He doesn’t see me at first, and I’m struck by the harsh, predatory silhouette he makes, caught in the moment before the sun’s final death and the moon’s rise. Before I can continue this line of thinking, he notices me and approaches, his long stride eating the distance like it’s nothing.
“Nice,” he says as he sees the boar.
I shrug, though his continued attitude of tolerant courtesy toward me is starting to make me feel uncomfortable in my own skin.
He lifts the boar with a grunt and turns back toward our camp. I follow and list the reasons I have for keeping my distance from him. For being angry with him.
It all boils down to the fact that he’s in the Commander’s pocket.
Of course, he could think the same of me.
I mull this over as Melkin carves the boar, separating muscle from bone with swift hacking motions, and tosses choice pieces of meat onto the flames to sizzle and snap. Maybe I’m supposed to feel enmity toward him. Maybe the Commander knew anyone he used to replace Logan would be a target for my mistrust. Maybe we aren’t supposed to be a team working toward the same goal, because if we begin to think for ourselves, the Commander could be in danger.
The idea warms me with something more than fury.
Something that feels like another tiny fragment of hope.
I lay my damp cloak out to dry near the flames, and take a seat beside Melkin. Far enough away that I can draw my knife before his long arms could reach me, but close enough to indicate I’m not trying to shut him out.
He glances at me, but says nothing.
I force myself to say the words I know he deserves to hear. “Thank you.”
He uses a stick to nudge the meat and flip it over. The scent fills the air and makes my mouth water.
“For what?” he asks.
“For saving my life. Twice. For carrying the boar. And for”—here I choke on the words and have to push them past my lips, their inflection sounding wooden and insincere—“understanding my attitude.”
He stays silent for the time it takes to skewer three large pieces of meat on a stick and hand it to me. Then he says, “Didn’t think I’d hear that from you.”
I shrug and bite into the meat, which burns my lips but explodes against my tongue with glorious flavor. I watch him skewer his own before answering. “You work for the Commander.”
“So do you.”
“Not by choice.”
“And you think I do?” He looks at me, and I’m struck by the depth of misery etched into his too-thin face.
I feel my way carefully through my next words. “You’re a tracker. You’ve worked for the Commander for years. I figured this was just another assignment to you.”
He looks into the fire. “You figured wrong.”
I’m not sure I have. I have only my instincts to rely on, and my instincts tell me that Melkin doesn’t wish me harm, and that he carries an inner grief of his own. If I can soften him toward my cause, maybe we can be a team against the Commander.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” I say. “But how am I to know for sure?”
He laughs, a small, brittle sound, and looks at me. “How can either of us know anything for sure? We’ve been backed into a corner, threatened with losing everything, and then set loose to circle each other like South Edge dogs afraid to lose a prize bone.”
I stare at him, my mind racing. Is he really in the same situation as me? Or has he been coached to say this so I’ll trust him?
He shakes his head. “One of us has to tell the truth here. I’ll start. You can do with it what you will.”
I say nothing, but watch him carefully for signs he might be lying.
“It’s true I’ve worked for the Commander for eleven years now. And it’s true that he assigned me to accompany you.”
“Why?”
“Apparently, he thought you might need the help. You’re just a girl, after all.” A ghost of a smile flits across his face. “A girl who knows how to keep her head in the face of the Cursed One, who can nearly drown and still trek for four hours, and who has the skill to bring down a boar. Bet the Commander has no idea how far he’s underestimated you.”
I bet the Commander hasn’t underestimated me at all, and Melkin’s true role is to make sure I don’t commit treachery. Which means Melkin could make it look like we’re on the same side when all he’s trying to do is buy my confidence. Calculating the odds makes me ache for Logan, who could assess the options, list the worst-case scenarios, and come up with plans to address it all in half the time it will take me to decide if I should just sneak away from Melkin in the middle of the night and do my best to survive the Wasteland alone.
“So why do you say you didn’t take this assignment willingly?” I ask, and Melkin swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat like a cork.
He’s quiet so long, I begin to think he won’t answer the question. When he finally speaks, he addresses his words to the flames in a voice so low, I have to strain to hear him.
“I would have. I would’ve tracked the package with you and returned it, just like I’ve done with every other assignment he’s given me. But he didn’t give me a chance to prove my loyalty.” He looks at me suddenly, desperate grief in his eyes. “He threw my wife in the dungeon. She’s due to give birth in a few weeks, and he threw her in the dungeon.”
I don’t doubt him for a second. The raw, aching pain in his voice reminds me of my own loss, and I want to stuff my fingers in my ears and pretend I can’t hear him. His emotions are real, but that still doesn’t mean I can trust his words.
“Nice,” he says as he sees the boar.
I shrug, though his continued attitude of tolerant courtesy toward me is starting to make me feel uncomfortable in my own skin.
He lifts the boar with a grunt and turns back toward our camp. I follow and list the reasons I have for keeping my distance from him. For being angry with him.
It all boils down to the fact that he’s in the Commander’s pocket.
Of course, he could think the same of me.
I mull this over as Melkin carves the boar, separating muscle from bone with swift hacking motions, and tosses choice pieces of meat onto the flames to sizzle and snap. Maybe I’m supposed to feel enmity toward him. Maybe the Commander knew anyone he used to replace Logan would be a target for my mistrust. Maybe we aren’t supposed to be a team working toward the same goal, because if we begin to think for ourselves, the Commander could be in danger.
The idea warms me with something more than fury.
Something that feels like another tiny fragment of hope.
I lay my damp cloak out to dry near the flames, and take a seat beside Melkin. Far enough away that I can draw my knife before his long arms could reach me, but close enough to indicate I’m not trying to shut him out.
He glances at me, but says nothing.
I force myself to say the words I know he deserves to hear. “Thank you.”
He uses a stick to nudge the meat and flip it over. The scent fills the air and makes my mouth water.
“For what?” he asks.
“For saving my life. Twice. For carrying the boar. And for”—here I choke on the words and have to push them past my lips, their inflection sounding wooden and insincere—“understanding my attitude.”
He stays silent for the time it takes to skewer three large pieces of meat on a stick and hand it to me. Then he says, “Didn’t think I’d hear that from you.”
I shrug and bite into the meat, which burns my lips but explodes against my tongue with glorious flavor. I watch him skewer his own before answering. “You work for the Commander.”
“So do you.”
“Not by choice.”
“And you think I do?” He looks at me, and I’m struck by the depth of misery etched into his too-thin face.
I feel my way carefully through my next words. “You’re a tracker. You’ve worked for the Commander for years. I figured this was just another assignment to you.”
He looks into the fire. “You figured wrong.”
I’m not sure I have. I have only my instincts to rely on, and my instincts tell me that Melkin doesn’t wish me harm, and that he carries an inner grief of his own. If I can soften him toward my cause, maybe we can be a team against the Commander.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” I say. “But how am I to know for sure?”
He laughs, a small, brittle sound, and looks at me. “How can either of us know anything for sure? We’ve been backed into a corner, threatened with losing everything, and then set loose to circle each other like South Edge dogs afraid to lose a prize bone.”
I stare at him, my mind racing. Is he really in the same situation as me? Or has he been coached to say this so I’ll trust him?
He shakes his head. “One of us has to tell the truth here. I’ll start. You can do with it what you will.”
I say nothing, but watch him carefully for signs he might be lying.
“It’s true I’ve worked for the Commander for eleven years now. And it’s true that he assigned me to accompany you.”
“Why?”
“Apparently, he thought you might need the help. You’re just a girl, after all.” A ghost of a smile flits across his face. “A girl who knows how to keep her head in the face of the Cursed One, who can nearly drown and still trek for four hours, and who has the skill to bring down a boar. Bet the Commander has no idea how far he’s underestimated you.”
I bet the Commander hasn’t underestimated me at all, and Melkin’s true role is to make sure I don’t commit treachery. Which means Melkin could make it look like we’re on the same side when all he’s trying to do is buy my confidence. Calculating the odds makes me ache for Logan, who could assess the options, list the worst-case scenarios, and come up with plans to address it all in half the time it will take me to decide if I should just sneak away from Melkin in the middle of the night and do my best to survive the Wasteland alone.
“So why do you say you didn’t take this assignment willingly?” I ask, and Melkin swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat like a cork.
He’s quiet so long, I begin to think he won’t answer the question. When he finally speaks, he addresses his words to the flames in a voice so low, I have to strain to hear him.
“I would have. I would’ve tracked the package with you and returned it, just like I’ve done with every other assignment he’s given me. But he didn’t give me a chance to prove my loyalty.” He looks at me suddenly, desperate grief in his eyes. “He threw my wife in the dungeon. She’s due to give birth in a few weeks, and he threw her in the dungeon.”
I don’t doubt him for a second. The raw, aching pain in his voice reminds me of my own loss, and I want to stuff my fingers in my ears and pretend I can’t hear him. His emotions are real, but that still doesn’t mean I can trust his words.
