“Surely we’re at least friends now, Rasmira. You saved my life from the ziken. We faced the gunda together. You jumped into the hyggja lake with me to save Iric. Either we’re friends, or you’re really just the most selfless person in all the seven villages.”
I’m a warrior. I’ve always done what warriors do. We protect others.
And now Soren wants to be friends because of it.
That’s how things started with Torrin. First, he was my friend. Then he pretended that we could be something more. But Torrin’s end goal was to get me killed.
Soren wants to help. Because he owes me a life debt. A boy who is so honor-bound could not have dark intentions. And if he does, I cannot fathom what they would be. Romantically, I have no interest in him, but …
“You saved my life. For that, you may call me your friend,” I say at last, even if I’m uncertain I could consider him mine.
“Good,” Soren says. “I’d like to have at least one out here.”
“But you have Iric.”
Soren shakes his head. “We are together for survival’s sake. But we are not friends. Not anymore.”
I have so many questions for my … friend. But even now my eyes weigh as heavy as stones.
“Get some rest,” Soren says, as though I need the encouragement.
* * *
WHEN I WAKE AGAIN, it’s to the smell of something delicious cooking.
Iric has moved one of the chairs over by the fireplace, and he turns valder meat over on a spit as he stares at the flames.
I don’t know why, but I feel compelled to make conversation with him, so I try to think of something to say.
“You’ve—” My voice comes out as a croak. I cough and try again. “You’ve built a very nice life for yourself out here. I’m impressed by your home. I didn’t think it was possible to survive in the wild.”
Iric doesn’t turn at the sound of my voice, but he answers, “It became easier once we learned more of the wild’s secrets. In the villages, the people are isolated. They only have access to the plants and animals nearby. There is more that grows deeper in the wild. There are trees that remain strong long after they’re cut. There are new metals not found in our mines. There are plants that are edible. Beasts that are more dangerous.”
“About the plants—Soren mentioned sampling them to learn which were edible.”
Iric’s head lifts from the flames. “He did, and back then, I was far too angry to care if he lived or died.”
“I tried asking Soren what happened at your trial.”
“And?”
“He said it wasn’t his story to tell.”
“Soren,” Iric mutters, “ever so loyal. Sometimes he makes being angry with him very difficult.”
“Will you tell me what happened?”
Iric chews on the inside of his lip. “How were you banished? You are clearly a competent ax-bearer.”
“I asked you first.”
“Sometimes you have to give before you can receive.”
“Why am I the one who has to give first?”
“Because you’re in my house and I’m cooking food for you.”
I try to shift my weight to relieve all the pressure on my back. All I manage is to make the pain in my abdomen intensify.
“You are a riveting conversationalist,” Iric says when I don’t comment.
I try for a leading statement. “Soren can’t be the reason you’re banished, surely.”
“You weren’t there. You wouldn’t know.”
An image rips across my vision. Torrin holding a ziken head, red on its lips, a cruel smile on Torrin’s.
Maybe it’s because I don’t feel threatened by Iric. He doesn’t like girls. He doesn’t have any sort of agenda with me. He’s not trying to befriend me or do anything to help me. He tolerates me because Soren owes me a life debt, and maybe it’s because Iric is so upfront in how he feels about everything, but I suddenly don’t care if he knows what happened to me. Part of it, anyway.
“Did he take a decapitated ziken head and use it to pierce your skin?” I ask, hardening myself against the memory.
Iric fumbles with the spit for a moment. “No.”
“That’s what my friend did to me. He only pretended to be my friend so I would trust him. Then he waited until the right moment to betray me. To get me banished.”
“Why would anyone do that to you?”
“Because I was supposed to be the next village leader. I was raised on a pedestal, praised and cherished above all others. And he hated me for it, as if I could somehow control it.” Or even wanted it in the first place.
It is a relief to get the words out, but it is shortly replaced by vulnerability. When people know your secrets, they can use them to hurt you.
“I don’t know you well,” Iric says, “but I can already tell you didn’t deserve that. You are kind. You are strong. And you’re not entirely dull, either.”
I laugh, but it turns into a groan as my wound throbs.
Iric holds out the spit in my direction. “It’s done.”
I manage to reach out an arm with minimal strain on my stomach and bring the meat to my lips. The grease still sizzles. It burns my lips. But I take a bite anyway and hand it back over.
Iric watches the flames while he eats. “You were wronged. I was stupid. That is the difference between our two trials. You see, I wanted to be a smithy my whole life. I learned the trade from my father, who is still the most skilled in all of Restin.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Soren.”
I should have known that was coming.
“Aros was my world. And the thought of ever losing him—it was the most terrifying thing I could ever imagine happening. We were in our favorite spot, up in the tree where we first met. We often went there for privacy.” A pause. “Did you know he is what gave me the idea for building iron traps? He’d tell me about his hunting trips. They venture out into the wild, find a good spot, and wait. They hold absolutely still, hardly daring to breathe, just hoping for a valder to cross their path. Then they have one shot, a single throw of a hatchet. If they miss, the animal moves out of sight before another throw can be attempted. And I thought there had to be a more efficient way to catch them.”
Iric can’t help but get pulled into the memory. I don’t say anything for fear he won’t tell me the rest of the story.
He pulls himself back and says, “Aros had great respect for the warriors. While we were up there in that tree, a group of them came into view, passing beneath us. I still remember how he looked at them. Wielding an ax makes them so fit, and Aros was admiring them.”
“Surely you don’t blame him for looking?” I ask. “And a smithy is just as fit from pounding metal all day.”
“I know Aros loved only me. I know he was only looking, but still, it needled at me. I couldn’t get it out of my head. For weeks I was in a foul temper. And Soren finally asked me about it.”
Suddenly I see where his story is going, and even though I already knew it had an ugly ending, now I’m realizing the scope of it.
“I told him. Soren wasn’t at all surprised. He went on about how all the ladies wanted to marry warriors. Why wouldn’t Aros?”
“He didn’t.”
Iric looks at me now. “He did. Looking back on it now, I realize Soren wanted to spend more time with me. We were practically brothers. I spent most of my time in lessons, and any spare time I spent with Aros. But if I became a warrior instead of a smithy, Soren would see much more of me. He used my insecurity with Aros to convince me to switch specializations. He tried to convince me I had a talent for it. I knew it was a lie. I was passable with an ax at best, but I certainly had no special skill for it. But I didn’t care. I thought Soren could get me through the trial, and then Aros would never even think of leaving me.”
“And you failed your trial?” I ask.
“I was bitten within the first minute.”
“And then Soren was overcome by guilt and failed on purpose,” I say, remembering what he told me.
“He knew I wouldn’t survive in the wild alone, so he bounded headlong into a group of ziken and let them have at him.”
“So Soren actually has some skill with an ax?” I ask.
“He was the best in the village.”
“That so?”
“The ladies practically hung off him.”
“Did he also have someone special?”
“No. He liked all the attention. Didn’t want to minimize it to only one girl.”