Soldier (Talon, #3)(36)
“What’s going on here?” the monk demanded, as though it wasn’t obvious. My head ached, my mouth tasted like copper and I could feel blood trickling from my nose. But my attackers hadn’t escaped unscathed, either. Matthews’s jaw was already swelling, and Edwin had a split lip that was dripping blood into the collar of his shirt. “Who started this?” Brother Eli asked, eyeing each of us, and our wounds, in turn. “Sebastian? Matthews? I’m waiting.” When we didn’t answer, his voice grew hard. “One of you had better start talking in the next three seconds, or your entire class will be punished for this transgression.”
“I did, sir,” I said, and he turned on me with a frown. “Matthews and I were having an argument, and I pushed him to fight. I’m the one who started it.”
“Sebastian.” The monk raised a bushy eyebrow, looking severely unconvinced. I was the quiet one, the boy who spoke only when spoken to. The student who never questioned orders and did exactly what he was told, every time. Fighting with your fellow recruits was strictly forbidden on monastery grounds, and I hadn’t broken a rule since the day I arrived. It was no secret that Matthews hated me; between us, the guilty party should have been perfectly clear.
But I knew Matthews would never own up to it, and if somebody didn’t take the fall, the whole squad would suffer. Succeed or fail together, that was part of the Code of St. George, something I took very seriously. I was not here for myself. I was part of something greater, a brotherhood, united under one banner with one purpose. Even at eleven years old, when I didn’t fully understand what was happening, I was starting to think like a soldier. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one. I was there to kill dragons, but I couldn’t do it alone.
Brother Eli didn’t say anything for a moment, perhaps waiting for Matthews to step forward as well, accept some of the blame. When he didn’t, the monk sighed and gestured to the door.
“You three, get out of here,” he ordered, scowling at the trio. “If this happens again, I don’t care who started it—you’ll be on kitchen duty for the rest of the year. Out!”
They scrambled to leave, but not before Matthews shot a last, triumphant smirk in my direction. Then they were gone, and Brother Eli turned to me again. I braced myself for the lecture, for my punishment, but the monk sighed and shook his head, his expression becoming grim.
“Here,” he said quietly, and pressed a handkerchief into my hand. “Clean yourself up, Sebastian, and follow me. The Headmaster wants to see you.”
Puzzled, I did as he said, washing the blood from my face before pressing the cloth to my nose. Brother Eli met me in the hall and silently motioned for me to follow. As I trailed him down the corridor, passing students and other classes still in session, apprehension warred with confusion. Why did the Headmaster want to see me? Had I done something wrong, other than the fight? Did he already know about the incident in the bathroom and want to punish me himself?
When we reached the Headmaster’s office, Brother Eli simply nodded for me to go in. Stuffing the bloody handkerchief in my pocket, I walked to the door and knocked twice, hearing the familiar “Enter” a moment later. I pushed back the door and saw Headmaster St. Julian standing before his desk with a man I’d seen once before, when I first arrived with Benedict. Like Brother Eli, both looked grave as they stared at me, and my heart started an irregular thud in my chest.
“Recruit Sebastian.” The Headmaster motioned me forward with a withered hand. “Please come inside.” I did as I was told and stood at attention before the desk, while the door creaked on its hinges and clicked shut behind me.
“At ease,” the Headmaster said, and I relaxed my posture, though everything inside me was still tense. The Headmaster nodded to the man beside him. “Sebastian, this is Lieutenant Gabriel Martin, of the Order’s Western Chapterhouse. I don’t believe you have formally met.”
“No, sir,” I replied, glancing at the lieutenant. St. George was a small organization and didn’t follow the structure of modern armies with tens of thousands of troops, but it was, in fact, an army. The lieutenants commanded the soldiers of the various chapterhouses throughout the country and were responsible for a unit’s training and general preparedness. Above them were the captains, and above them, the Patriarch himself.
The lieutenant smiled, but it was a tight, painful smile, as if he would rather be anywhere else. “If you’ll excuse us, Headmaster,” he murmured, and the other man nodded. Rising from the desk, he gave me a brief, unreadable look and left me alone with Lieutenant Martin.
I waited until the Headmaster had gone and the door had closed behind him, before turning to the lieutenant. “Am I in trouble, sir?” I asked quietly.
“No.” Gabriel Martin shook his head. “No, Garret, you’re not in trouble. Lucas Benedict was a good friend of mine. He’s the reason I’m here. He made me promise that if anything happened to him...” He paused, and in that moment, I knew what had happened. Why he’d come.
“Garret.” I heard Martin sigh. “Lucas Benedict...was killed last week in battle. He was in South America on a mission for the Order, and his squad was ambushed by the enemy. There were no survivors.”
My stomach dropped, and for a moment, everything inside me went numb. Benedict had never been a father to me, he’d made that clear himself. My whole life, all of our interactions had been strictly student to teacher, and he’d kept me at arm’s length with professional detachment, never getting too close. But he had always been there. And there were times when that mask would slip and he would look at me with pride. Almost with affection. It hadn’t been much, but it had been enough.