The mess hall was the same as it ever was. Loud, disorganized, and darker than it ought to be when the sun was up. I walked in, going to set my wrist on the hilt of my sword before I remembered I hadn’t strapped it on for breakfast. Looking around at the many faces seeming to corner me in this morning, that suddenly felt like a bad idea.
When I could help it, I ate before or after the room was at its peak. If that didn’t work, I tended to grab whatever I could eat with my hands and bolt. I stood on the edge of the space, resolving to take a piece of bread and go, even though I was much hungrier.
In the end, it didn’t matter. A small girl walked over to me, shaking where she stood, looking up at me with doe-like eyes.
“What?” I demanded.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Don’t worry. I won’t kill you for delivering a message.”
She didn’t seem convinced, and it took her another few breaths to speak.
“Kawan is asking for you,” she said.
“He is?” I asked in disbelief.
She nodded. Then, having completed her task, she left as quickly as she could without actually breaking into a run.
Why in the world was he asking for me? Sighing, I abandoned breakfast and started toward his rooms, the ones I assumed belonged to the king when this castle had been erected.
I reminded myself of three things. First, that he sent for me, that I wasn’t crawling to him. Second, to shove my pride as low as it could go for the time being. And, finally, to keep to the rules.
Never run away, never look away, never explain away. This was how I survived.
I knocked on the door, and he waited a few breaths before sending someone to let me in. It was Aldrik who greeted me, his expression smug. He pulled the door open wide, and I saw Kawan sitting at his desk. Behind him, his personal guards stood watch: Slone, Illio, Maston, and—walking over to join them—Aldrik.
One would have expected a revered spot like that to go to me, right? I was the son of the woman draped across his arm. I was the one who did the majority of his dirty work. I was the one most of the people in this castle feared the most.
But if I wanted anything out of Kawan’s hands, I had to pull. And I refused to stoop so low. “You called, sir?” I asked, tagging the last word on in an effort to come across respectful. As the only descendant of the long-lost leader of our people, Kawan himself should be called king, though he claimed to be saving the title for when he actually held his kingdom. Anytime I tried to imagine Kawan with a ring of gold on his tangled hair, I couldn’t help but think a change of location wasn’t going to make him any more regal.
“I did.” He looked up at me, and I had the distinct impression I was about to get punished. “The time has come for you to prove yourself. I’m sending you on a Commission.”
I very nearly smiled. A Commission. At last!
The Commissions were Kawan’s way of testing people, of discovering how deep their loyalties went. Only those we were sure wouldn’t run were even considered, and everyone who returned had an air of . . . untouchability to them. I’d earned some of that at the end of my sword, but I wanted to have respect alongside the fear that people tended to attach to my name.
Each person chose their team and came up with their own mission. The only requirement was that the outcome had to benefit the people. Sometimes they brought back more food, sometimes more livestock, sometimes even more soldiers.
But, at least for me, there was a sense that with whatever was gained . . . nothing really changed.
That would end with me.
“I accept, sir. Gladly.”
“As you know, you may choose to do whatever you like. However,” he said, deliberately pausing. That dreaded sense of being punished rose again in my gut. “I will be selecting the soldiers you take.”
“What?!”
A smile played on the edges of Kawan’s lips. He was enjoying this. My eyes darted to my mother. Ever silent, she didn’t even look at me.
“You need to prove yourself, but you’re too foolhardy. I’m sending you with a carefully chosen group, people who will check you if you get out of line,” he said.
People who will drag me down, I thought.
“First, Andre.”
I squinted. “The . . . the one who barely talks?”
“Griffin.”
I rolled my eyes. “He doesn’t take anything seriously.”
“Sherwin.”
“I don’t have the slightest idea who that even is.”
“Blythe.”
“A girl?”
“And Inigo.” At this he seemed the most pleased he could possibly be. Why wouldn’t he? If no one else could ruin my commission, Inigo certainly could. Inigo wore a scar down his face that I’d placed there myself. He wasn’t about to take orders from me.
Behind him, Slone covered his mouth, trying to hide his laughter. After everything I’d done, after every life I’d taken, why was I still left trying to prove myself to these people?
I looked at my mother again. “Are you going to stay silent? A botched Commission took your husband, and now he’s assuring mine will fail. You have no comments on the matter?”
She didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, her icy hair hanging over one shoulder and a smile in her eyes. “If you are the leader we know you to be, wrangling that group should be easy. I have faith.”
Once again, she drew a line in the sand. Once again, I backed away.
“Very well. I’ll show you exactly what I can do.”
