immediately headed toward the table of captains sitting near Karvek’s empty dais, while the rest of them grabbed an available table near the center of the room. She’d noticed that the major was frequently absent, perhaps meeting with the general or other regiments.
The room was usually excessively noisy and crowded, but it was far worse when it was so late.
The air was thick with firelight, sweat, and the nutty smell of porridge. Great fires roared in the two great hearths on either side of the large windows, sending dancing light and shadows over the room. Even with the chandelier lit above as well, the room was far from bright. And those hearths, meant to warm the hall in the dead of winter, left the room stifling.
Iryana hesitated, letting everyone take their seats before she sat down in an empty spot on the bench.
“What a day,” Vabihn grumbled, shooting Iryana an apprehensive look as he plopped down on the bench. It creaked beneath his weight.
Younger initiates that Iryana had seen in the training yard carried bowls of food to everyone at the table as they sat down.
Given the varied schedules of the soldiers and the unpredictable nature of the missions, food was kept ready and available in the main hall most times of the day, but meals or rations could also be picked up directly from the kitchens as needed. While she would much prefer to have just grabbed something to take back to her room, she needed to blend in with her team as much as possible. Eating with them would help, she hoped.
Eyes followed her, reminding Iryana how out of place she was. An outsider, a novelty. She hated the way it made her feel, constantly having to fight the impulse to squirm beneath their heavy gazes.
A wooden bowl of thick barley porridge with bits of salted pork fat was put in front of her, along with a smaller serving of fermented cabbage soup. A bowl with a few loaves of dense, dark bread was placed at the center of the table—which the others immediately grabbed for, ripping off large chunks.
Iryana never fancied herself a good cook, but the communal food of the brigade made her homesick. Still, she was hungry enough to claim her own bread and quickly scoop some porridge into her mouth. It wasn’t bad, with the salty bits of pork fat and hints of sweetness from what must have been honey.
A loud crash sounded behind her as two soldiers decided to wrestle in the aisle at the center of the room, one of them being thrown onto the dirty, wooden floor. Her body tensed, but she ignored them, along with the general roar of noise filling the room.
“Weak form,” Vabihn called to the wrestling soldiers, laughing as he shoveled down food.
“Don’t encourage them,” Vaneshta chastised.
As the sharpest edges of her hunger were dulled, Iryana slowed down. She took a few bites of the cabbage soup, frowning at the overwhelming sourness. When she’d had it at home, they balanced the flavors with savory meat broth, but at least it was filling.
Her team chatted, though Iryana struggled to follow the conversations. She was just so overwhelmed, her ears ringing and head spinning.
High, clear tones cut through the desperate joyousness of the hall as a soldier started to play a crude, wood-carved pipe. Cheers immediately rang out, temporarily blocking out the lively dirge. Empty benches and tables were shoved to the side, scraping across the floor, as a few of the soldiers started dancing.
Iryana watched, frozen mid-chew as one of the female soldiers dragged a foggy-eyed man, shirt half-off, toward the pipe player. She pushed the man down so he was sitting on the table, kneeled on the bench between his knees, and whispered something in his ear. The man began to sing then, his voice loud and mostly on-pitch, and the woman started nuzzling herself against him.
