Page 31 of The Demon’s Collar (The Bard’s Demon #1)

Ero: A Waiting Game

“Power always has a source. Don’t forget that.” - a fragment of correspondence from a Temple Mother, preserved in the journal of Eroithiel von Dua

I sat in Colonel Astrada’s tent, uncomfortably aware of the accusing eyes all around flitting briefly to me and then quickly away again.

I wasn’t supposed to be there. Brü was. Unfortunately, the order B?k laced with compulsion had not been merely to stay out of the fire. It’d been to stay with Brü.

I’d only dozed on his shoulder for about fifteen minutes.

It was long enough for the potions to work.

My body was—technically—healed and rested by the time leadership summoned Brü.

But there was something hollow about rest potions.

I felt like used underthings fancied up in a secondhand shop pretending they’re new.

That feeling, combined with my numb tendrils that didn’t respond to the potions in the least and the simmering concern for Aelith—left me a vulnerable, brittle shell.

Colonel Astrada did not help. Her sharp gaze pierced me.

She asked me to give a report in B?k’s absence since I had to be in her presence anyway.

I recounted our days away to the best of my ability, holding nothing back outside of the events of a more sexual nature.

Astrada asked me to repeat everything. Twice.

Brü and Astrada shared a long meaningful look when I finished. Understanding that they would be having an actual conversation in my absence, I stared at my hands.

“Our supplies are gone,” Astrada said at last, focused on the whole assembly.

“When B?k returns, we’ll move as one for the rest of the trip.

If we’re fast enough, we can make it in one long day’s ride.

Every soldier should be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

We’ve taken enough losses. Brü, you can go. ”

The colonel hadn’t said a single unkind word, but the undercurrent of irritation still sent prickles of humiliation through my chest. Brü shouldn’t be leaving. He should be staying for the strategy meeting. Instead, he had to babysit me.

Brü guided me out of the tent and back to the log near the wall of flames.

“Sorry,” I said, not looking at him as I sank back into my seat, hunching my shoulders against the heat.

I stared hard at the green-tipped flames. The unpredictable pattern of swirls and flickers had a strange, dangerous beauty to it.

Brü stepped into my line of sight—catching my shoulder when I tried to look away. Reluctantly, I looked at him.

“I can assure you,” he said, “I would rather be here.”

I studied him for a moment. He wasn’t the smoke-blowing sort, so the sincerity on his face was a small breath of fresh air. Of course, his preference probably had less to do with my company than the promise of knowing the moment Aelith returned. But at least he wasn’t angry.

“I think we could both use a distraction while we wait,” Brü said, dropping on the log next to me. “Ask me a question. Make it good.”

He leaned back, resting his palms on the bark, looking pretty pleased with himself. I smiled despite the variety of negative feelings warring for my attention.

“What made you join the Fated?” I asked.

Perhaps it wasn’t the most creative question—but it avoided such topical landmines as Aelith and B?k.

“That’s quite a story, actually,” he said. “I was set to join the Huntress originally.”

He laughed at my expression.

“It’s not a secret,” he assured me. “I was born and raised in her territory. Right near a border, though, so people in my town tended to split—even families, right down the middle. Some to her, some to Lord Austvix.”

I bit my thumbnail. I’d been born in Huntress territory as well, but I’d spent time in land controlled by both the Fated and the Obsidian Alliance at various times since leaving home.

In the towns, there was no marked difference.

Factionites were treated like a higher caste anywhere you went.

But I’d not detected any material difference between one faction’s people and another’s.

They were all a little superior and a little blustery about it.

“I was orphaned when I was quite young,” Brü said.

“So I didn’t have a family to push one faction over another.

But I had a friend with a lovely family.

Sage. The Huntress sent her brothers into Fated territory to poison the water and salt the fields when we were teenagers.

They were both killed on the mission—and Sage’s sister and father were killed shortly after when the Fated retaliated and sacked our town. ”

“Holy shit,” I said.

“Yeah. It gets worse. Sage was able to hide, but her mother was assaulted by two Fated soldiers. She heard the whole thing—heard their names, the things they said, the things they did.”

This was decidedly not a fun story. I braced myself as Brü kept going.

“Sage reported the men to the Huntress, hoping she would raise a complaint with Lord Austvix and demand their heads.

The Huntress acknowledged Sage, but told her there was nothing to be done.

The rules of war were bent all the time, she insisted.

It would be a waste of time to challenge Lord Austvix over a minor infraction.

I can see why, of course. The Huntress had just baited the attack and had a lot of grander pieces moving on her game board.

But for my friend, it was a devastating dismissal.

“At that point, I lived at a local inn and did work for them. I was fifteen, so not quite old enough for the faction—but I planned to join up after my birthday. Sage stopped by in the middle of the night. She wanted to say goodbye. She was going to cross the border and go to Lord Austvix herself to demand justice. She didn’t expect it to go well. ”

I hugged my middle, already sick for where this was going.

“I decided to go with her.” He shrugged. “We weren’t faction, so technically we had no reason to expect a violent response—but we were both realistic. We knew it was a possibility.”

“What did Lord Austvix do?”

Brü smiled faintly. “He actually saw us—and listened.

He had the men brought to his tent to hear the charges.

That was already more than we had expected.

Both denied involvement at first, but a truth serum fixed that.

Everything my friend said was true, and they confirmed it.

So Austvix gave them three choices. Execution, castration, or a ‘fitting punishment.’ Obviously, they chose the punishment.

“He stripped them, tied them to chairs, and put tiny bells on their cocks.”

I blinked. “What?”

Brü smiled. “Austvix has a cat. It’s a fierce little motherfucker.”

“No.”

“Yes. One guy was hard before the dancers even came out. He must have had a thing for humiliation.”

I covered my face, groaning.

“I heard they didn’t manage to save his bits and pieces, so he probably would have been better off with a clean castration—but I’m not losing sleep.”

“And the other?”

“He went to town to recover and decided to retire from faction life to become a monk. Not sure how his cock fared. The screams were thrilling, though.”

I shook my head, trying to piece together my new mental image of the much-discussed Lord Austvix. I didn’t hate it.

“Sage and I joined that night,” Brü said. “Her mother joined too a few weeks later. They’re stationed together pretty far away, but we still write.”

“Wow,” I said. “Do you?—”

“Nope.” Brü arched a brow mischievously. “My turn.”

I frowned, not at all interested in telling stories about my past. I checked the wall of flame hopefully—just in case B?k and Aelith stumbled out at the perfect moment. No such luck.

Brü reached into B?k’s satchel, which he wore at his hip. He pulled out a bow— my bow—and put it across my lap .

It was strange. Before I’d stumbled into that cave and begun this entire adventure, I’d worn the bow on my back like an oversized fashion accessory for nearly two years.

But since I’d been here, it’d become an afterthought.

I’d shoved it wherever made the most sense just to keep it close.

Now when I touched it, I felt an odd hum.

Like it was irritated with me for the neglect.

“Can you shoot it?” Brü asked.

“No,” I said quickly. “I mean, I’ve never tried. I didn’t know anyone who knew how. It was a gift from the temple.”

Brü’s gaze carried some unspoken weight that reminded me of the loaded look he’d shared with Colonel Astrada. Not my favorite look.

“I’m no sharpshooter,” he said, “but I can give you pointers. Give it a try. Let me see what I’m working with.”

My heart pounded the way a child’s might when they first tried a new skill in front of their peers. I didn’t want Brü to see me embarrass myself.

“Fine, but no judgement,” I insisted. Like that was both an option and a fair thing to say to my superior officer, who had good reason to encourage and expect me to have some small measure of competence with my weapon.

He held his hands up in an I would never gesture.

I rolled my eyes. “Where am I shooting?”

Brü picked a tree not terribly far away. It had a nice blackened singe mark that would make a suitable target.

Figuring I wouldn’t get any better if I delayed—and that I might, in fact, attract attention I didn’t want—I pulled the weapon up, shoved an arrow against the string, fumbled with the drawing mechanism as I’d seen real archers do, and shot in the general direction of the tree.

It hit dead center .

Now, I know what I should have been thinking. One of two things really. Either “Wow, what luck!” or “What a great bow.”

Instead, I may have swelled with undue pride and unexpected glee at discovering I was secretly good at something. It was a little hit of confidence I needed, so why not bask?

“Again,” he said.

I froze. Not quite ready to let the high fade if it turned out to be a fluke. I raised my brows teasingly. “Isn’t it my turn? Don’t I get another question?”

“Again,” he said, this time using Superior Officer Voice. And while he did not have the literal power to compel me, I recognized the fine line I’d walk if I argued.

Anyway, if it wasn’t a fluke, how amazing would it be to discover that I was deeply talented with my own weapon? Never mind that it meant I’d wasted two years I could have spent showing off and doing generally badass things.

The next two shots hit dead center as well, so close to the first that the arrowheads all jammed together.

That was that.

I was amazing. I was brilliant! I was perfection personified.

“Try mine,” Brü said.

I frowned at his smug expression, understanding that I was walking into a trap—even if I didn’t know how.

His bow was a similar model. A crossbow with a mechanical device that made drawing relatively easy.

It felt different in my hands, but not different enough—I reasoned—to undercut supreme talent like mine.

The arrow didn’t loose so much as snap and tumble. One part fell to the ground. The other disappeared in a sideways arc into the wall of flame.

“Your arrow was flawed,” I said.

He handed me another, so smug I didn’t even argue. I needed to wipe that look off his face like I needed my next breath. The next arrow—I’m pleased to say—didn’t snap in half. It also didn’t go anywhere near the tree.

“Why do you look so cocky?” I demanded.

“Don’t be angry,” he soothed—which is exactly what every angry person loves to hear. “I had a hunch about the bow’s enchantments. I think they’re attuned to you.”

I considered this. I knew weapons could be attuned, but I assumed there was a whole process for that. Not to mention requirements, such as the most basic level of skill with the piece.

But then I remembered the man who’d taken the bow from me in the cave.

He carried it into that first ambush—and then turned up dead, with one of his own ( my own) arrows to the eye.

I’d not had time to think about it in the heat of the moment, but I suppose I assumed someone had collected the arrow in the mayhem and shot it back—however unlikely a scenario that was.

Had his death actually been the bow’s doing?

I stared down at it, more than a little nervous.

“Ero,” Brü said. “You talked about the siphon questioning you about B?k’s weapon.”

The tiniest flare of annoyance sparked. B?k’s “you belong to me” schtick felt like a power struggle between me and him.

If I followed Brü’s line of reasoning correctly, he meant to imply that this weapon—by belonging to me, and me belonging to B?k—could make it B?k’s weapon in the Huntress’s eyes.

There were so many missing links in that chain.

So many assumptions. So many questions. Not to mention, the bow had been in B?k’s satchel—which Van’s people searched.

“You think my bow is what they wanted?” I said, all of those brilliant arguments ready to lob upon confirmation.

“I think you are what they wanted.”

I stared. Leaving aside the several immediate reasons I would have protested that idea to begin with, one thing was quite clear.

If I were the weapon—which sounded pretty ridiculous, even to someone who’d just over-celebrated her own surprising new skill like it was heaven-sent—Van definitely hadn’t known that.

Nor had the others. They’d openly said the Huntress wanted me alive.

They’d separately demanded I tell them about the weapon.

There was no doubt they expected it to be something other than me .

My head ached. War was stupid. Mysteries were stupid.

“Why do you think so?” I finally asked.

Brü’s face softened. “You don’t strike me as someone with any formal training. Is that correct?”

I frowned, but nodded.

“You heal as well as Aelith. You liquefied Wendlin without appearing to try very hard. And this powerful instrument—which I suspect has some discernment capabilities of its own—is quite comfortable with you, despite your lack of proficiency with bows.”

I picked at my cloak, still not understanding how this all connected.

Don’t get me wrong. I could see his point.

I practiced my music, but I’d never put much effort into anything else.

Not even the healing. Really, I’d only latched onto that because I had a tendency to get myself into situations where I needed it—and it was the one thing I could coax my tendrils to do half the time.

The music helped, and I liked the music, so it’d become something of a self-perpetuating cycle.

Get better at playing, get better at healing.

“Who—” Brü started.

But a shout behind us cut him off. Someone pointed toward the fire. Even distorted through the dancing flames, I recognized B?k’s shape lumbering toward us.

I leapt to my feet, the bow and its mysteries and my mysteries temporarily forgotten.

Brü was on his feet too—and he looked as anguished as I felt when we both saw that B?k’s figure moved alone.