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“Enough, Cas.” Dalca’s voice falls like an axe, silencing Casvian and stopping Izamal in his tracks. Dalca moves between them and puts a hand to Izamal’s chest, holding Iz’s gaze. There’s a soft, anxious sort of look in his eyes as he regards Izamal. A look of guilt. But when he speaks, his voice is a command. “You may have a right to choose, but she’s answered your questions better than many a good candidate. You have no good reason to turn her down.”
Dalca turns to Casvian, who glares back at him. Something passes between them. I hold my breath.
“Fine!” Cas snarls, pointing an accusing finger at me. “I’ll take you on for a trial period. Come back tomorrow at dawn. If you’re late, you’re out. If you slack off, you’re out. If you complain even once, you’re out.”
Hope and relief blossom in my chest. I beam at him. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
His head falls back to his work, and he waves once, sharply. “Begone.”
I’m at the door before he can change his mind. But to my surprise, Dalca steps up beside me and swings the door open for me. “Let’s leave Cas to his work, shall we?”
My shoulder brushes his chest on the way out, and I nearly jump.
“No need to be so afraid.” He lets the door fall with a sigh when Izamal lags behind, hissing at Casvian. I shoot a pleading last look in Izamal’s direction, willing him to hurry, to not leave me alone with Dalca, but he doesn’t notice.
Dalca turns the full force of his attention on me, wearing a slightly puzzled smile. The light traces his cheekbone, his jaw, the muscles of his neck. Even this far in shadow, the sun’s light finds him.
I unclench my fists and put on an act. “Thank you for speaking up for me.” The words taste bitter on my tongue.
“Wait until you’ve had to deal with their bickering for a week, then see if you still want to thank me.”
“I can deal with bickering, for the chance to learn.” My voice comes out sharp, and his smile slips away.
“Of course.” His demeanor turns so polite that I wonder if he was trying to flirt before. He turns to go, and something makes me speak.
“Why choose them both to be by your side, if they bicker so much?”
Dalca turns back, though for a moment I think he won’t answer. “Cas’s fears are the fears of the high ringers. Those who love tradition and have both the power and the responsibility to protect this city. Iz’s fears are the fears of those who’ve lost the most, of those the Wardana most need to protect. I need both those voices by me.”
If I were clever, I’d bite my tongue and stop pushing my luck. “Why don’t you give fifth-ringers the means to protect themselves?”
His eyes turn assessing. “Not a popular opinion amongst third-ringers. I see why Izamal likes you.”
I bite my tongue before I say something else a real third-ringer wouldn’t.
Dalca crosses his arms and leans against the wall, studying me through half-lowered eyes. “You think it’s such an easy fix?”
“Who’d work harder than the folks whose homes—and lives—are at stake?”
“How would you soothe the fears of those who fought in the last rebellion? Who lost loved ones at the hands of fifth-ringers? Who still risk their lives to fight the Storm?”
“Why are you so fixated on everyone’s fears? What about theirhopes? If you teach every fifth-ringer—or even one out of every ten—how to fight, wouldn’t our chances of fighting back the Storm be that much greater?”
His lips quirk. “You’re naïve.”
I want to kill him. But as I clench my fist, my burnt palm stings, reminding me of the role I’m meant to play. I bow my head. “I’m sure you know better, my prince.”
Whatever he’s about to say is lost as Izamal slams the door open and stomps out, followed by Casvian’s voice calling, “Get out!”
“I’malreadyout, you puffed-up peacock!”
A loud thump sounds as something hits the door.
Izamal runs a hand through his hair and grins at us. “Well, that went well.”
I turn wide eyes upon him. “He’ll still take me on? After...” I gesture at him.
“He won’t take out his anger at me on you. No, he’ll find all new reasons not to like you.”
