Page 17 of Twenty-One Arrow Salute

Drink turned some people nasty. Who would have thought jealousy did the trick for me? I didn’t much like the person I’d become. Recalling how my mean, thoughtless words had extinguished the light in Hernan’s eyes and caused his face to crumple, pierced my gut with remorse.

Not long ago I’d promised to be his friend. Spat and shook on it, too. And what did I do just a few days afterwards? Turned my back on him. Punched below the belt, like the lowest of lowlifes. I could be called many things—and quite rightly, too—but an honourless wanker and oathbreaker weren’t epithets I wanted associated with the Tŭrryés name. The thought of the sad, disapproving frown my behaviour would’ve earned me from my father dampened my spirits all the more.

I had to make it right.

Hernan owed me nothing. He’d made his choice. I must’ve read too much into things. Or perhaps he’d just changed his mind. One kiss, no matter how earth-shattering, didn’t mean squat. Even if said kiss seared my nerve endings and ruined me for anyone else. Even if it reduced me to a quivering wreck. Even if its taste sealed itself onto my tongue, making me thirst for more. So what if a moment of excitement distorted reality, beguiling me into believing an illusion? On the whole, it wasn’t much to write to Black Mountain about, right? No need to fuss. There would be other people. Other kisses.

Right?

Good effort. Shit liar.

Every fibre in my body convulsed, rebelling against diminishing the importance of an event that reshuffled my priorities. Telling me to recognise it for what it was: something extraordinary.

Extraordinary or not, the point remained futile if the sentiment weren’t requited. Either way, I should’ve remained Hernan’s friend. He didn’t exactly push his way through a crowd of volunteers for the title around him. It would change over time, of course. The moment the others got a chance to know him, they would recognise his skill as an archer and his value as a brother-in-arms.

And hadn’t damn Rūe already shown his recognition.

Fucking fucker.

My teeth ground together so tightly I almost chipped a molar on the darhê. Frankly—and I didn’t give one shit whether I had the right—my fists pulsated with the desire to bash Rūe’s nose in. Watching blood gush from his multiple injuries would no doubt lighten my mood.

“What’s the scary face about?” Achiah materialised by the stall entrance, an oil lamp raised in her outstretched hand. Due to a trick of the light, her head appeared to float disembodied in the shadow-black background of the aisle behind her. Her unexpected approach magnified the vivid illusion.

I wobbled on my perch, one graceless arm-flail away from toppling backwards and onto the earthen, hay-lined floor. “The fuck?” The high, scratchy pitch of my voice made me cringe. “You startled the shit out of me. What’re you doing sneaking up on people like that?”

“Hardly sneaking. I’ve called your name three times.” She put her lamp on the floor with care. “Perhaps your ears need cleaning?”

I harrumphed.

Achiah plopped herself on the railing next to me, sending the entire thing juddering under us even though she couldn’t weigh more than sixty marks. “Your orders for tomorrow, all written down. So no excuses, scatterbrain.” She shoved a scroll, tied with a leather strap, at me.

Mindlessly, I clasped my fingers around it and stuffed it in my pocket.

“I’ll be off with the other leaders before first light.” A huge yawn tore her jaws apart. I’d seen mountain lions yawning with more restraint. “Verhan, are you listening? Make sure everyone is presentable before you leave. Check every archer and every horse. I want the squad looking sparkling, you hear? Leave a couple of hours after the noon meal. You don’t need to hurry. The mounted archers aren’t ordered into position until late afternoon.” She giggled. “The City Guard’s after limiting the amount of fly pie our horses will produce before the parade.”

“Right. Fine. Whatever.” I nodded and focused on biting my nails.

She sat in silence for a while, giving me a beady-eyed look. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-uh. That’s why you’re sitting here brooding.”

“Who’s brooding?” I said with a snap.

She leant in, examining my eyes. “Your pupils are more dilated than my bladder after a day’s ride. How much darhê have you had? Speaking of which, did you know that Yennés considered banning it on garrison grounds?”

“What?” Gobsmacked by this aberrant idea, I forgot all about my heartache for a second. “That…” I gasped, struggling for words, “would be an Elven rights violation. There’ll be riots!”

“Calm your balls.” She laughed. “He decided against it, in the end. I hear Akhini likes it too much.” She looked me up and down, sparks of interest shining in her black eyes. “So tell me, what did you do?”

My vertebrae cracked as I straightened my back. The sudden movement pulled a muscle in my left buttock. Typical—going for composure and ending up with a pain in my arse. “Why wouldn’t you presume I’m the wronged party for once?” I said with a huff.

“Why, indeed?” She scratched her head, embellishing the gesture with a theatrical thinking face. “Oh, I know. Previous experiences? In the dozens?”

I scowled at her scoff.

“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Are you the wronged party?”