“Here's the difference, skahli,” Anik continued, leaning forward on his elbows. “You trained because it was a formality. Because it was a fancy skill to have, so you could parade around dinner parties with a shiny golden blade strapped to your hip and tell everyone you know how to use it. Where I come from, we train for survival, because if we didn't, we'd end up with our heads severed and mounted on sticks outside our village. That's why you'll never be as good as I am.”

Anik stood, grabbing his blankets and rolling them up before swinging his bag over his shoulder.

Ren remained by the fire with a dry loaf of bread in his hands, red-faced and feeling like an idiot as he watched Anik go to the horses. Any semblance of camaraderie developed between them in Isleya seemed to have vanished with the morning fog. Ren should have expected as much. He knew Anik was a cold and unsympathetic dick.

Still, Ren couldn't help but consider what Anik had said as he stood and folded up his blankets, packing them away in his bag. As little as he liked to admit it, Anik was right. Ren had trained half-heartedly, knowing that he would never truly need to fight. That had been Hellic's job. Hellic, the crown prince, the beacon of hope for every soldier. Neither of them had ever seen a real battle, but Hellic had still been far superior to Ren on the training field. Hellic had been dedicated and hard-working, while Ren had been too busy chasing youths to care.

Ren worked to swallow the lump in his throat that seemed to have lodged itself there since his brother's death. He stuffed the blankets into his bag with too much force. It had been his job to protect his younger brother. He had failed.

A sound like a yelp made Ren straighten up and look around. The horses were tacked, but Anik was nowhere to be seen. Swearing under his breath, Ren swung his bag over his shoulder and scaled the hill at a run, grip tight on the hilt of his sword.

Anik stood at the bottom of the hill, but this time, he wasn't alone. The tip of his sword hovered at a stranger's throat in the same way he had challenged Ren that morning.

“What did you do to him?” the stranger hissed, loud enough for Ren to hear. He drew a short dagger from his belt.

Ren's breath hitched. He knew that voice.

Anik moved forward, his sword dangerously close to the newcomer's throat.

“Stop!” Ren shouted, descending the hill towards them, boots slipping against the dewy grass.