Warrior of the Wild(40)

“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, just hoping 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.”

Iric can’t help but get pulled into the memory. I don’t say anything for fear he won’t tell me the rest of the story.

He pulls himself back and says, “Aros had great respect for the warriors. While we were up there in that tree, a group of them came into view, passing beneath us. I still remember how he looked at them. Wielding an ax makes them so fit, and Aros was admiring them.”

“Surely you don’t blame him for looking?” I ask. “And a smithy is just as fit from pounding metal all day.”

“I know Aros loved only me. I know he was only looking, but still, it needled at me. I couldn’t get it out of my head. For weeks I was in a foul temper. And Soren finally asked me about it.”

Suddenly I see where his story is going, and even though I already knew it had an ugly ending, now I’m realizing the scope of it.

“I told him. Soren wasn’t at all surprised. He went on about how all the ladies wanted to marry warriors. Why wouldn’t Aros?”

“He didn’t.”

Iric looks at me now. “He did. Looking back on it now, I realize Soren wanted to spend more time with me. We were practically brothers. I spent most of my time in lessons, and any spare time I spent with Aros. But if I became a warrior instead of a smithy, Soren would see much more of me. He used my insecurity with Aros to convince me to switch specializations. He tried to convince me I had a talent for it. I knew it was a lie. I was passable with an ax at best, but I certainly had no special skill for it. But I didn’t care. I thought Soren could get me through the trial, and then Aros would never even think of leaving me.”

“And you failed your trial?” I ask.

“I was bitten within the first minute.”

“And then Soren was overcome by guilt and failed on purpose,” I say, remembering what he told me.

“He knew I wouldn’t survive in the wild alone, so he bounded headlong into a group of ziken and let them have at him.”

“So Soren actually has some skill with an ax?” I ask.

“He was the best in the village.”

“That so?”

“The ladies practically hung off him.”

“Did he also have someone special?”

“No. He liked all the attention. Didn’t want to minimize it to only one girl.”

“I see.”

“Oh, the wild has changed him. I doubt anyone would recognize him if he ever did make it home. He’s not nearly so arrogant or selfish. But I’m afraid he’s still attracted to anything female.”