Page 22 of Crown of Iron (The Crown Trilogy #1)

Thirteen

“ S tupid. Fucking. Wall.” I punctuate each word, kicking the bane of my existence.

With a huff, I pull my hair back into a tie and slip on the leather gloves I found in the stable.

I've dedicated every second of my free time to overcoming my fear.

I first met this monstrosity over a week ago, and the highest I've made it up is to the halfway point.

That feat took me several attempts that lasted well into the night.

It's an impressive achievement for me, but it's not good enough.

I grab the rope and tug.

The rope has never let me down, never wavered, never made me trust only to turn around and avoid me, never ridden off, or hidden in his office. No, the fucking rope is reliable and forgiving.

I lift myself off the ground.

Hand.

Foot.

Hand.

Foot.

My unpredictable body is susceptible to dizzy spells and spasming limbs just at the mere thoughts of climbing.

One faulty move and I could plummet to my death, yet I let it carry me higher.

The times I’ve failed climbing this wall are countless.

Others pull themselves over with no problem. My body seems to conspire against me.

Hand.

Foot.

Hand.

Foot.

In my peripheral vision, a black blur dashes across the training field. I grip the rope and squeeze my eyes closed.

“Don't look; you don't need to look,” I tell myself, but one eyelid inches open and my head turns.

You damn traitor!

Kyron hunches over Samson's back, gripping the reins and speeding out of camp. It strikes me as strange how he keeps leaving by himself. I understood his bi-weekly trips to help Shianne, and I get it if he is helping other families. What has me baffled is the frequency of these trips. He is the leader of the Lucent army, a valuable player in the war, shouldn't he have someone with him to watch his back? Even if he’s off to do another good deed, he shouldn’t be so reckless.

“Don't give up. You're almost to the top.”

My gaze shoots down, and Terro smiles up, gesturing for me to keep going.

My head spins and my muscles shake. “Shit,” I hiss and do the action I've unintentionally practiced more than any other since training.

Fall. Just as the ground rushes upon me, I remember to grip the rope sliding through my hands.

It slows the drop and although the landing is jarring, I'm still on my feet.

“At least you know what to do when you make it to the top and need to go down the other side,” he says, looking somewhat impressed.

“Shut up.” I duck my head to hide my grin and grab the rope.

Terro pries it out of my hand, and says, “Oh no, you're done for tonight, nanny goat.”

I roll my eyes at the nickname. Ulric gave it to me after comparing my climbing obsession with goats in his home region.

Terro found the story overly entertaining, especially when his friend went into explicit details about the breeding habits of the animal.

I'm a bit traumatized from the incident and will never look at goats the same.

“But I've got to?—”

Terro grabs my hand and pulls me along. “The wall will be here tomorrow. The life of a soldier is rigorous, and part of being a good one is knowing your limits. You have to take care of yourself, and I have the perfect way for you to unwind and have some fun.”

I'm taken back by his words, letting him guide me away from the obstacle that stands in my way of becoming a true soldier.

I've been granted small kindnesses here and there.

And like many other new recruits, the higher-ranking soldiers have taken an interest in my progress.

This is different though, more intimate, more in the realm of friendship.

I dig my heels into the ground and bring us to a stop. “Why?”

“Why what?” he asks, furrowing his brows.

“Why are you suddenly concerned about my well-being? Why ask me to have fun with you?”

He hums and clasps his hands behind him.

“I have several reasons. One: camaraderie and respect are key to building a strong army.

A soldier must connect not only with those in the trenches with them, but their commanding officers.

If we don't show that we give a damn about you, you won't give a damn about us or this cause when it matters the most. Two: you’re never going to conquer the wall if your body is exhausted from trying.

And three: how could I not want to be friends with someone who challenged and stood her ground with the most formidable soldier I've ever met. I like you, Elle. Plain and simple.”

“You do?”

“I do, and I'm not the only one,” he says, flashing a big smile which consumes his face.

Terro may look harmless, but his knowledge of the creation and use of military weapons is lethal.

The man can throw a hatchet across the training field and land it dead center on a bullseye.

For fun, he enjoys using his Jorden powers to forge metal into the most terrifying torture devices.

He could give the warmest hugs while embedding the most wicked knife in my back.

“Where are we going?” I ask him while nodding in greeting to a group of fellow new soldiers making their way to the nightly bonfire.

“So many questions for a girl who spends her time climbing walls and shoveling horse shit.”

I plaster a sarcastic smile on my face and bat my eyelashes. “If I climb to the top of the damn wall, I don't have to shovel horse shit anymore. Do you see where I'm going with this?”

“Relax and enjoy,” he says, opening the hub's door.

The desks are empty, and all is quiet on the ground floor as we head toward the officer's corridor.

The closer we get to the end of the hall, the more nervous I get.

Kyron will return from wherever he went and the last place I want to be is anywhere near him.

I open my mouth to voice my intent to leave when we turn down another hallway I've never visited before.

It's short with three metal doors, each labeled as belonging to one of Kyron's most trusted officers.

Terro opens the door with a plaque that reads: Colonel Greer Roja .

We enter what looks more like a saloon than an office.

A bar carved out of black wood houses countless bottles of alcohol along the back wall.

Trophies from the battles she's fought, like pieces of armor, swords, and a half-burned Stigian flag adorn the walls.

I shiver and shift my attention to the large round table in the center of the room.

Greer shuffles a deck of cards, and Ulric chugs from a large stein, the contents dripping from his beard.

“We need a fourth player,” Terro says, guiding me to an empty seat.

“I take it I'm filling in for Kyron,” I say. Greer hands me a small glass of amber liquid, and I swallow it in one gulp, trying to wash away the taste of his name from my lips.

She tilts her head side-to-side and her neck cracks. “He knows the rules: if he doesn't show, then he forfeits.”

Ulric slams his empty stein on the table and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “Aye, been the rules for over seven years now. Sickness or health, you better show for card night.”

The authority the three officers display outside of this room demands my respect.

I always viewed them as much older than me, but here, hidden away from their responsibilities, I realize how young they are.

Greer's youthful green eyes, the scattering of freckles against Ulric's porcelain cheeks, and Terro, well, he already looks too young to be pouring himself such a hefty glass of whiskey. They’re barely in their prime, yet dedicated to such an important cause.

“Have you ever played before?” Terro asks from behind the bar.

“This isn't the game where the loser has to take off an article of clothing, is it?” I ask.

Ulric jumps to his feet and pulls up his tunic, putting his pale freckled stomach on display. “Look at this, nanny goat! Don't you want to play and see it in all its glory?”

With a snicker, Terro takes his seat and playfully smacks his friend's abs twice. “I've seen more meat on a starving chicken.”

Ulric's hearty laughter fills the room, and he tugs one of Terro's braids before taking his chair again.

Greer lets down her tough exterior and pure amusement paints her face. She drops a full satchel on the table in front of me, and the coins inside clink. “No one wants to see Ulric naked, but I'll make it worth your while. You can play with Kyron's winnings.”

I eye the money, smirk, and pull it to my side of the table.

At this point, I've run out of options with him.

If chasing him down wasn't enough to get his attention, maybe messing with his money will do the trick.

I either win big and he's happy. Or I lose it all, and he comes looking for me to wring my neck. All the same, this should be fun.

“Tough luck, Elle,” Greer says, pulling the coins in the center of the table to her side.

“You're a bit too excited to be taking the money of a man who isn't here to defend it,” Ulric says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

Greer turns to me and asks, “Are you playing to the best of your ability?”

“Sure.” Kyron's satchel—which started as the largest pile of coins—is substantially smaller. And truth be told, I played the card game with the intention of winning. But I also don't feel bad about losing his money. Like Ulric said, he should be here.

“Then I'm not taking it.” She shifts the coins around to make neat stacks. “I'm earning back every dime that rotten cheater took from me.”

“He's told you he doesn't read your feelings during cards. You just can't keep a straight face. Notice how you have only won against Elle. She doesn't know how your lip twitches when you have a good hand.” Terro lifts a brow and smirks.

“I'll show you a twitch,” she says, aiming her fist toward his bicep.

He jumps from his seat yelling, “Mercy, I claim mercy!”