Alissa’s eyelids drew closer as she surveyed the man, looking for any signs of deception. She didn’t find any.
“Are you going to deliver us to the authorities now that we have escaped Bryniard?” Freyah asked, worried they had found an enemy instead of an ally.
“I am unaware of the existence of laws covering the crossing of Bryniard’s walls from the inside. It has never happened before, and honestly, there were supposed to be no people there in the first place.” He shrugged. “As far as I know, you haven’t committed any crimes aside from keeping me ‘hostage,’ which we can all agree I did willingly. So no, I cannot arrest you, not for now, at least. Fortunately for you, I intend to keep my word of taking you to the capital safely,” Eldric explained.
Alissa’s smile faded. The knot in her stomach reminded her that Eldric was not the liar of the group. He vowed to keep his word in the end, but she would not keep hers. Instead of revealing the truth, she once again decided to postpone the inevitable.
“Will you teach us how to fight?” she asked.
Although she wouldn’t like to admit it, after seeing him kill men with such ease, she knew she would die by his hand—or any other—if she was attacked with a sword. Learning how to defend herself in more ways than just with a bow could be the difference between life and death.
He threw his head backward in laughter. “Do you honestly believe I can teach you how to fight in such a short time, Kriegen?”
“Unless you believe you’re incapable and your abilities are limited…” Alissa arched her brow.
Eldric narrowed his eyes. He knew she was playing him to get her way, but the idea of giving her a hard time during training didn’t sound so bad. “Deal,” he said.
Freyah clapped her hands with enthusiasm.
“You know I’m not going to take it easy on you,” Eldric said, his eyes fixed on Alissa before shifting to the road ahead.
“I’d be disappointed if you did, Van Myr,” she replied with a smirk.
Chapter 12
The Iron Claws
163 DAYS UNTIL DHALIA’S DEATH DATE.
“Situation report,” Ranier demanded as he lit up a cigar outside the gates of Porjea. The new recruit, who was mostly now his assistant, rushed to his side with a notebook in hand, so nervous he almost fell stumbling on his own feet.
“Location: Porjea.
Population: Two hundred eighty-three people.
Incident: We have received allegations of a mass murder committed by a supposed member of the Royal Guard a week ago in a local tavern.
Casualties: Twelve men.”
The young man closed the notebook and stood, awaiting instructions, his body rigid with apprehension. “What are your orders, General?”
Ranier’s nose crinkled in disdain at both the boy’s visible unease and the sight of this depressing place. It was beneath him to be sent to investigate murder cases, and it was beyond his comprehension why the Crown would spend the time and efforts of their highest-ranking battalion on the assassination ofa bunch of nobodies. Still, he needed to at least pretend he cared about it.
“Lead us to the crime scene, Soldier Keilan.”
The young man promptly took the lead and walked into Porjea, his general and the other five soldiers behind him.
As Ranier walked in, the village grew quieter. He thought what scared the citizens was the gleaming silver armor that fit his muscular build perfectly and the sword hanging from his waist. Or maybe it was the ruby-colored cloak on his shoulders—a sign of his importance to the Crown. It could be the dark brown curls that highlighted his blue eyes and the long beard that covered his jawline. But in reality, it was his presence: the way he puffed his chest and turned his nose up, how he looked at people as if they were insects, and the fact that even his steps exuded arrogance.
Even with all of his performance, the women’s gazes were not on him; they would not dare make eye contact. But the men… Oh, the men’s gazes clung to Ranier with every step he took, as if he were a divine creature. Their eyes gleamed with admiration, but this façade of pride and bravery hid cowardice; their agitation stemmed from the fear that Ranier Uldor could incite in people.
And of all the things he loved about his job, seeing people diminish themselves in his presence was his favorite. Being powerful in a place where free will was a luxury gave this man too many privileges to count. Even though his purpose in this mission was to investigate an assassination, he knew that if he were to kill someone himself, no one would dare question it; that was how much power Ranier had in his hands.
He threw his half-used cigar on the ground and stepped on it before bursting through the door of the tavern, causing most of the customers to leave in terror.
He smiled, pleased.
The general stood before the counter, resting his palms on the stained wooden surface.