“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know,” he said and I heard his frustration. “I’d never seen power like that. The Protectorate was our enemy mere months ago. It’s hard to suddenly trust.”
“Trust me, then. The Huntress is no danger to us.”
“You’re my Commander, of course I trust you,” he said earnestly.
“Good. And, Vylkor, if she chooses to remain here–” If there were any merciful gods, she would. “–she will be first in command. You better get over your fear of her power until then.”
“Yes, Commander,” he said with the tone of someone who wanted to argue until the sun set, but thought better of it. Then a weird smile pulled on his lips. “At least she’s on our side and not the Serpents’.”
“Keep that blessing in mind.” I turned back to the warriors. How many of them harbored the same fears as Vylkor, but were too scared to tell me?
I heard some say the problem started when that Huntress of yours arrived, Beren’s words hissed.
Had they found a way to poison my warriors’ minds?
But how? Nobody from the Northern Clans had stepped foot in this crater for eons.
I’d seen no pamphlets like the ones polluting the Capital with lies, nor heard any whispers of dissent. Sylvester had been nothing but thorough in keeping both of his ancient eyes on the city.
He’d found no evidence of something amiss.
Nothing visible, at least.
Since my mother’s passing, only I had been burdened with the constant pulse of the crater. But it was nothing but a whisper now, like Solkar’s Reach had disowned me.
This was the worst time to go to war.
Yet I had to.
A familiar glimmer caught my eye, followed by a stab of unease.
“What are Nadya and Geryll doing here?” I asked.
Nadya was wiping the frozen floor with men twice her size, that’s what. She twirled Francisca in a long arc before striking, as if she wanted to inflict more terror than pain.
“Proving you trained them well,” Vylkor grunted, then hesitated. “And how to defend themselves.”
Geryll held onto his shield, shrinking behind it, as a raven-haired boy banged against it with a hateful force not meant for the training grounds.
My growl carried me down the ridge, Vylkor trailing after me, surprised and confused.
“He shouldn’t be here, he hasn’t healed yet,” I seethed.
“He insisted,” Vylkor argued.
The warriors straightened as I passed, fists to their hearts. One by one, the rows snapped at attention, like waves against a massive ship. The younger ones reacted slower, arms shaky, too focused on their sparring partners to notice until the last moment. Some weapons clanked to the ground.
Not ready for war.
Not ready to defend the crater, either, but better than nothing.
The raven-haired boy had his back to me, oblivious to anything other than his target, which he struck again.
Again and again.
My fists clenched at my sides. I wanted to pummel him and his mace into the ground.
