Casting Flames

Chapter Seven

"He requests you join him for dinner." There's that stupid word again.

It's been twenty-four hours since the first and last training session. Jackson cancelled the one for today, probably to give me some time to cool off. Aaron always told me to take a walk, but it usually just pissed me of even more, and cancelling our training session and then requesting I join him for dinner is even worse than my step father telling me to just take a walk.

"I request he go die in a ditch," I turn to the substitute soldier filling in for Fritz.

But where I expect to see a strict and clean cut middle aged man, I find a young, sweet baby faced soldier with brown hair growing almost to his ears.

"I bet they loved you in prison," he smirks.

"Who are you?"

"Pierce. He sent me to get you." He has the brightest brown eyes I've ever seen, and his skin is unusually tan for the end of Winter.

I make a slightly amused, slightly infuriated face. "Good luck with that," I laugh, looking down at the book I found stashed under my bed.

The soldier clears his throat. "Will you please join the Commander for dinner?" He says it in a higher pitched voice this time, as if that might sway me.

I slam the book shut. "No."

He sighs. "If you don't go willingly, I have orders to carry you."

I snort. "I'd like to see you try and lay a finger on me."

His eyebrows shoot up and his head begins to shake. "Trust me, I really don't want to. You look perfectly capable of walking, and I heard about what you did back in the training room. I really, really don't want to mess with you. But I have my orders. And breaking orders is punishable by death."

I clench my jaw. Squeeze my hands into fists, and then let them relax. "Did he write that little speech for you too, or did you come up with that all by yourself?"

He shrugs. "Either way, it's true."

I roll my eyes, let my feet slam to the ground and then start for the door.

***

I sit next to him, avoiding eye contact. The first thing I notice is that the my glass of water is already full, and it has a straw. The next thing I notice is the knife is missing from the arrangement of silverware beside the plate. The notion almost makes me laugh.

"Did you read your mother's medical report?"

I stare at my fork.

"She began receiving treatments this afternoon."

I stare at my spoon.

"And your sister had a checkup as well. Completely healthy."

I stare at my fork again.

A server places a plate with a sandwich on it in front of me. I lift the bread and inspect the turkey underneath.

He sighs. "You forced me to do it."

At that, I snap. "How did I force you to shoot your own soldier?"

"You have shown a complete lack of respect for me ever since you arrived. Then you pulled that charade in front of everyone, pretending that you couldn't heal a simple birds wing—you made a fool out of me. I had to do something."

"So you shot someone to gain... respect?" My face twists.

"Power is a delicate thing. As soon as they stop fearing you, you have already fallen."