“Maybe tomorrow,” he mumbled. “If we leave early to forage.”
He expected Krujha to keep teasing him; but to his surprise, the orc’s eyes seemed to soften as he glanced around, noting their proximity to the rest of the elves.
“Alright,” he finally said, shrugging. “Gives me the chance to think about it, see if I can’t puzzle out some way of approaching the problem that even you haven’t thought of.”
“There’s nothing I haven’t thought of,” Alwyn said flatly. Krujha laughed aloud at that, and Alwyn pushed down the soft tendril of pleasure it elicited in his chest.
Chapter Nine
Alwyn
Alwyn should have known not to let his guard down. He didn’t know why he thought Galred might spare him that morning after being caught, and failing, the evening before. But the elf managed to catch him by surprise again, and he was too late at shielding his magic—again.
He barely heard Galred scold him, drowned out by the rush of hot humiliation that burned through his face. He had failed again, when he couldn’t afford any kind of failure. If he couldn’t even get this right, how would he ever succeed when it mattered most? Was he doomed to die in the attempt, shaming himself and his master in the process?
The dark thoughts hadn’t cleared by the time he and Krujha left to forage. Alwyn followed him, silent and sullen, their horses leaving a faint trail through the tall grass.
“I thought about your problem,” Krujha finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had stretched between them. Alwyn kept his eyes downturned. “I have a few suggestions that might help.”
“It won’t help,” Alwyn muttered. For a moment, Krujha didn’t respond. Ahead, his horse slowed, then came to a stop. Alwyn pulled back on the reins of his horse, finally glancing up at the orc as they stood side by side. He expected that same teasing grin that he always wore, but was surprised to instead find a more pensive expression on his face.
“You were open to it last night,” he said simply. “What changed?”
Alwyn turned away, scowling. “What would you know? How could you possibly help me?”
He couldn’t bring himself to look at the orc, waiting in silence for him to respond. As much as he wanted to just be left alone, some part of him was expecting Krujha to push back with something that felt too much like anticipation.
“I might not have direct experience,” Krujha finally said, answering the question that Alwyn had blurted out without thought. “But even just talking it through with someone else might helpyousee it in a different way, or come up with an idea you haven’t tried before. There is value in that, don’t you think so?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Alwyn scoffed.
“You’re telling me you’ve only ever worked alone? Never studied with a group, or tutored another student?”
He hadn’t.
“Well, I have,” Krujha said when Alwyn didn’t respond. “I’ve had dozens, maybe hundreds of teachers. Friends who were really enemies—enemies who became friends—so many jobs and covers that I’ve lost track. I’ve fished, hunted, worked with wood, woven with reeds, cooked, cleaned, shoveled shit, and scoured the rust off armor and blade. Some people I’ve worked with were hard bastards who would hit me as soon as look at me. Some were patient, and others were complete idiots. But I wanted to live. And, like you, I wanted to succeed. So I kept my eyes andears open, and learned everything I could, wherever I could. And if someone offered any kind of help, I took it.”
Alwyn didn’t know what to say to that either. It had never bothered him before—he liked being alone—wasmeantto work alone. But now, admitting it to Krujha felt almost shameful. Suddenly, they did not seem like peers on this deadly mission, with the fate of two nations on their shoulders. Next to Krujha, who seemed so sure and competent, Alwyn couldn’t help but feel helpless and lost. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, his eyes now burning with tears he tried desperately not to shed.
“Alwyn,” Krujha said, his voice lower—the orc had stepped closer with an apologetic grimace. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s not that,” he said, hating how his voice shook. “I just—Galred tested me again this morning. And I failed. Again.”
Krujha stilled. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“And it’s just one more thing I’ve messed up,” Alwyn continued, the words pouring out of him. All his pent-up anxiety and frustration on the matter had reached a boiling point, and Krujha had finally given him the excuse to erupt—he didn’t think he could stop now, even if he tried. “If I fail in this mission, it will be the second important task for the Order that I’ve failed. The Mage Princeps rarely gives second chances. If I don’t—if I don’t succeed now, then I...”
He trailed off, feeling acutely aware now that he couldn’t tell Krujha just how high the stakes really were. He took as deep a breath as he could before continuing. “Then I might get our whole group killed. But even if not… my life with the Order would be over. I will not get another chance to prove myself.”
When he glanced up again, Krujha’s eyes were soft and sympathetic. If it were anyone else, Alwyn knew all he would be able to see was the pity of someone looking down on him, and the familiar shame and anger and resentment would follow. Instead, he found himself aching to hear what Krujha would sayto him—desperate to relieve some of the pressure that had been eating him alive from the moment he left the Library.
“I get it,” Krujha finally replied. “I’ve failed, too. There have been times where it was just pure luck I survived.”
It wasn’t quite the same. He could understand Krujha trying to comfort him, but this mission was far too important to rely on luck. Still, there was some reassurance in knowing someone like Krujha might have failed in something important, too.
“What happened before? Your first mission?” Krujha asked, his voice still soft and careful.
Alwyn sucked in a sharp breath, doing his best to compose himself before continuing. The last thing he wanted was to cry. He hadn’t cried in front of anyone since he was a small child, and had no intention of starting now, no matter how miserable he felt.
