Artemis

  By the time the light began to fade, the square no longer looked like a village. Smoke hung low between the rooftops, fires scattered where puddles had been. The soldiers had made camp in the open, their voice rough with drink and laughter. The Magister had taken the elder’s house at the rise, the Lieutenant and a few of the other higher ranks were given walls of their own. The rest slept where they stood.

  A horse whickered near the trough. Someone cursed at the smell of it. The air carried both spice and rot with cooked meat, wet hay, and the faint burn of lamp oil.

  The new conscript, the boy they’d dragged from the line, sat near one of the smaller fires.

  The boy’s parents had come not long after dusk, his mother first, his father behind her, both begging that he be allowed to sleep in his own bed for one last night. The Lieutenant hadn’t even looked at them when he said no.

  So the boy stayed where he was, staring into the fire, his face blotched from crying but quiet now. His mother lingered at the edge of the square until one of the soldiers told her to leave. She did, slowly, looking back every few steps as if her eyes alone could keep him safe.

  Across from him sat the other lad, Aeris, now that I knew his name. He’d been with the soldiers before us, the quiet sort who’d already learned what silence could buy. Viola was beside him, the two of them sharing a bowl between them. Whatever they said was lost under the crackle of the fire, but Aeris’s voice carried a calm that didn’t belong to someone his age. She laughed once, softly, and he smiled in return. It was the kind of sound that made the night feel almost human again.

  I didn’t blame her, it was easier to breathe when you had someone to talk to.

  The others kept to themselves. Two of the conscripts, the men who marched with Aeris before we joined, sat a little apart, trading quiet words I couldn’t hear. Jarl crouched near the edge of the firelight, sharpening his knife with a focus that kept anyone from getting too close.

  Of the soldiers, maybe half remained, with the rest scattered through the village, taking food, beds, and whatever else their rank allowed. The ones left behind were the younger sort, restless and bored now that the Magister was gone from sight.

  The sound of dice started somewhere behind the carts, the rattle carrying over the low murmur of talk. A bet followed, then the thud of boots when someone lost. The noise drew others in, one by one, until the whole square began to lean toward it.

  The firelight threw long shadows, and for a moment it looked like the forest again – the day she’d stumbled into my path, half-dead and still fighting. I hadn’t known her name then, only the look in her eyes. There’d been fear, but more than that. Defiance. The kind that refused to break, even when it should have.

  I’d seen that same look a hundred times since.

  When she laughed off her own bruises. When she argued over the meaning of a word. More than once, she’d slipped into sleep against me, her breathing even and faint while her Light steadied itself again. Even then she’d fought to hold out, stubborn to the last.

  She’d changed more on this journey than most manage in years.

  I wasn’t sure when I’d stopped thinking of her as someone I’d saved. Somewhere between the tavern’s music and her hand on my wrist, the balance had shifted. Maybe it was always meant to.

  I hoped she was safe.

  I hoped she’d gone to Rodin like I told her to, that she’d found shelter, water, walls. That she was still stubborn enough to keep moving, even without me there to tell her which road to take.

  But I also knew her.

  Knew that if she found even a whisper of where Faylen was being held, she wouldn’t wait for me. Because she’d think time mattered more than caution.

  She’d think I wasn’t far behind, maybe a few days’ ride.

  That was enough. Let her keep believing it. It might keep her alive – if I didn’t take too long to break free.

  The fire cracked, pulling me back to the present, and back to the thought of slipping away.

  The Magister was gone, and half his men with him. The rest were drunk or close to it, armor unbuckled, blades leaning in the mud. If there was ever a moment to run, this was it.

  And I could.

  Even without a horse, I was faster than any of them. Faster than some horses, if I pushed hard enough. The open fields beyond the village wouldn’t slow me. Not for long.

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  But speed wasn’t the problem. Attention was.

  To outrun them, I’d have to use more than one gift. And that was a risk I’d spent avoiding for a very long time. The moment I did, word would spread. A Caster moving like the wind, burning through ground and air. The kind of rumor that didn’t die quietly. The kind that reached back to her.

  And if they couldn’t catch me, they’d turn to who they could.

  Celeste.

  She was the only one who’d ever seen what I was – all of it. Everyone else who had was long dead.

  I meant to keep it that way.

  Timing was what mattered. If I ran too soon, I’d drag every soldier’s eyes toward Rodin. If I waited too long, she’d think I wasn’t coming and try to rescue Faylen on her own.

  Freedom was always possible. The question was whether it was worth the cost.

  So I stayed where I was, letting the thought settle until it stopped feeling like an option.

  A cheer broke the quiet, followed by the clatter of dice spilling into the mud.

  The sound had changed, louder now. Drunker.

  A few of them had grown bored of chance. Dice were too small a game for men who’ve been living on the road with violence as part of protocol.

  The laughter around the dice faded by degrees, replaced by the sharper kind that came when men started daring one another.

  Someone muttered, “I’m sick of losing,” and another threw back, “Then find something worth betting on.”

  A murmur followed, low and eager. Heads turned, first toward the dice, then toward us. The shift in air was small but distinct. I’d felt it too many times not to recognize it.

  They were looking for a different kind of entertainment.

  And Rusk – unlike the others – hadn’t joined in the complaints. He just listened, letting the boredom ripen, like he’d been waiting for the rest to catch up.

  Rusk, the soldier I’d put in the dirt after his failed attempt at taking the wolf talisman, leaned forward from where he sat. The firelight picked out the line of his grin, a shadow curling mean at the edges.

  “Got a better game,” he said. “Something that’ll make the night pass quicker.”

  A few of the others laughed, waiting to hear it.

  His gaze slid past the others – the new boy, Aeris, Viola, Jarl – then stopped cold when it reached me. And when it did, it stayed.

  He didn’t look away, and for a long moment, neither did I.

  The fire cracked between us, loud with the sound of a pop.

  He smiled wider, teeth catching the light. “What do you say, lads? Something to put the dice to shame.”

  The laugh that followed wasn’t light. It was the kind that sharpened itself on the edges of the fire.

  A few of them stood, brushing dirt from their palms. “What’ve you got in mind?” one asked.

  “Something useful,” the bruised one said. “Magister’ll want to know if his new recruits can hold their own.”

  The others caught on quick. It didn’t take much. The drunker they were, the easier cruelty sounded like duty.

  “Test their mettle,” another said. “Better they bleed now than later.”

  A chorus of agreement followed. They started calling the conscripts up. Aeris first, then Jarl, then the new boy who tried not to stand at all until a boot nudged him upright. Viola rose and stood beside Aeris before anyone had to ask. I did the same, though slower.

  Only two of the soldiers stayed where they were, faces turned away. One of them spat into the mud and muttered something about not wanting part in it. The rest didn’t notice.

  Rusk paced in front of us, lazy but deliberate, the fire painting his armor in streaks of red. “You lot think you have what it takes to join AurenVale’s finest? You’ll have to pass the Bastion first,” he said. “You think the Triarch’s waiting there with open arms? No. They’ll grind you into the dirt before they let you wear their colors.”

  He looked each of us over as he spoke, as if he could already see who’d last and who’d break.

  “So we’ll help you along,” he went on. “A bit of practice. A little taste of what waits ahead.”

  A few of the soldiers laughed. Someone put their armor down on the ground with a dull clang.

  Aeris’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on the fire. The new boy’s lip trembled, though he tried to hide it. The other two men wore stone faces, as if accepting the hand that fate delt them.

  I kept still.

  This wasn’t training. It was theater – boys mimicking what they’d seen their superiors do, eager to play teacher for a night.

  Rusk glanced around at the others, the grin never leaving his face. “Perfect,” he said, voice carrying just enough to command the square. “We’ve got each element we need.”

  He motioned for us to form a line. “Side by side,” he said, pacing as we moved. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

  The fires around the square guttered low, shadows stretching long across the mud. Aeris stepped forward first, steady as ever, Viola fell in beside him. Their shoulders brushed. When she reached for his hand, he didn’t pull away.

  I moved to stand on her other side, saying nothing. Our shadows nearly touching.

  Rusk’s gaze caught the joined hands.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said, stopping in front of them. “Weaker wills’ll drag you down with them. You want to survive the Bastion, you learn that quick.”

  Aeris met his stare without flinching. “Maybe,” he said. “But I don’t plan on letting go.”

  A few of the soldiers laughed, the sound low and ugly. Rusk’s grin thinned but didn’t vanish. He gave a small shrug. “Fine by me,” he said. “Graves come in pairs, too.”

  Rusk turned back to the others, spreading his arms as if addressing an audience. “Now then,” he said, “let’s make this worth watching.”

  He paced before us again, slow and deliberate, boots cutting lines through the mud. “We’ll keep it simple,” he said. “You are to stand where you are and not move, not for anything. We throw what we’ve got at you. Your job’s simple: don’t go down. You fall, you pay the penalty.”

  A murmur of approval rippled through the soldiers behind him. One of them laughed under his breath.

  Rusk grinned at that, spreading his arms wider as if to present something grand. “You’ve heard of it, maybe. The Bastion calls it the Trial of Balance. Teaches you to keep your feet when the world’s trying to take them out from under you.”

  He turned back toward us. “So that’s what we’ll do. A little taste of what waits ahead. Last one standing gets a reward.”

  He stopped in front of Aeris and Viola, his grin darkening. “And since you two seem so fond of each other, best keep your balance. Don’t let someone else drag you down with them. Happens faster than you think.”

  Neither of them spoke. Aeris only tightened his grip on her hand, his expression calm but set like stone.

  Rusk studied them a moment longer, then turned away. “Good,” he said. “Let’s begin.”