Blood Will Tell

XVI

It had been two weeks since the day Edin slew a beast in Arden's own castle. It had become a part of his routine—every evening, after his shifts at Stoll, he would come home to a tethered beast and spend most of the evening trying to tame himself. Progress was so slow that he wondered if he would ever gain control of his urges. He was yet to restrain himself from maiming a beheaded corpse. The only difference between his first attempt and his most recent one was that it took half a minute more before his inner demon possessed him.

And to think he dreaded fighting on the battlefield. At least in that case, he would fight only once in a while. In this case, oh, he would not only have to confront his curse every day, but do so several times per evening. He would dread the end of his shift and the end of dinner, for temptation would be meeting him soon after. Instead, he would look forward to the sun and the hours of peace that would come with it.

Edin was now sitting in his rolling chair, monitoring the control panel as usual. Rowan, meanwhile, was keeping watch from the second floor. Edin turned in his chair once he heard a series of footsteps stomping down the stairwell.

"Hey, Edin!"

"Yeah?"

"D'you see a car yet?" Rowan asked, having just stepped onto the first floor.

Edin squinted at the screens. He shook his head. "Nope."

Rowan huffed.

"Why were you asking, by the way?"

"It's Promotion Week!" Rowan said. "This is basically the week where the seniors will go to the recruits and tell them whether they're promoted or demoted. I really hope they'll make me a cadet."

"I don't think you have to worry. You've slain every beast near Stoll."

"Not every beast. You took down the glæsseling last time."

"But you took out a hundred other beasts. If there's anybody here who's supposed to be worried about not making it, it's me. I barely killed anything."

"But you killed the tough ones. I mean, you chopped up a hanafiend."

"But that's only because you helped to tie it up."

"That's true." Rowan bit his lip. "I just don't want to be demoted to comrade. I'll never get promoted if I do."

"You don't seem weak enough to be a comrade—"

"Look!" Rowan pointed at the screen. "A car!"

Edin peered at the screen and saw a black sedan speeding in their direction. He zoomed in on the license plate. This was its number: SG 233.

"That's Senior Norman's car," Edin said.

Rowan gulped. "And he's bringing news with him."

The ground crackled as the sedan slowed to a stop. Norman parked his car right next to the post. Before he headed indoors, he opened the trunk. Inside it was about a dozen black gift boxes.

"There it is"—Rowan pointed at the gift boxes—"our new boots. I hope mine have steel bands on them."

"Aren't steel bands for comrades?" Edin asked.

"No, comrades get aluminum. We recruits have iron, cadets get stainless steel, sentries get bronze, sentinels get silver, majors get gold, and seniors use platinum."

By the time Rowan had finished speaking, Norman had retrieved two gift boxes from the trunk, sealed it shut, and made his way indoors. He greeted the two with his usual, warm smile.

"Got you some presents, recruits," he beamed. "Excited to open them?"

"I am," Rowan said.

Norman chuckled. "Here's yours," he said, using his light magic to guide the gift box to Rowan's hands. "Go upstairs before you open it."