The summons came within an hour and I tried not to growl at the knowing grin of Trask's secretary.
"You can go," I said with a dismissive wave. She gave me a mocking salute and turned to leave the tent, brushing past the tall, scarred female who was coming in. Ifrit bared her teeth at the secretary, clearly enjoying the way the female flinched at the sight of the massive scar across her neck and I smiled. "Ifrit, don't be rude to our guests."
Ifrit grunted and prowled over to my desk, her massive black wings tucked in tight to keep from brushing against the canvas ceiling. She stopped at the edge of my desk, her hands moving in a complicated pattern that ended with an emphatic slash.
"Yes, the rumors are true," I replied and rubbed my temples in an effort to alleviate the pounding headache that was blooming.
She scowled, the expression making the scar running across on of her cheeks turn white and puckered. The effect was heightened by her close cropped hair and the intricate tattoos that trailed down her neck to disappear in the collar of her fighting leathers. It was difficult to look at them without feeling anger stir in my gut.
When I'd found her, she'd been so pale and still, I thought she was dead. All those scars had been open wounds, bleeding weakly in the dim light of the high mountains. Whatever those Illyrian bastards had done to her had taken weeks of healing and nearly all of my meager power at the time to attain.
My only regret was that I'd killed her attackers too quickly.
What does Trask want? she signed.
"The usual, I imagine. He's never been fond of my recruitment methods."
Is it true he tried to kill one of the generals? Ifrit asked with an intrigued look that made me laugh.
"Apparently, if the former ring master is to be believed."
You killed him? Good. Her hands flew again and I felt the smile die on my face as I interpreted them. This is bad news, Aria. No general is going to let their failed assassin walk free.
"The rules of the Arena-" I began, but stopped when she signed again.
You know it won't matter. They'll just use this as an excuse to end you.
I sighed and stood, grabbing my glaive from where it leaned against my paper-covered desk. My fingers traced the familiar runes carved into the ironoak and avoided Ifrit's gaze.
She was right, of course. To survive in the army-to survive in Hybern-you exploited and cultivated the weaknesses of your enemies and competitors while hiding your own. My problem wasn't an excess of fighting tells or gambling debts, I thought as I stepped back out into the warm sunlight, it was them.
All around the simple canvas tent where I held most of my strategy meetings with my seconds, our camp was bustling with activity. Vaughn, my quartermaster, was overseeing a new shipment of grain and the repairs on the paddock where our warhorses were grazing peacefully. A harried looking footsoldier jogged past me, still pulling on his overcoat, in his haste to make it to the roll call with his unit. If I strained my ears, I could hear Jace barking orders to the unit on rotation today in the training ring.
This. This is what I had sacrificed everything for. What I would give my life to protect.
Ifrit stepped up behind me. Surveying your kingdom?
Grinning unrepentantly, I sketched a bow to her and began to walk back towards the main camp. A thought occurred to me and I paused, calling over my shoulder to her, "The male from the arena is from the Night Court." Immediately, all of the humor on her face disappeared and I felt like I could see the scars hidden all over her body reopen. I softened my tone, "If you don't want to see him, avoid the healer's tent."
Ifrit nodded stiffly.
Running my fingers through my hair, I glanced down at my bloody armor and took a deep breath. My magic stirred, settling around me like a storm wind and lifting strands of my dark hair to whip around my face and shifting the folds of the wine red cloak I wore. I settled the mask of confident disdain I wore each time I entered the main camp onto my face and left the relative safety of my legion.
The familiar sounds and scent of the army washed over me like the sensation of returning home. Old leather from the training uniforms and scout's armor. Hay and horses, stamping their annoyance at being saddled in the hostelry nearby. Catcalls and jeers from the soldiers I passed who were stupid enough to think I wouldn't overhear what they said to their friends.
This place had raised me, but it was no longer my home.
I'd made a point of moving my legion out of the main campsite and even separated our herd of horses and pack animals from the others. A simple solution to the number of fae who thought the best way to win power was through a carefully placed knife in the back. It even kept the odder members of my unit from drawing too much attention from unwanted sources.
All this was only possible by drawing their eye to a much more appealing and hated target: me.
I took my time moving through the camp towards the cluster of massive tents painted a dusty red like the color of old blood. I would not give any of the creatures lurking nearby the pleasure of thinking I was afraid to walk alone in their midst. Fear was a weakness and weaknesses got you killed in Hybern.
When I arrived at the command tent, I didn't bother to check in with the beady eyed male sitting at the small desk near the entrance. His nearly translucent wings twitched in annoyance at the slight, but he didn't have the balls to speak up.
Pity. I wouldn't mind getting rid of some tension in a quick brawl-that fight in the arena hadn't lasted nearly long enough.
Unlike the simple furnishings in my tent, General Trask's tent was a wonder of stolen and looted goods. My boots sank into a beautifully knotted rug from the Dawn Court depicting the golden rays of the sun while the scent of jasmine floated on the breeze from the delicately carved incense burners hanging from the ceiling. Thick pillows were piled at the edges of the room, adorned with pale skinned and barely clothed females whose eyes tracked my movements with competitive interest.
The rest of the room was dominated by a large wooden table, carved with a detailed map of Prythian and the island of Hybern and the smaller figures that denoted the movement of armies. Beside it was a broad desk covered in marching orders, shipping requests, and empty wine goblets. The pile was large, but the male seated behind it was even bigger.
Like most of the fae who spent their lives marching and fighting at our king's order, Trask's face was tanned to a leathery brown that highlighted the beginnings of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Growing old was a feat in the army and he wore those markings with pride, just as he did the golden epaulets that marked him as the highest ranking officer in this region.
Trask didn't look up at my approach so I settled into the relaxed pose of a waiting soldier, hands clasped behind my back and feet shoulder width apart.
"I hear you were at the Arena bouts today," he finally said, putting down his pen to level a brown-eyed stare at me.
"Yes, general. I often watch the matches."
"But you didn't just watch, did you?" Trask stood, coming around the edge of the desk to step directly in front of me.
I didn't let his even tone fool me-his temper was worse than mine when he became riled. His breath brushed across my skin as he prowled closer and I forced myself to remain still, alert. Eyes focused to the back wall of the tent and face relaxed into a neutral expression.
When the blow came, I let it snap my head to the side, tasting blood from where my teeth cut into the side of my cheek. Instead of retaliating or flinching away, I settled back into my stance and returned my eyes to the wall.
"What do you think you were doing?" he roared, spittle flying to land on my rapidly swelling cheek.
"Recruiting," I replied cheerfully, exposing my bloodied teeth to him in a gory smirk. "Arena rules state that any-"
"Don't quote the damned rules to me, girl!" The next blow was an open handed slap to the other side of my face, hard enough to force me to widen my stance to keep from stumbling. At least now my bruises would match, I thought ruefully. "He is a criminal against the crown."
"A failed criminal," I growled, my own temper sparking to life. "I don't see you punishing any of the other commanders for scouting thieves, arsons, or murderers."
"The other commanders don't recruit slaves-" he spat the word like it offended him to even mention it, "-or washouts to man their legions."
"Do you have a problem with our results, general? Last I checked, we've completed every task you set before us."
Trask cursed viciously. "You and your damned legion-" he began, but I cut him off. "Yes, me and my Damned Legion. I earned the right to select my soldiers from where ever I choose and train them however I wish."
His temper sparked again at the reminder of how my troops had earned their title. What had started as an insult to the motley crew of rejects and slaves I led, had become the title for one of the most powerful forces in the army.
His eyes tracked over my armor to the simple pin that held my cloak in place and served as the symbol for my forces. The broken chain.
Slowly, Trask walked back to his desk and watched, uneasy at the abrupt disappearance of his temper. He gestured to a sheaf of papers at the edge of the desk, "You've been ordered on a scouting mission."
I stepped forward to take the sealed envelope. "When do we leave?"
His smile turned vicious, "By the end of the week. After, of course, the open challenges."
"Of course," I replied with an equally vicious look. "Wouldn't dream of missing it."
Hooray for a new villain to hate! Ifrit and Aria are #friendgoals-I love them together.
Let me know what you think in the reviews! Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing the first chapter!