My insides chilled. I hadn’t expected him to reply, let alone agree. Did it mean something?
We trudged down through the dry castle ground. Well, I trudged. He was so graceful it looked like he floated. My insides twisted with anticipation as the call to raise the gate was shouted. The gate rose. Just like that, I was out. I couldn’t believe it.
“It’s not real, you know,” Irrik said. He raised his eyebrows as if questioning my sanity.
“The sunshine is real. The fresh air is real.” I gave him a derisive look up and down. “I’m here. Seems pretty real to me.”
He rolled his eyes and continued his predatory glide on the path. “You know what I mean.”
I did. He meant it wouldn’t last, and I was painfully aware of that fact. Yet, with only one person guarding me out here, and the castle gates growing farther away with each step, pretending was easy. Overall, this was a step up in my eyes. If I had to be a prisoner, at least I’d be one who had clean clothes and got to go outside.
The thought pulled me up short. There was something utterly wrong with that. To accept the scraps Irdelron sprinkled out while I did his bidding was sick and pathetic. I might be setting out to heal the land, but while I wanted to do this for the people of Verald, Irdelron wanted to do it for himself; For the same reason he did everything—power. More food meant happier people which meant less rebels. The king’s goal and mine might be temporarily aligned, but I shouldn’t, couldn’t, lose sight of what Irdelron truly was.
With a heavy sigh, I glanced at Irrik and said, “You’re right.” To enjoy this day was to be victim to the sickness of what the king was doing to me and to Verald’s people. “None of this is real.”
Something flashed in the Drae’s eyes, and he looked around at the wilted gardens in disgust. “I hate sunlight.”
It hates you right back, nightmare man.
“Where are we going?” I asked, taking a huge lungful of beautiful air as we moved down the mountainside towards the flat Quota Fields below.
He tensed as I let out a grateful and long-winded exhale.
“You’re much less like a cowering rat in clean clothes,” he said.
The barb stung. A lot. Mostly because of the truth therein. I couldn’t imagine anyone would want to experience the cruelty that created cowering rats. I was equally certain that some people would rather die than become a cowering rat. But I wasn’t one of those people. An ugly and sharp shame settled squarely on my shoulders, seeping into my very being. I was alive after a horrible experience, so I knew the answer to the question no one ever truly wanted answered: what kind of person was I at my worst?
Cowering rat.
“You’re much less a cowering rat than others I’ve met in your situation.” He scowled. “I’m not sure how you’re alive.”
He’d meant the words as an insult, I was certain, but nothing else could’ve made me feel better than his begrudging acknowledgement.
“I’m not sure either,” I said gravely. When his scowl deepened, I couldn’t help adding, “I’ll try to lower myself to your expectations in the future. And you never told me where we’re going.”
“To the potato fields.”
Right. The king had said as much yesterday. Always potatoes. I snickered inwardly. “What exactly am I meant to do while I’m there?”
He snorted. “You are asking the wrong person, Phaetyn. Do your plant dance, I guess. I don’t give a szczur.”
I cracked my knuckles. On my own then. He could’ve just said. A-hole.
How hard could it be?
Very hard.
I puffed, running up and down the field. I’d already connected my bodily fluids possessed the magic goodness. The king drank the blood of Phaetyn, so it made sense. Of course, he could’ve used his stores of Phaetyn blood to save the land, but pigs would fly before that happened.
I had no urge to slice my arm open, so I tried fake crying to no avail. I walked around barefoot until I stubbed my toe on a rock. There was no way I was popping a squat with Lord Irrik watching. Spitting seemed to go okay until I used up the moisture in my mouth.
I was hot, tired, and frustrated. I mean, shouldn’t I be able to sense the land’s feelings . . . or something? But it was just me standing on top of the soil. Ryn vs. dirt, round eight million and fifty-six.
So, sweating it was.
Lord Irrik watched me do field laps from the shade of a wilting willow tree.
“Drae jerk,” I wheezed.
“I heard that,” he called.
I was too sweaty to care. Places that shouldn’t be sweating were sweaty. Ew. So much ew.
Giving up for the time being, I zigzagged between the limp potato bushes to the willow tree, hoping the nightmare man would share the shade with me. I rested a hand against the shrunken bark and asked, “What’s the penalty if there isn’t a field of huge potatoes by tomorrow?”
He sat with his back against the tree, legs extended, rolling a pebble in his hand. His focus remained fixed behind me, but he answered, “I would say you have a week to show the king your skill is worthwhile.”
That seemed reasonable. For a person who might have skills.
“Do you think it’s working?” I asked after a brief moment, jerking a thumb at the field.
He tilted his head and gave me a flat look before returning his attention to the potatoes.
“I’ve been sweating,” I whined. Drak it was hot, and I wasn’t relaxing in the shade like he was.
Irrik replied, “Your clothes soak most of it up.”
“I’ve been making sure to shake my body every three laps to get rid of the droplets.”
“I saw.”
My eyes narrowed at his strangled tone. “Fine. I don’t hear you—”
The Drae moved so quickly the cock and swing of his arm was a blur my mind had to later dissect. A muted thunk, like a rock hitting a tree trunk, came from across the field. I whirled and just managed to catch sight of a king’s guard falling to the ground. Dead. A hole in his forehead.
My heart tripped for several uneven beats as I put together what had happened. I glanced down at Lord Irrik’s hand. Empty. “You—”
His black brow rose. “What?”
I stepped back and glanced to where the dead guard’s brown hair was visible over the gentle slope of a mound. My mouth opened and closed several times before I could string together my words. Finally, I said, “You just threw that pebble in your hand and killed a man.”
“Yes,” Irrik said. “The king instructed me to protect you.”
My brain had a difficult time wrapping itself around Irrik killing the guards. Shock made my response slow, and with raised brows, I asked, “Do you think he meant against his own men?”
The Drae curled his lips, and scales briefly appeared, rippling across his chest. In the daylight, they had a different hue, like a neon-blue flickered deep under the surface. “He should have been more specific.”
“Is that the only one you’ve killed today?” I hushed as he stood and dusted off the back of his aketon.
He scoffed and began walking back across the potato field with a silent tread.