Page 78 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

Wren wondered what she’d learn about Orzen, or if she’d even have enough time to find out. Orzen leaving was a problem for future-Wren. For now, she’d pretend it wasn’t a possibility at all, and let future-Wren’s heart curse her for it later.

She cleared her throat right as he started to speak.

“Oh. You uh—you go first,” she said.

“About the scar…” He plucked at a string on her father’s cloak.

She didn’t know what she’d been thinking when she reached for the brand on his chest. Part of her didn’t want to believe a person could hurt someone else that way. So many questions bubbled up, but none of them were appropriate when he’d only just met her. He didn’t owe her the worst truths of his life.

“I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable,” she murmured. The boisterous noise around them sheltered her words. “You don’t need to explain. Not if you don’t want to. I’m sure those aren’t pleasant memories.”

“It’s okay. I actually want to…” He shifted on the bench beside her. “Well, I don’t mind if you know more…if you’d like to hear it.”

His openness warmed her. It was an honor to be trusted with someone’s truth, and she wouldn’t hold it lightly.

“Of course I would.”

“You’re right,” he started softly. “Most of the memories aren’t good…but they’re not all bad either. The Brand was family. Not the healthiest family…” He gave a dark little laugh. “But it’s the one I had.”

With his mask, it was hard to tell what he was thinking. The cheers of the race blurred into the background. She let the words hang between them, hoping he’d say more if she didn’t interrupt.

“You’re uh, you’re actually the first person who’s seen it since I left the Brand.” The words were tinged with quiet loneliness.

How long had he been traveling with only himself to depend on? Her fingers found the satchel strap, tugging at a loose thread.

“So they…brand you when you join?” She hated imagining how much it must have hurt. “How old were you?”

“Ages are hard to pin down.” He thought for longer than she expected. “I’d fought in the Pits for years by then, so I must’ve been around sixteen.”

She swallowed. Calen’s age…so young. She wasn’t sure which was worse—fighting for coin while he was still a boy or leaving it behind to join the Brand and calling that mercy.

“No, don’t look at me like that,” he grumbled. “You’ve got sad eyes again. I survived. That’s all that matters.”

The crowd roared as another pebblet inched forward. Neither of them looked up. The sound wrapped around them, distant and harmless, as if the world had decided to look away.

She shook her head. “I’m not sad.” A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “Well…maybe a little sad for you. But mostly, I’m impressed. You got out. And from everything I’ve seen, you’re not that man anymore.”

“You’ve got too much faith in me by far,” he said bitterly, shifting on the bench and stretching beneath the armor, like it wasn’t quite fitting right anymore. “I’ve always hated hurting people. Dravek was determined to remove that failure from me. He would’ve eventually succeeded if I hadn’t left.”

He turned back to the race, though his gaze was miles away. “Then I went and fumbled myself into working for Theordrin. Not quite the redemption arc I was hoping for.” His voice dropped. “And it’s not like it matters. You never really escape the Brand. You just exist until they find you again.”

What a terrible way to live. Always expecting someone to come for you…No wonder he never stayed anywhere long. No one could live like that forever. Some day, the Brand would give up, or he’d be forced to face them.

A cheer rose, bright and sudden, breaking their quiet focus.

“Look at that,” Orzen said, genuine delight in his eyes. “Biscuit’s making a run for it.” The pebblet toddled past the halfway point while the others meandered in circles.

“I think he might actually win,” Wren said, grinning. She nudged Orzen’s arm with her elbow. “Told you you’d enjoy this.”

He shrugged, though the faint smile lingered. “Eh. There are worse ways to spend an afternoon.” He squinted toward the finish line. “Turnips weren’t enticing enough for the others. I don’t blame them. Turnips are wretched.”

They both laughed as Biscuit, spotting the vegetables, inched triumphantly across the final chalk line. Somewhere behind them, a child screamed Biscuit’s name in victory. The pebblet snapped an enthusiastic bite of lettuce in celebration.

“Thank you…for sharing all of that with me.” She rose, brushing dust from her skirt. “I hope it wasn’t too much of a waste of time.”

Orzen stood, quietly settling the borrowed cloak back over his armor. “Highlight of the festival, honestly.” He let her pull him along, glancing back once at the track where the remaining pebblets still ambled in no particular direction.

“You know,” he said with a chuckle, “I think Daisy threw that match.”