17. Kai

Chapter 17

Kai

I don’t succeed at securing a meeting with the commandant. The following day, however—barely twenty-four hours before the major two week field exercise is supposed to start—the woman finally condescends to gather everyone together on the parade grounds for a briefing. Standing in front of the formation, I hold my hands behind my back, my grip tight to keep from letting my annoyance show. I should have been told the details well before now, then allowed to brief the troops under my command.

Except these aren’t really troops and I’m not truly in charge. Not in this world.

Born a few minutes after my twin, Autumn, I’d been the presumptive future general commander of Slait Court’s forces since birth. Autumn, being the heir, got the raw end of the deal—but she’s always played her more difficult part with a great deal more grace and competence than I managed mine. Even when I was still trying. My time in Slait’s military, attempting to live up to the expectations of all five of my parents, turned into the first in a series of many spectacular failures. But even at my earliest military education, I’d been in charge of thousands of soldiers.

And now here I am, in charge of a hundred and twenty humans, none of whom have even seen real battle. Hells, I’m pretending to be one of them. Perhaps being treated like an adult really isn’t a fair expectation.

Commandant Ainsley stands before the assembled cadets, her posture rigid. I don’t understand how someone like her produced a daughter as caring as Rowan. Then again, my own parents managed to produce both Autumn and me, so there is that. Balance of the universe.

"Tomorrow, you commence a two-week field exercise," the commandant announces with her signature cool detachment. I study her closely, trying to find the similarities with Rowan’s features. They’re subtle. The angle of her cheek bones, the minute gesture of the shoulder. Not the eyes though. Commandant Ainsely’s are washed out silver gray, while Rowan’s are deliciously hazel, a perfect complement to her chestnut hair. The commandant lifts her chin—another trait she’d gifted to Rowan—and continues. “You will be simulating a reconnaissance mission. Your targets are waypoints set up in various locations, ranging up to a five-day march from Spire East. Each cadet must check in to at least three waypoints, and you must cover all waypoints between the lot of you. Maps will be provided to the command cadre at the end of formation. Commander Grayson, you may dispatch your forces as you see fit.”

Behind me, several cadets exhale in relief, probably thinking this a navigation game. I don’t believe that for a moment. The Spire doesn’t repeat exercises from year to year, so I’ve no idea what the commandant has planned, but I know that she does nothing which doesn’t also benefit her sister’s hold on power. There is more coming. There has to be. If Ainsley is going to send a hundred twenty Spire cadets into the wild, she’ll extract something from it.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I say, cutting through her theatrics. “But reconnaissance is usually done in enemy territory. Therefore, what hostile forces can we expect here?”

A mirthless smile crosses Ainsley's face and I know I’ve hit the mark. "You are quite correct. So make a hostile territory for the Spire we shall.” She pauses for a beat, surveying all the cadets who hang on her every wo rd. “All non-military Eryndor citizens within the exercise radius have been incentivized to hinder your mission. Spire East will pay out bounties to them for successful engagements."

"And what are the bounty rules?" I ask.

Ainsley holds up a necklace with a flat metal tag. "Each cadet will receive one of these to wear, and be issued a unique codeword. The ‘enemy force’ will be paid bounties in the amount of a silver mark for each captured tag, a gold mark for each body of a cadet brought to the Spire, and five gold for each cadet returned alive with the captor having learned their prisoner’s codeword.”

The commandant lets that sink in before continuing, her voice hardening. "Any cadet who permits their tag to be captured will be flogged at the conclusion of the exercise. Those who expose their codeword will face worse. We typically expect a ten percent casualty rate during the first field exercise of a fusion year, but I do hope you will pleasantly surprise me with better numbers.”

My stomach churns in disgust as fear permeates the courtyard behind me. Ainsley’s acceptable casualties for a training exercise would horrify any decent commander in Slait. And those are fae warriors with centuries of experience on killing fields. But this is the way of Eryndor. Control through brutality and fear.

Clever crow, Ulyssus remarks.

He isn’t wrong. This particular ploy is savagely clever in light of the civilian unrest the most recent round of conscriptions caused. For less coin than it would take to sustain a platoon, Ainsley just pitted the most capable of the potential rebels into open combat with trained cadets. By the end of two weeks, both the weaker cadets and the most active malcontents will have been culled from play.

To top it off, the surviving cadets will have learned to kill any civilians who rise up against the crown’s forces.

Ainsley continues taking questions from the group, answering each with calm respect. As if all this is a normal way to train a military force and not a calculated manipulation of a tyrannical ruling class. No, the hostile force—Ainsley carefully avoids using the word civilian—won’t have a map of the waypoints. Yes, the cadets should expect to be interrogated if captured. No, none of the waypoints are outside the wards.

That latter part is damn unfortunate.

Once the questions are finally finished, the commandant dismisses the formation to start getting ready. I stay where I am, though. I’ve learned her body language well enough by now to know when she wants me to stay behind.

“Grayson,” Ainsely orders, proving my instinct right. “My office.”

I fall into step behind the commandant, following her into the main building of the Spire and through the doors of the office where I’ve been more times in the past two years than I can track. Today, she barely waits for the door to click before walking to the chessboard she keeps on a side table. Whatever this is about is making her uncomfortable. Interesting.

I take my time joining her, taking the opportunity to scan her desk for any information on the next auric steel shipment. Unfortunately, everything is covered with exercise plans.

“Do you play?” Ainsley asks, motioning to the chessboard.

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Good.” Her hand hovers over the pieces until she picks one up and rolls it between her thumb and forefinger. “Then you must be familiar with this figure.”

“The king.”

“Indeed. It’s pathetically useless in assault or defense, yet it’s the one piece most vital to the entire game.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You have a piece like that under your command, Grayson. Don’t you?”

“The alchemist.”

“Very good.” The commandant throws the king back onto the board, her nose scrunching in disgust as it teeters precariously before settling. “Lexington is little better a warrior than this wooden piece, and yet the whole game still depends on her staying alive.”

“Agreed.” For once, I don’t even have to lie. This whole game does depend on Rowan. Just not in the way her mother imagines .

“Then you understand the importance of bringing Rowan back alive and capable of performing her magic. At any cost.” She turns her focus back to the board and resets the pieces into a starting position. “All cadets must check into three waypoints. Unless, of course, they die or lose their tag. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“If a cadet proves a liability to the larger war effort, a commander might decide to proactively confiscate the cadet’s tag,” I say with an easy calm I’ve spent decades cultivating. “The tagless cadet would unfortunately face the flogging post as result, but the pain there is temporary. Death is not. Did I get that right?”

The commandant’s focus stays on the chessboard. “It is important that the Spire remain impartial in all exercises. All cadets must be treated the same, with awards based on merit not bloodlines.”

“Of course, ma’am.” I know the drill. So long as the illusion of justice is maintained, the orders issued behind closed doors need have no boundaries. Does the commandant care about her daughter at all, I wonder, or is this all about power? Would she be issuing these orders if Rowan wasn’t an alchemist? For Rowan’s sake, I want to believe she would, but I don't think so.

Rowan matters to Commandant Ainsely because she is an alchemist.

Which happens to be the exact same reason she matters to me too.

The only difference—I’m willing to put in the bare effort to keep Rowan from having the skin flogged off her back in the name of justice—seems like a very small distinction in the grand scheme of things.

I’m as bad as the commandant.

But then, I’ve always been.