CHAPTER 19: NINETEEN

"Did you hear?"

Bryn’s shoulder bumps mine as we move away from the serving table. Eyes track me down the aisled rows of the recruits’ hall

and while I’d prefer to think it’s because it’s the first time since my ’promotion’ that I’m having breakfast with them, there is hostility brimming in the air.

Directed at me.

I couldn’t stomach seeing Rafe at the tower, so I snuck back into my old room last night, thankful that it was still unoccupied. He didn’t show up for my personal training either. Better. After last night, I never wanted to see him again.

My heart hammers as I clench my tray tighter, the weight of so many stares dragging heavy on me. Did they somehow find out what happened last night between me and him? Maybe he told them what I was, what he’d witnessed? No. He wouldn’t have done that. It’d compromise him, too.

"Heard what?" I ask Bryn as we drop onto the only free bench in a hall full of men.

Bryn leans in close, his fingers grabbing a laddle. "We are to fight at the front line."

My spoon clinks against the bowl. "We?"

He points at the rows of faces--hungry, hollow, tired. "Us. Not you. You belong with the Elite. The Quartermaster debriefed us this morning. We go first, swarming them on the battlefield. The Elite pick up what’s left of them."

I blink. "Are you saying--"

Bryn nods gravely. "Yes. They say we are the Vanguard of the army, but in truth, they use us a Canon Fodder. Soldiers sent in first to die and wear down the army."

"No." My voice shrinks around the word. "That can’t be right. The Elite are the Vanguard. We’re the attrition units, the ones they use to smash through their defenses and pave the way for the main force. It has always been this way. Always."

Bryn’s gaze lowers to his porridge. "Have you never wondered why every year, regardless of how little survivors there are, the Elite units always return, claiming victory in pushing back the enemy, yet they appear untouched and unwounded?" His eyes are dark and devoid of hope. "They don’t fight, Valerian. They don’t do... anything."

I think of the training hall in the tower, the beastly strength of those men who have fought wars for longer than we have been born and experienced loss. Men I have trained alongside. I think of their laughter in the dinning halls, the light-hearted air that comes from drinking booze and eating only the fastest lamb and richest food-- because they’re prepare to go and lay their lives down for us.

Accepting Bryn’s words mean accepting that they have never considered us as people. Just life stock to be slaughtered en masse, while they gorge and drink themselves to stupor, enjoying the spoils and victory of a war we peasants die for.

It would mean accepting that Prince Rafe and the wealthy of Silvermoor are despicable and vile bastards. And the ones who killed my brothers, my father, wasn’t the Dark King, but the men who set them on the front line, despite knowing they wouldn’t survive.

Year after year.

It would mean accepting that I wasn’t singled out because of my strength or my usefulness to this war. Nothing made sense. Nothing makes any sense.

"You’re wrong," I say. "The General has enough foresight to pick strategies he thinks best. There must be a different plan--"

A deep voice cuts in, dark and loud, causing silence to ripple in the hall. "You think yourself better than us, eh?"

Leander is standing at the head of our table, leaning like he owns the bench. His lips curl with contempt. "You wear their shiny armour, move around with the princely prick, and now, you think yourself so much better that we shall be sent to battle to die for the likes of you?"

Their gazes bear holes into me and suddenly, I understand their hostility. They’re being sent to die and think that I will be amongst those who will drink to their deaths.

"I’m sure it is all a misunderstanding," I say, voice carrying over the hall. "I will speak to the General to clear it up--"

"Don’t patronize us!" Leander roars. "Will you beg for our lives then? Get on your knees and suck his cock to change his mind? Pretty as you may be, Ironfang, I don’t think the Prince likes his cock getting sucked by a low born bastard runt."

I bare my teeth at him. "Be very careful what you say to me--"

"Why?" He cocks his head, scarred eyes narrowing. "You’ll kill me like you tried to kill the Prince?"

I open my mouth to respond but think better of it. They’re all angry, understandably so, and Leander has always had a knack for taking out his rage and frustration on me.

"Stop it, Leander. This isn’t Val’s fault. He didn’t even know," Bryn scolds.

The bastard smiles sleazily. "He sucking your cock too, Bryn? Must be so good that you’d choose to defend him still." He turns his ears to me again, cupping his groin. "I’m curious, worm. Won’t you show me what you’ve done to have the Crown Prince wrapped around your fingers?"

I step over the bench, turning to leave, but Leander blocks my path. "We aren’t done talking."

"I have no interest in conversing with a halfwit like you," I snarl softly and shove him aside.

Only, he catches my shoulder and slams his fist into my nose. My head snaps back, ears ringing harshly. I exhale slow as pain radiates in my nose, another wave exploding in my left cheek as he lunges again.

Blood dribbles down my nose as I dislodge myself from his grip, stumbling back from his hold. "I don’t want to hurt you--"

Reckless laughter spills from his lips. "One moment of luck on the mat doesn’t make you a better fighter than I am, worm," he raves and lunges again.

I move out of the way easily, fingers closing around his thick face and I feel the bones under his skin as I tighten my hold and slam the giant’s head back into a table.

The table cleaves in half upon impact and I draw back, worried that I might have hit too hard and broken his skull.

But observing Leander’s unmoving form for a second longer confirms that he’s only passed out, eyes rolled back in his head.

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that ensues.

Bryn shakes his head, leaning down to check Leander’s pulse. "I can never get used to you doing that." He nods towards the exit. "You should leave, Val, before anyone else gets it into their head to kill you. I’ll take care of Leander here."

"I’ll speak to Rafe. I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding," I promise Bryn, but the older man’s eyes only soften with pity.

*****

The war room is occupied when I enter. The Elite crowd the map, elbows on parchment, voices low in argument. Rafe stands at the edge, finger planted on a mark. "Here, we have the most advantage. Anywhere past this line and they’ll have the high ground. This is where the Vanguard will swarm and the main force surrounds them. It’s a full proof plan."

"What about us?"

Every head snaps to where I stand by the door. I walk slowly, fists clench. "What part do we play in this while those men outside fight and die?"

Someone chuckles deeply. I know him. He’s Rafe’s Beta and closest friend, Kaelin. He arches a blonde brow at me. "Still haven’t been able to break your new toy in, have you, Rafael?"

My brows cinch on the comment, and as one, they laugh at my confusion.

The one who responds to me, though, is the Quartermaster, Sebastian. He leans lazily against the table, his hand leaning back just enough to slap the pawn’s figurine off the map. The clay crashes into the ground and shatters to bits. "Who is more important in a pack, Ironfang? The Alpha or the people?"

My answer is easy. It is all I know, all I have been taught. "The people."

Master Sebastian’s lips part on an ugly smile. "You really are naive." He brings the figurine of an Alpha forward. "The pack gravitates around the Alpha. Wherever an Alpha goes, a pack inevitably forms. And reforms, if need be. The people are leeches, clinging to the Alpha to survive. He lends them with protection, his wealth, his strength. In exchange, they fight for him. And when the time comes, they die for him. That’s the way of things. Nothing a peasant like you could possibly understand.

"So, to answer your question, Valerian Ironfang," he croons. "In this war, we do nothing. We are far too important to die for those wretches outside. Be glad you were singled out of the rough and bestowed an opportunity to live. Do not question the decisions of your betters."