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When I return, Dravek’s eyes lock on my unused weapon. The Foremost’s demeanor darkens.
“Did you not even join the attack, coward?”
He throws his longbow aside and eliminates the space between us. His tone is dangerous, and I refuse to meet his eyes. At this lack of acknowledgment, he plants both hands on my chest and shoves me hard. I am thrust back, falling to one knee.
“You spoke of making things right. Was this your plan? To come along and threaten Sola Vinari, just as your wife did last time?”
I remain reticent. I can hardly hold myself together. How can I possibly form the words to refute this allegation?
“Answer me,fool. Did you intentionally put our entire city at risk by losing us this kill?” Dravek shouts. “Because if that was the case, your debt to our people would be considerable. We would not tolerate a second betrayal from your pathetic family.”
At the mention of my loved ones, I rise to full height and look my accuser in the face.
“I would never put my family in the line of fire or willingly place any of the valefolk in danger,” I say with quiet intensity.
Dravek snorts in disgust.
“Then explain yourself,” says Krandal. He seethes with anger, as do the others. The murder of the sola only exhilarated them.
My pulse intensifies. The dread almost chokes me, but the confession cannot be contained. “I-I think we may be wrong.”
Dravek cocks his stubbled chin to one side and raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“I think we may be wrong to hunt the solas.”
The Foremost and the rest of the hunting party stare at me, uncomprehending, but the silence does not last. Dravek’s face hardens, and he steps forward, pulls back a fist the size of a small boulder, and unleashes his rage on my jaw.
I know nothing more.
3. Belwyn
SHOULDN’T THE FIRSTBORN of the Foremost deserve more than this?
Balancing yet another large stump on its end, I sigh deeply and take up my ax. Settling into the proper stance and filling my lungs, I raise the implement high and arc it to its target. The log springs apart in two neat halves. I repeat the motion again and again, dividing it into precise quadrants.
Completely filled. My father gave clear instructions before he left for the Hunt this morning. He expects the ceremonial firepit to be completely filled with firewood by the time he returns. I hadn’t understood just how big a task lay before me. But when I got to the ancient Reckoning Grounds on the edge of the city and saw the expansive, stone-laid pit, my spirits sank. It is at least ten paces across, dug five feet into the earth. So many years have passed since it was last in use, I forgot the immense scale of it.
As I bring the ax down for what must be the thousandth time, my palms explode with pain. My freshly acquired blisters have burst. Chucking the tool away in a fit of rage, I throw myself down on a nearby boulder.
The worst of it is knowing my friends are partying in the heart of Utsanek, along with the rest of the Vale. I can hear the festivities in the distance. And I am stuck here, chopping wood.
It has been so long since a sola has come anywhere near the Vale, I had started to think I would never see one in my lifetime. When I was younger, their absence meant only temporary disappointment. As I have approached adulthood, each year that passed meant a greater possibility that I would get to be among those hunting it. Each year, the frustration has grown.
I am the oldest. I have earned it.
All these hopes were dashed this morning, when my father dismissed my request and sent me to play the part of lumberjack while he took on the role of victorious hunter.
And I don’t even get to enjoy myself while they’re out there.
I rake my agitated hands through my hair, forgetting the open sores and cursing when even that small action invites a fiery pain.
A familiar chuckle sounds. “Bad day?”
Rhun, the eldest of my three younger brothers, steps out of the shadows and smirks at me with crossed arms. He has a knack for finding me when I’m on the verge of implosion.
“What do you care?” I grumble, tenderly dabbing the burst blisters with the hem of my shirt. “I bet Mother let you off without lifting a finger to help.”
Rhun angles his head and lifts an eyebrow. “I have my ways of getting out of things if I want to.”
