The Grim was in a foul fucking mood.
Ever since he'd joined the Order, Juda had never once seen the man crack even the bleakest of smiles. Not that the novice barracks were a place where smiles were encouraged to flourish, in fact, anything but, yet Juda had formed the opinion that The Grim's mouth was incapable of the gesture.
Juda remembered smiles. Real smiles.
Aleina Vikaris had possessed one with the power to banish nightmares, defeat demons and conjure sunshine from shadow. On a rare moontide, when he lay awake in his cell, attempting to anchor his memories in a place where it would be impossible for them to be destroyed, he even remembered his own smiles. Those memories were few. Hazy recollections of his childhood that existed like forest wraiths. Phantoms seen only from the corner of the eye.
But he had smiled once.
He remembered that, at least.
Juda doubted that The Grim had ever smiled in his entire miserable lifetime, yet the Commander had mastered the scowl and the sneer greater than any man Juda had ever encountered.
He was scowling now, deep lines creasing his forehead and puckering the flesh around his mouth. Quite why he was scowling at Juda, the novice could not fathom, nor could he imagine why he'd been summoned to The Grim's official quarters.
His thoughts lingered on the possibilities. The bastard Rimo Tor-Narun sprung to mind. He wouldn't have put it past that fucking dutzal to conspire some plan to have Juda cast out, or worse, especially after their exchange on patrol.
And then of course, there was the witch.
Zera Kalise of Flax Lane did not exist. Juda's preliminary enquiries had already prompted enough confused looks and blank expressions from anyone questioned to confirm what he had already known, ot that he'd harboured any belief the sorceress had been telling the truth. The Naiad were created from lies and falsehood. It dripped from their tongues, just as the poison with which they had cursed the Setalah.
Yet, she had looked him in the eye and matched his lie with her own. Would she really risk everything just to see him exposed and punished for his treachery?
Juda didn't think so, and yet his heart beat harder in his chest than he cared for. He hid it well, staring directly ahead, his focus fixed on a point of The Grim's barren, cold hearth, even though his senses fine-tuned to all around him. The stinging, acrid scent of pepper tobacco. The brush of sea breeze drifting in from the open window. The weight of The Grim's unwavering stare as it cut into him.
The Grim was more mountain than man, his muscles seemingly carved from the black rock itself, his flesh tougher than the obsidian stone of Druvaria. He towered above most, his height only rivalled by that of Roth Vi-Garran, and yet despite his sheer bulk, Juda had never seen a man move so fast and with such controlled brutality. He had earned his place here quite rightfully, and despite the bite of his whip and the beat of his fists, Juda bore a respect for this man, bested only by his own guardian.
In the training yard and when on official duties the Commander would tightly bind the length of his hair, as was the way with all Highguards. Yet this tide, he wore his black hair long, the stark white sides still braided tight, the tresses reaching far past his broad shoulders, in the style usually reserved only for his private quarters. His tunic was loose, leather vest unfastened, as if he had been roused unexpectantly.
Juda was in no doubt there was an urgency to this summoning, an urgency that clearly displeased The Grim.
"Your fellow novices do not like you, Novice Vikaris."
This was not news to Juda. He knew of their plans to destroy him. Beat him. Drive him from the Order. Even if Argo had not made him aware of their wager, Juda still would have known. They didn't want him here. It was one thing to be bested by one of their own, but by an orphaned street rat from Grimefell? It was unthinkable to them.
"Of course, there are some who would say we do not join the Order to make friends, and they would be right. There is no friendship here. No brotherhood. There is only duty and Ban-Keren. And therein, Novice, lies my problem with you."
Juda did not flinch.
Calm, Juda. Be still now.
"I don't give a fuck that they don't like you. But I do give a fuck that they hate you."
Their hatred of Juda was not news either, but to know that it bothered The Grim, was.
The Grim stepped closer. The late midtide sun was waning, the light dimming through the window and deepening the shadows on the Commander's face.
"There is no place for kinship here, but even less for hatred. I am moulding warriors, not petty whelps who care more for revenge than they do their duty. I am creating an army, not beasts who allow loathing to master their thoughts and control their emotion. Your only thought is Ban-Keren. Your only feeling is Ban-Keren. That is the Order."
Closing the distance between them, he moved behind Juda, who had been in this position too many times to know it often meant the backs of his calves and thighs would bear bruised welts by eventide as The Grim's whip went to work on his flesh.
"Your presence in The Order is a torturous predicament, Novice Vikaris, one that I have had the misfortune to trouble myself with for far too long. But it seems that time must now come to an end."
Then it was Rimo Tor-Narun who had set this in motion. Whatever he had said after their patrol duties was the reason Juda was here now, his whole future and all his plans hanging precariously by the thinnest of silk threads. He would end him for this. He would bring that bastard to his bloodied, broken knees and make him plead for his worthless life, and then he would take it from him. He would take it from them all.
He could feel The Grim's breath on the back of his neck. The agonising press of his Commander's gaze upon him, but still he remained like stone even if inside he was in turmoil. For it all to end now, when he was so close to his goal.
"I have just been sent word, Novice. You are to be summoned for the King's trial. The High Priest of Druvari, Lord Dageor himself, demands it."
The exhale forced its way through Juda's lips before he could stop it. It was a brief exhalation of air, but it was sharp and fast, and he knew it hadn't escaped The Grim's notice.
"Ah, and there it is, Vikaris," The Grim said, his gruff voice low and seemingly full of the same hatred he claimed bothered him so much in his own Highguards. "I care not for worthless praise and cushioning the egos of all these over-suckled noble boys who find themselves cowering under my whip. Novices will get none of that from me, for most of them have spent far too much of their lives being coddled and petted by their mothers. I care only for strength and endurance. For skill and fortitude. All the things that you possess. I see it, Novice. I see it all."
The whip did not come. Nor did The Grim's fist or boot.
Yet Juda felt the threat of his Commander nonetheless. It was an insidious thing, cold and creeping over his skin, its teeth fastened upon his bones.
The Grim moved to his side, his gaze engaged in violent scrutiny upon Juda's face.
"You hide it well, boy, but you forget that, like yourself, I too am not of noble birth. Think that I have not fought the same battles? The same prejudice? Think that I did not have to train harder than all the rest? Prove myself above all of them small cocked fuckers? So, yes, I see what you hope to conceal and they see it too. It's why they hate you. You exhibit a pride and arrogance held only by those whose wealth and privilege vastly exceeds yours and it will be your undoing. Mark my words on this. If it does not end with one of them carving open your guts on one dark moontide, you will end it yourself because you put your own self-importance above your duty."
The Commander had taken a drink. Juda could smell the faint tang of it on his breath. The Grim wasn't known for his love of ale. The smoke, yes, but his role was such that he could not allow himself to fall into the clutches of drinking when his life was devoted to his service to the King.
"You are not ready for this trial, no matter what Lord Dageor thinks. No matter what you think. Your training in my yard is not yet done. You have much of Roth Vi-Garran in you, boy. Maybe too much, I think."
The Grim sniffed and crossed the room to the hearth, where he opened a small wooden box from the stone shelf and took out a tightly wrapped batak leaf crammed with tobacco. Striking the flint, he lit the tobacco and inhaled deep, blowing the smoke in peppery flumes from his nostrils. The act seemed to calm him, but Juda knew too well that The Grim was always one breath away from breaking a bone or bloodying your face.
"What think you of him? Your benevolent guardian?"
The question threw Juda, his focus wavering.
The Grim cast him a disgusted look. "You can speak, Novice. I will allow it."
"Careful, Juda", his mother whispered. "Reveal nothing and he'll know you lie. Reveal too much and you will risk everything."
It had been a long time since Juda had pinned Roth's hand to the desk with his own dagger, his hatred for the man pouring out of him stronger than Roth's blood poured from his wound. Hatred had eventually settled into an uneasy truce, then gave way to trust, until now, when Juda harboured a warmth for his guardian that he neither asked for, nor wanted.
"He took me in when my mother died. Without his guardianship, I would never have been admitted to the Order, by Ban-Keren."
"Ah yes, Roth Vi-Garran: the saviour of orphan boys. Such charity he holds in his heart. And yet, he could not wait to be rid of you. Does he think I believed all that shit about being unnerved by his own ward? You were a twisted little fucker and make no mistake, but I know Roth. I know just what he is capable of and the Roth Vi-Garran I know is not scared of children. He had tired of you, is all."
The Grim inhaled on the tobacco once more, holding in the smoke for longer than necessary. The sting would bring water to others eyes, but not him. He exhaled as if it were nothing but pure air.
"Typical Roth. He abandons that which becomes a burden to him. Ruthless to the last. Perhaps the most ruthless of us all."
Juda's gaze flickered, anger flaring.
"You wish to say something, Novice?"
"No, Commander."
Better to let the irritation burn on. He could quell it later between Estella's thighs in Grimefell. And maybe Seren's too.
Fuck, would he need to quell it.
The Grim nodded as if he understood. "No. Of course, you do not. Do you know, you are standing in the exact same spot where your guardian stood when he begged me to take you off his hands? Well, you were not ready then and you are not ready now, Novice Vikaris."
Plumes of smoke hung heavy about his head. "Fortunately, for you, it is not my decision. You will be summoned five tides from now and then let us see if you can control that pride of yours. For your sake, I hope you can. Lord Dageor does not like to be disappointed. You will find his disapproval far less forgiving than mine."
The Grim stepped into Juda's direct line of sight, and for the first time since he'd joined The Order, Juda looked into the eyes of his Commander.
Commander Abel Grim, the man who Juda had never seen smile, did just that, and Juda's blood thinned in his veins to see it.
"By Ban-Keren, Vikaris."
Five tides until the King's Trial.
Just five tides.
Hold on now, Juda. Hold.
"By Ban-Keren, Commander."
***
The storm across the Setalah had abated by early moontide, but the storm within Juda's chest refused to calm no matter how much he paced his cell, reciting his Order oath over and over under his breath.
From the moment he'd left The Grim's quarters, he'd known he would need a release from everything he was feeling. He hated how it clouded his mind. How it made his limbs weaken. When he could take it no more, Juda grabbed his cloak and sped through the catacombs under the barracks, breaking out into the air as if he had not taken a breath since he'd stood in front of The Grim, seeing that smile and feeling the chill of it all the way down to his marrow.
There was only one thing that would help banish all unwanted feeling from his body, and that was to grab Estella's hips and bury himself inside her until he could think of nothing else but the final release. And if that did not work, he would buy Seren or Shyla or whichever of Clova's girls would take his coin and dig their nails into his back until he was done.
Taking the western route into the mid echelon, Juda saw the twisted turrets of the Library ahead and pulled his cloak tight around him. The wind was biting, sea salt stinging the air.
Turning into Guild's Row, he quickened his step, his ever-watchful gaze drawn to a shadow waiting at the door of the silk merchant, Mica Koh-Miralus – a sadistic cunt who deserved nothing but the grip of the Setalah around his throat, according to Roth.
The door opened, the light from inside enough to grant form to the shadow.
Juda froze.
What the fuck was the Naiad doing here of all places? And what business could she possibly have with Koh-Miralus?
All thought of Estella banished, along with image of The Grim's ominous smile, Juda waited and watched as the witch was allowed entry, disappearing inside, the door closing behind her.
Scanning the merchant's home, Juda gave a smile of his own.
He'd been getting into places like this undetected his whole life.
A different kind of storm raged now, one that he knew would never be calmed by the girls who worked for Clova Dell, but it was no matter.
Juda had found the release he needed right here.