“I’m not,” he said, wrinkling his nose in annoyance. Krujha raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate. Alwyn bit back a groan. “It’s just—difficult for me. I’m not trying to, I don’t know, show off or anything, but my own wellspring of magic is, well, very deep. Hiding it is... challenging.”
“Ah. And I see you’re not used to being challenged,” Krujha chuckled.
Alwyn scowled, hot irritation rising in his chest. “What does that mean?”
The orc took a long moment before answering, his expression appraising. “I think I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I get the impression that you’re used to coasting on your own natural talent. All your skills have, I’m guessing, come to you easily—or at least quickly. So when something is a struggle, you take it personally and don’t know how to handle it.”
The words felt like barbs straight through his chest. His first instinct was to protest, but he couldn’t outright deny the kernel of truth in Krujha’s accusations. How could the orc see his faults so clearly after just a week?
He was so stupid to think they might eventually be friends. He’d been foolish to reveal a weakness to the spy—to reveal anything about himself or his past. He had told himself over and over to take his master’s teachings to heart, yet clearly he was not as diligent as he had once believed himself to be.
“You don’t know anything about me,” Alwyn stammered, turning away as fury and humiliation burned in his face. “And here’s what I think ofyou—you put on different personalities like people put on hats. I bet you don’t even know which version of you is real anymore.”
He heard a sharp intake of breath from the orc, then silence—then, annoyingly, Krujha just chuckled again.
“We know each other quite well for only having spent a week together, it seems,” he murmured. Despite Alwyn’s frustration, something about his low, confessional tone made his heart squeeze with that same stupid wish to connect again. “I think there’s some truth to your assessment, sure. And what do you think of mine?”
Alwyn remained silent. He knew that other members of the Order thought he was a teacher’s pet—had been told to his face that he was stuck-up and arrogant. But everyone in the Orderwas stuck-up and arrogant, because theywerethe best. They had to be, or they wouldn’t last long. Since he was a child, he’d told himself that the others were just jealous: perhaps of his close relationship with Tessarion, or perhaps of his own natural ability.
So maybe there was some truth to Krujha’s assessment. He couldn’t quite parse out whether he was hurt by the accusation itself, or that a near-stranger could so easily spot his own failings and insecurities.
“I suppose there’s some truth to it,” he mumbled, glaring up at the orc. “Maybe. A little bit.”
Krujha beamed down at him, his wide smile entirely too aggravating.
“I’m glad we understand each other,” he said, as cheerfully as if he hadn’t even noticed—or purposely ignored—how frustrated Alwyn now felt. “Maybe I can help you practice?”
Alwyn couldn’t stop himself from snorting, half in derision and half in amusement, but Krujha’s smile didn’t falter. “I don’t think you could help me. No offense meant, but... Without having magic of your own, I don’t see how you could help me hide mine.”
“You said yourself, everyone has at least some spark,” Krujha replied. “Or—what did you call it? A wellspring?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Explain to me how you do it, and I’ll see if I can try,” Krujha insisted.
“We’re supposed to be foraging,” Alwyn protested. The last thing he wanted was to worry about the test in the few hours each day he was sure that he was safe from Galred. “We haven’t gotten anything yet.”
Krujha’s eyes softened. “I suppose you’re right. Some other time, then.”
When they returned to the camp, their haul was meager: just a few handfuls of wild rice and three fish, which they kept cold in a small bucket of water. Krujha hadn’t asked about his magic or the test again on the way back. They parted ways when they arrived: Krujha to gut the fish, and Alwyn to deposit the rice into a grain bag with the rest of their supplies.
The hand that landed on his shoulder registered a second too late. Magic washed over him. Alwyn jolted away, trying to block the intrusion at the same time, but Galred’s grip was firm.
“Too slow,” the elf said, eyes narrowed. “And I could feel you even through your attempt at a shield. This is something you must continue to practice, Alwyn.”
Alwyn clamped his mouth shut before he could curse in frustration. He should have been watching for Galred the moment they started approaching the camp.
“Yes, teacher,” he forced out through gritted teeth. Galred, at least, did not draw out the lesson. He promptly turned away from Alwyn, releasing his grip and stalking off to find his next victim.
Alwyn’s mood remained sour as they continued pushing their way northwest. It wasn’t until they stopped to set up camp that he even lifted his gaze from the horse directly in front of him, having spent the whole afternoon ruminating on how much he hated this stupid, pointless test.
Of course, Krujha turned up again when he was setting up his tent. His presence was annoying, but familiar in its annoyance, which was strangely comforting. Still, Alwyn frowned as the orc stepped over to him.
“What?” he asked flatly, narrowing his eyes. Krujha laughed.
“It went that badly?” he replied. Alwyn huffed and busied himself with shaking out a blanket. “Let me help you, then. It couldn’t hurt, could it?”
Heat blossomed in Alwyn’s face. He looked around self-consciously. The other elves weren’t outright looking at him, but he was sure they would notice if he and Krujha began discussing the nature of magical ability and the ways it could be shielded. Not that he cared what they thought of him. But practicing in full view of everyone else, especially Galred—it was embarrassing even to consider.
