After their decisive victory over Orinovo, Lys-Akkaria's army crosses the border to take back territory that used to be theirs. With the combined forces of a lightweaver and shadowforger, Orinovo doesn't stand a chance.
In spite of their newfound a...
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Fennrin was reeling. He'd let anger and pain distract him so much that for a second he lost his hold on Oretski. He'd completely forgotten the man had been there. And the kapetan had immediately used his lapse of concentration to defeat him.
How was he going to explain this to Daryan? The man already had enough to worry about without adding two Orinovo agents into the mix. He could lie, of course, to put his mind at ease, but he didn't want to lie to Daryan, ever.
Fennrin sighed as he got up, wincing as pain flared through his back. Some part of him felt happy about this, happy that he was feeling at least a part of Ainreth must have been going through right now, but that though just made his stomach twist.
At least this hadn't been a complete waste. He knew where the protestors were hiding, or at least one of the places. Fennrin nodded to himself as he melted away into a nearby shadow, heading back to the palace.
He was fully intending to slip past everyone and appear only once he located Daryan. However, he couldn't help but pause when, while passing the line of guards blocking the path to the palace, he overhead a familiar voice.
"I want to talk to Fennrin. Tell him that if he refuses to come see me he is a coward."
It was Petre. Fennrin studied their angry expression, their determination. He had a feeling he knew what they wanted to talk about. And they had been on friendly terms enough in the past to make Fennrin feel like he owed them this talk.
The guard was explaining to Petre with a rather tired tone that Fennrin didn't have time and that he wasn't at the palace currently, but Fennrin ended that by appearing right next to the guard.
"Petre," said Fennrin, feeling horribly awkward. He found it hard to face the anger in their eyes.
"Good. Finally," Petre grumbled, jerking their head off to the side. "We need to talk. Now."
Fennrin nodded even though he yearned to disappear. This was going to be unpleasant. But he already knew what Petre was going to say, anyway.
He just needed to get through this. He could leave any time if he decided Petre was being unreasonable anyway.
They walked to a connecting street, a quiet, thankfully empty space, away from prying eyes.
"So what did you—"
Fennrin cried out as Petre's fist collided with his jaw hard, making him stumble and gasp. He held his injured cheek, pain stabbing through his whole face. He could feel the metal tang of blood in his mouth, but instead of focusing on any of that, he was staring at Petre in shock.
"That's for hurting Ain!" Petre yelled at him, punching him again on the other side. Fennrin managed to partly block that strike, but it still made him fall to on knee and groan in pain.
"And that's for actively helping Varilik whip him!" Petre screamed at him even louder, now looking down at him. And pointing a dagger at Fennrin's throat. "Do anything like this again, and I will kill you. Do you understand?!"
