𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬

23: Bait

Leaping across the branches, Aziz moved more slowly with the weight of the pig on his back. It had taken him some time to ensure that his blood had thoroughly mixed with the pig's body. He needed to return quickly—Delilah's signal, the sound of three crows, meant something had happened. As he neared the Kings Guard camp, Aziz scanned the canopy, spotting the plump outline of Delilah perched on a branch, watching the camp. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of admiration; he had expected her to fall asleep, especially with the dark circles under her eyes. But her loyalty to her friend kept her awake. A part of him darkened further as he realised something. This wasn't good. Getting too attached was dangerous—it would only give the Order a weakness to exploit, especially with someone as vulnerable as Delilah. An idea crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. No. It was better to be alone where he was going. Just retrieve the black pill and leave.

"What happened?" he asked.

Startled, Delilah nearly fell off the branch with a yelp, but Aziz caught her by the waist, steadying her. Her soft flesh felt out of place in this harsh, merciless forest. If she was to survive much longer here, she would need to change.

Recognizing the familiar purple hue in his eyes, Delilah calmed down. She glanced at the pig slung over his shoulder, her mouth slightly agape, still amazed by the strength he displayed. Despite his skinny frame—little more than skin and bones to most—his wiry, steel-like muscles were undeniable. She had felt it when he carried her before, and now, as his arm supported her.

"Delilah."

She looked up at him, suddenly aware of how close they were. The forest had felt claustrophobic before, with little space among the trees. Worse, Delilah was afraid of heights, so she always kept her gaze straight ahead, never looking down. But all that seemed to fade when Aziz was near. Was it his strength? Aziz glanced down, and Delilah followed his eyes, realizing she was gripping his arm. Flushing red, she quickly let go.

"So-rry," she stuttered.

Aziz moved to an adjacent branch, his attention drawn to a new group he hadn't noticed before. They stood before the gates of the Kings Guard camp, a delegation of five children surrounding a boy with broad shoulders, a crude club slung across his back. From the way the boy commanded the group, it was clear he was their leader.

"They're Iron Hearts. But what are they doing here? That camp is supposed to be neutral," Delilah whispered, gripping the branch in frustration.

Aziz watched closely, surprised himself. He had been away from the forest too long to understand the new alliances that had formed during his seclusion. The gates opened to greet the delegation, and Delilah gasped. Aziz raised an eyebrow at the sight before them. Roof had appeared. The boy had grown taller, his privileged access to the best food evident in his bulkier frame. He was even carrying a sword at his waist—a rare commodity in this forest. How had he acquired such a weapon? The only plausible answer was the Order. Were they playing favorites? None of it mattered now, though, as Roof greeted the boy with the club with open arms. The two embraced as if they were old friends.

"This isn't right! If the Iron Hearts and Kings Guard join forces, the Queens Hand could be in serious danger," Delilah insisted, clearly perturbed by the sight.

"That's not our business," Aziz replied.

She opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself, composing her thoughts. "You're right. We're here for Marcus."

Good, Aziz thought. She was learning quickly. One problem at a time. Tomorrow's challenges would come in due course; today's needed addressing first.

"Stay here and keep watch. Mal will stay with you in case anything happens. Marcus will be free within a few hours."

Her eyes widened at his words, glancing at the pig slung over his shoulder. "I don't understand... what are you going to do?"

Aziz looked over at the camp, where Roof was leading the delegation inside. He allowed himself a small smile. "I'm going to give them a gift."

☨

Fulxo had been on guard duty for the past few hours, eagerly awaiting the next shift to relieve him. The camp was hungry today—rations had dwindled, and hunting parties were returning with less and less food. Roof hadn't bothered listening to suggestions from the lower classes. The nobles thought they knew better than the farm-raised kids, who had suggested keeping some animals in a pen, breeding them, and taking milk from the few mushroom cows in the forest. But they were ignored, and anyone who suggested something contrary to Roof Von Schlieffen's word faced dire consequences.

Sighing, Fulxo continued his patrol along the rampart, leaning against the palisade as he glanced over the wooden spikes and into the forest. He had heard the Queens Hand was kinder to the peasant children—they had a farm, a steady supply of milk, and they also had the beautiful Nessa. He could still remember the day she had smiled at him, handing him a piece of bread. Shaking the thought from his head, Fulxo knew a girl like her was out of his reach; there was no point in dreaming.

Waving at another guard on patrol, Fulxo looked back into the camp, where the Iron Hearts delegation was now deep in discussion with Roof. He recognized the boy with the club—the right-hand man of Raven, Crow Von Flockson, the younger brother, sharing the rustled auburn hair and deep-set black eyes. For someone like him to come here, negotiations must have advanced much further than before.

A shame, Fulxo thought. As pretty as Nessa was, she wasn't as strong as Roof. Roof had the martial arts of the Schlieffen family, descendants of one of the Five Stars of the Umbra Kingdom. While Nessa came from the Sherman family another of the Five Stars, known for their water-based martial arts, she was too young to have learned anything significant. In terms of strength, Roof was the strongest, with Raven Von Flockson and his wind martial arts a close second.

The test the Order had given was a cruel one. He recalled the message that had been delivered to all the camps—a directive from the Order: "The requirement to move on to the next test is to reduce the number of participants. How you do it is up to you. You all have three months."

A message like that made war inevitable. Fulxo was staring at the sky, lost in thought, when he finally heard his name called from below. His shift was over at last. Just as he turned, he noticed something moving in the shadows at the forest's edge. Quickly drawing his bow, he narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what it was.

It didn't take long for him to spot the faint outline of a wild pig rustling in the brush above. His eyes widened as adrenaline surged through his body. He couldn't believe his luck! Wild pigs never ventured this close to the camp and were nearly extinct in the forest. His mind raced with possibilities. If he caught it, surely Roof would promote him for bringing back food that no other hunting party could procure. Maybe... just maybe, he could join the Kings Fist, the group of boys Roof was training in martial arts. Fluxo was already salivating at the thought, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. Quickly nocking an arrow, he pulled the string back until it was taut. He had crafted the bow himself, just as his father had taught him, but he was a terrible shot, lacking the hunting talent his brothers had. But if there was ever a time for his shot to matter, it was now. It had to be destiny—why else would the gods offer such a gift?

Pull. Hold. Release.

The arrow flew, but he immediately looked down, already convinced he had missed. He didn't need to see it to know; the arrow had flown wide of its mark. Gritting his teeth, he heard a low grunt followed by a dull thud. Disbelieving, he turned back to the forest—and there it was. The pig lay where his arrow had struck, the point embedded in its neck. Impossible. He was sure he had missed. Wasn't the pig too far away? There was no way it was stupid enough to just walk into—

Shaking his head, his doubts were quickly replaced by joy. It had to be the will of the gods, just as he had thought. He ran to the ladder to climb down from the parapet, unable to wipe the grin from his face. This was it. An opportunity to rise, to achieve something greater. The body of that pig would be where he began to write his story.