“Any questions?”
Maxwell’s hand shoots into the air and the recruits heave a collective sigh.
Fortunately, I don’t hear what his incessant droning is about because Fox leans over to me and whispers, “I have a question. Who’s that tall drink of water and will he be joining us when we spar?”
Disgust creeps into my expression. “That’s my cousin,”
I might’ve spoke too loudly. The recruit in front of me glances back at us. The one beside me—Dimitri—shushes me. Worried that I might’ve drawn Alphonse’s attention as well, I painstakingly bring my attention forward. To my relief, he and Eparah are doing their best to answer whatever concern or dilemma Maxwell has posed, but I can see the irritated tick of a muscle twitching beside Alphonse’s eye.
“Cousins?” Fox recoils, glancing between the two of us rapidly. Her nose is pink, complimenting the brightness of her rosy hair. “You two look nothing alike.”
“Thank you,” I say, until I realize that she’s just insulted me within the same breath, for if she finds Alphonse handsome and she believes we look nothing alike, then what does that say about me?
I smack her in the gut, careful to keep the motion low so that neither Alphonse nor Eparah can see it over the pool of recruits before them. “Besides, what do you mean who is that? He traveled all the way from Gravenburg with us. Didn’t you see him?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so. Hard to see much from the cage they kept us in.”
“Oh,” I say, sobering. “Right. Well, he’s an asshole. And anyways, you’re far superior to him, so—”
“Superiors need love too,” she argues, and despite the playful trill of her tone, it burns my ears.
“That is revolting. No, stop.”
Dimitri’s elbow bumps into my ribs. I glare at him, though his head remains fixated forward.
“Relax,” Fox whisper beside me. “I’m only giving you a hard time. Like someone like me would ever willingly seek out the company of someone like him. He practically reeks of law-abiding, stick-up-his-ass boringness.”
This makes me snort out a laugh, one that I know immediately I should’ve suppressed. My eyes are fixed on Güthric’s back, but I feel Alphonse’s attention all the same. He and Eparah fall silent, except for the soft padding of his feet as he walks closer. When the footfalls cease, Güthric steps aside at Alphonse’s behest, bearing me to my general.
“Something funny about the deaths of the Crusaders who came before you, Halira?”
I sneak a glare to Fox and find her pleading, remorseful eyes locked with mine.
“No, sir,” I bite out, the words tasting like earth and worms on my tongue. But they’re not enough.
“No, please. I insist. Enlighten your unit as to what you find so humorous about the Crusaders who fell defending Ashenvale, the ones whose boots you are here, quite literally, to fill.”
My gaze falls to the boots I shoved on today, to the leathers keeping me warm. I hadn’t even wondered where they’d come from, but I should’ve known. Crusaders live hard and die fast. There wouldn’t be enough materials in all of Arcathain to make that much armor so rapidly.
My head shakes in small, hurried motions. “We weren’t laughing at—”
“We?” he asks.
His eyes dart to Dimitri now, who’s standing erect and tall, jaw clenched, eyes forward. If he knew Dimitri, he’d understand that I’d never in a millennia convince Dimitri to share in a side conversation while someone important was talking. But maybe he can tell that about him too because his gaze doesn’t linger on him long before turning to Fox at my side.
“And you are?”
Rather than cowering beneath the weight of his fierce rage, or glaring at me for inadvertently outing us both, Fox strides forward, a smirk curving her lips. “The name’s Fox.”
He scowls. “I don’t remember you traveling with us. Are you in the right place? This is the unit of new recruits we brought in from Gravenburg.”
“Oh, I’m exactly where I should be,” she says, either oblivious to his flaring nostrils or exceptionally good at ignoring them. But when he continues staring, waiting for further explanation, she finally refreshes his memory. “I was brought here as a prisoner, in the cart?”
Nodding, he looks her up and down until recognition finally washes over him. “And your crime?”
“Sticky fingers.”
His snort of a laugh surprises me, even if it is riddled with contempt.
“Tell me, can you fight?” he asks her.
“Not really. I was hoping you’d teach me.”
I know she’s still toying with me, but hearing the flirtatious lull of her voice, watching her inch closer and closer to him, is something I can’t stand. It’s like watching someone flirt with feces. My stomach churns. It’s impossible to even fathom that anyone could ever find Alphonse anything but repulsive. Even as a joke.
After another long scrutinizing gaze, Alphonse finally says, “Pity, but unsurprising. You’re more of a scrounger, aren’t you? Someone who survives in the shadows, not in a brawl in the middle of the streets.”
Proudly, she nods.
Finally, he backs away. The only relief I find is realizing he’s seemingly forgotten about me for the moment. I lean over to Fox and punch her in the arm. She laughs silently and rubs it.
Alphonse turns back around. He eyes every one of the recruits before him. “Hmm… You,” he finally says, finger extended at Güthric. “You look like someone who was born in a bullpen.”
Güthric frowns, looking to the rest of us for assurance. He pounds a fist to his chest when we have no answers for him. “Güthric fights,” he answers, his voice low and gravelly.
“Perfect. Then I think we’ve found our first sparring match. Halira,” he calls out to me, fingers flicking as one in his upturned palm. “Since you apparently think you’re worthy already of filling the shoes of the fallen Crusaders, let’s see what skills in strength you possess.”
My jaw practically falls off my face.
“General,” Eparah says, concern edging her tone. “That seems like an unwise match—”
He cuts her off with a single seething glare. Though Eparah is our captain and someone we will one day take our direct commands from, here, he outranks her.
“She’s right,” I scoff, throwing my hands out at my sides. “I don’t know how fight. If I did, don’t you think I would’ve beaten your ass when we were younger?”
Dimitri chokes on the air he breathes. The drunk—Saimenimus, I think Dimitri had called him—snickers on the other end of the field. Fox, too, is smiling, though it’s a smile that says I’m walking myself into a mound of trouble that will be far too entertaining for her to tear her eyes away from.
Dimitri takes a heaping stride forward. “I can take him. Let me fight Güthric. Let me show you how capable I am.”
I gape at my friend. I’m not sure he’s aware he’s done it, but he’s either inadvertently or purposefully moved in front of me, blocking me from Alphonse, and challenging a direct order.
Dimitri continues. “I have experience with hunting, tackling boars, and skinning deer.” He sends a lofty smile to Güthric. “It would be fun to see who’d win between us.”