14. Killian

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

KILLIAN

F ifteenth inspection of the day.

The inspections weren't a waste of time, but since I had to do them on everyone in every group, not just the new people who might be struggling, they took far longer than I liked. But at the same time, singling people out and making them feel small was never a good idea.

Besides, sometimes veterans on the wall made mistakes too.

"New spear, now." I glared at Vincent, the fifteen-year veteran who damned well should have known better.

He... pouted. He fucking pouted at me. "But this one's my favorite. It's been with me for five years."

"And it's hanging on by a thread," I answered, poking at the enormous divot in the wooden shaft, likely made by an invader's sword. "What happens when it breaks in the middle of a fight and you can no longer defend yourself? When your partners die because you didn't replace faulty equipment when it needed replacing?"

He dropped his head, sighing, but nodded after a moment. "I'll go see Abram in the morning."

"You'll go see him now." I pointed in the direction of the forge, handing the man his nearly broken spear back. "And this will never happen again."

I turned, fuming, just to almost run into Orestes.

Fuck me, had the asshole just never stopped growing? Not many people on the wall got bigger than me, but Orestes was starting to seem like an ancient oak tree, who'd simply keep getting bigger and bigger until he would no longer fit inside houses.

"I thought today was your day off," I said, moving to go around him.

He stepped in front of me. "It is."

I started to move around him again, but when he pivoted toward me, I stopped. "I take it you want something from me?"

He ducked his head, finally sheepish, but nodded. Then, he stopped and looked around. "But not here. In private."

In private? Honestly, I hadn't thought the man knew what private meant. He had no personal shame, something he'd probably—for better or worse—learned from me. He was willing to talk about everything that had ever happened to him in front of anyone, including both his father's betrayal of the clans, and the time he'd gotten so drunk that he'd fallen down in the middle of a palace hallway, puked, and then slept in it.

Like I said, no shame.

So this was . . . odd.

Still, it was an earnest request, and one I didn't see a reason to deny, so I motioned him toward the stairs. "I have paperwork to fill out in my office anyway. Time to make the monthly food requests so Brett knows what we need."

He turned and headed toward my office. Other than members of my own clan, Orestes was one of the palace's longest residents, so he knew full well where he was going.

I almost tried to prod him on the way, to see if he'd speak up while we weren't standing in front of a group of warriors, but something about his posture made me think this was important. At least, it was definitely important to Orestes.

Was he finally, truly leaving? As I'd been thinking, he was one of the longest-serving people on the wall and, other than time off to mourn his sister and recover from his father's duplicity, had been a steady presence at my side long enough to earn my full trust.

He'd spent years as proxy for... well, quite a few people, some of whom were dead now, like his sister. I'd always refrained from loudly proclaiming my happiness that little viper hadn't come to my wall, at least in front of Orestes. As much as I despised every other person related to him by blood, he was my brother in every way that mattered. I would never try to hurt him by poking at his soft spots.

Perhaps he wanted to join the Crane.

A pain shot through me at that. I'd already been informed that wasn't going to be allowed. I'd wanted to offer him a place among us, but at the winter clan meeting, some of the other chiefs had expressed hesitance to allow Orestes to join another clan. He was too strong, they had argued. His addition to any clan might throw off the balance of power in Nemeda, and after the Eagle's betrayal, we were already reeling. We couldn't handle another blow so soon on the heels of losing an entire clan.

I'd railed against the decision. Reminded them that I already had more people than any other clan, and they trusted me with that. Pointed out that we, the Crane, had spent hundreds of years defending Nemeda with our lives, and we weren't about to turn on the country because of a single man.

Good, they'd said, and refused to further discuss the matter.

Fucking bureaucracy had made it so that I could do little for my friend.

I hoped he wasn't about to ask for something I couldn't give him.

We reached my office and I feigned nonchalance, heading over to lounge in the chair at my desk, throwing my feet up. Orestes paced in front of the desk. That was odd.

"A bandage is just a cover," he said finally.

I blinked at him.

He sighed, scowling, and took a deep breath before starting over. "If you get a bad wound, and you put a bandage on it, you're still wounded. The bandage only covers it up. It doesn't heal it."

"I am aware." What I wasn't aware of was where the hell he was going with this attempt at a metaphor, but I decided not to prod him too hard, since whatever was happening, it was clearly bothering him.

"So if you go out on the wall and try to work as normal, you're still injured."

I, of all people, knew that. It was how my mother had died, which Orestes knew full well. So I just stared at him.

He groaned. "Hector is never going to believe he's one of us while he's held apart. He's going to be here three years. He can't spend them all in the smithy."

I wanted to disagree. Of course Hector could spend all three years in the smithy. Abram had already sent word that Hector had done quite well; better than he'd expected. Frankly, it had felt like the world telling me I'd made the right choice, and I'd hoped to leave him there until it was time to send him home.

When I managed to speak up, though, my voice was strangely rough. "You don't think you're being a little dramatic?"

"He's not a child, Killian," Orestes said, finally spinning to face me. "He's a grown man, who was barely a child when he was a child. You've spoken to Paris. You know Hector practically raised his own siblings. He's not going to appreciate being coddled."

I sighed. He wasn't wrong. We'd had people like Hector on the wall before. People with no practical experience fighting, but who were prepared to give their all if they needed to. Orestes had been one. He would know what it was like.

"How could I explain to Brett, if?—"

"Brett has been on the wall. You know he's preparing Paris even now for the worst. Everyone knows what might happen. You've never struggled with this before. Why now?"

But he was wrong.

I had always struggled with it. Every single day I had to send anyone into danger, including long-term combat veterans, was a bad day.

On the other hand, he wasn't wrong about the rest. I wouldn't put up with being coddled if I were Hector. Why had I expected him to be any different?

When Hector didn't show up for dinner, it confirmed Orestes's suppositions. He was angry, or offended, or at least bothered enough that he wasn't interested in socializing with the others. So what the hell could I do to fix it, without getting him killed?