Page 57 of Warrior of the Wild
“And?”
“He said it wasn’t his story to tell.”
“Soren,” Iric mutters, “ever so loyal. Sometimes he makes being angry with him very difficult.”
“Will you tell me what happened?”
Iric chews on the inside of his lip. “How were you banished? You are clearly a competent ax-bearer.”
“I asked you first.”
“Sometimes you have to give before you can receive.”
“Why am I the one who has to give first?”
“Because you’re in my house and I’m cooking food for you.”
I try to shift my weight to relieve all the pressure on my back. All I manage is to make the pain in my abdomen intensify.
“You are a riveting conversationalist,” Iric says when I don’t comment.
I try for a leading statement. “Soren can’t be the reason you’re banished, surely.”
“You weren’t there. You wouldn’t know.”
An image rips across my vision. Torrin holding a ziken head, red on its lips, a cruel smile on Torrin’s.
Maybe it’s because I don’t feel threatened by Iric. He doesn’t like girls. He doesn’t have any sort of agenda with me. He’s not trying to befriend me or do anything to help me. He tolerates me because Soren owes me a life debt, and maybe it’s because Iric is so upfront in how he feels about everything, but I suddenly don’t care if he knows what happened to me. Part of it, anyway.
“Did he take a decapitated ziken head and use it to pierce your skin?” I ask, hardening myself against the memory.
Iric fumbles with the spit for a moment. “No.”
“That’s what my friend did to me. He only pretended to be my friend so I would trust him. Then he waited until the right moment to betray me. To get me banished.”
“Why would anyone do that to you?”
“Because I was supposed to be the next village leader. I was raised on a pedestal, praised and cherished above all others. And he hated me for it, as if I could somehow control it.” Or even wanted it in the first place.
It is a relief to get the words out, but it is shortly replaced by vulnerability. When people know your secrets, they can use them to hurt you.
“I don’t know you well,” Iric says, “but I can already tell you didn’t deserve that. You are kind. You are strong. And you’re not entirely dull, either.”
I laugh, but it turns into a groan as my wound throbs.
Iric holds out the spit in my direction. “It’s done.”
I manage to reach out an arm with minimal strain on my stomach and bring the meat to my lips. The grease still sizzles. It burns my lips. But I take a bite anyway and hand it back over.
Iric watches the flames while he eats. “You were wronged. I was stupid. That is the difference between our two trials. You see, I wanted to be a smithy my whole life. I learned the trade from my father, who is still the most skilled in all of Restin.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Soren.”
I should have known that was coming.
“Aros was my world. And the thought of ever losing him—it was the most terrifying thing I could ever imagine happening. We were in our favorite spot, up in the tree where we first met. We often went there for privacy.” A pause. “Did you know he is what gave me the idea for building iron traps? He’d tell me about his hunting trips. They venture out into the wild, find a good spot, and wait. They hold absolutely still, hardly daring to breathe, justhoping for a valder to cross their path. Then they have one shot, a single throw of a hatchet. If they miss, the animal moves out of sight before another throw can be attempted. And I thought there had to be a more efficient way to catch them.”
