Shockingly the rest of the day went by relatively smoothly, but Petre was certain that was about to change because it was time for dinner. If Clarith had gone to Ainreth to confirm that Petre actually was his second-in-command, then that meant she would no doubt spread that information around, and Petre wasn’t sure what kind of reaction it would get them.

It was certainly seen as a much less desirable position than being the second of any of the other generals, but it was still a position of power that some might be jealous of, especially considering Petre’s age. Then again, many of the people in their regiment had already tried to fill the role and had given up on it relatively quickly, so perhaps they would receive pity rather than jealousy.

Petre kept their head down as usual as they entered the dim main hall, the building that served as everything from a mess hall to a place for everyone to congregate for briefings and announcements. The building was full already, the noise of everyone talking drowning out everything else, which made it very easy for Petre to slip inside and take their place in the queue, their wooden bowl in hand. They ran their finger over the silhouettes of mushrooms carved into it. Petre had done that a long while back during one very uneventful day as a joke centered around the fact that half of what the soldiers ate included mushrooms due to Petre being able to grow them easily. But they did like how the bowl looked like this now.

Unsurprisingly, when it was Petre’s turn to receive their portion of soup, mushrooms were floating in the brown liquid. They wondered which ones the cook had used this time. Petre had grown several types for him, just to keep the taste a little varied, despite their difficult situation here more than a day’s travel on horseback away from any kind of village or settlement. The cook was another sproutkeeper, the kind that could control plants, which at least ensured some of the vegetables were fresh.

Petre sat down at one of the tables, ignoring everyone around them, but they barely managed to put the spoon of the steaming soup to their mouth before someone sat down next to them a bit too roughly, making them spill the soup back into the bowl.

“Is it true you’re the Daybreaker’s second now?” came the excited, very loud voice of Enlin. Petre sighed, looking over at her as she brushed her short, dark hair off her face. Enlin was basically the only person they talked to on a regular basis, though not entirely by choice. Enlin and Petre had joined the army around the same time, they were both similar ages, and so Enlin had inserted herself into Petre’s life. Not that they minded, though they wouldn’t mind if she were less loud.

Everyone around Petre was now looking at them, of course, thanks to Enlin’s outburst. Wonderful. So much for staying unnoticed.

“Yes,” Petre admitted, staring down into their soup even as everyone around them started talking at once, their voices blending together.

“No fair!” one of the soldiers sitting on the opposite side of the table cried. “I’ve been here longer. I should have had a go by now.”

“Maybe our dear general doesn’t like you,” the woman next to the soldier mocked him, which prompted a series of insults being flung around.

Petre sighed again. They were going to get a headache at this rate. Everyone was always so loud. “I don’t know why I was chosen. Ask Captain Fyr-Kyntar, she came to me with the offer.”

The soldier who had complained first laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, no way. She’s scary.”

Petre frowned at him while everyone around them laughed. They would never have thought to call the captain scary, just very stoic and hard to read.

“What?!” came a shout from the other side of the room. Petre gritted their teeth, staring back down at their soup. They knew very well who had said that, and they wanted nothing to do with the man. Hantyr was the person who tended to harass Petre the most, and they wanted none of it right now.

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But of course, as usual, Hantyr didn’t care that Petre hadn’t gotten to eat yet.

“This weakling of a traitor is now the Daybreaker’s lieutenant?” Hantyr sneered as he came over, now standing behind Petre. Petre didn’t react, finally taking a sip of their soup just to busy themselves with something. They couldn’t taste it though, their tongue only able to take notice of how uncomfortably warm it was. At least their food wouldn’t go cold before Hantyr finally left Petre alone, so they could eat.

“Sweet, merciful moon, would you shut up and go away, Hantyr?” the man sitting next to Petre said, glaring up at Hantyr. Petre appreciated that someone was willing to stand up for them, but they were too used to this happening that they could barely feel anything other than tiredness.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that it’s the Orinovans getting all the good spots?” Hantyr asked, his voice dripping with venom. “Since Varilik took over—”

Petre was springing up the moment those words left Hantyr’s mouth. They hadn’t even meant to do it, the sheer power of their pent-up anger bringing them right into the conflict. They wanted to take it back the next second now that they were standing there, staring up at Hantyr who was over a head taller than them, but Petre stayed rooted to the spot. “The High Herald is chosen by vote. He didn’t take over. Please, take your conspiracy theories somewhere else.”

Hantyr stared at Petre for a second, his gray eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly covered it up with an amused smirk. “Well, well, the little boy has some kind of spine after all. Kind of.”

“Just leave them alone, Hantyr,” Enlin snapped, though she sounded too concerned for her words to have the necessary strength behind them. Petre appreciated it, anyway.

“I’ll leave him alone once he goes back where he belongs.”

Petre almost punched him then, their fists clenched at their sides, but they managed to keep their arms where they were. If Petre escalated this, they would be the one getting punished. That was what Hantyr wanted, after all. It had worked out for him before. Petre wouldn’t give him the satisfaction again.

A few more people voiced their protests at this, insulting Hantyr, but the man was unaffected, his hand shooting out to Petre’s wrist all of a sudden, so fast Petre couldn’t react in time to stop him from grabbing their bracelet and pulling it off their wrist.

“Why would a real Lys-Akkarian wear something like this? Huh?”

Petre glared up at Hantyr, barely resisting hitting him. But aside from fury, fear was now also spreading through them. They couldn’t lose the bracelet. It was a gift from their great-grandmother, and they treasured it. “Give that back.”

Hantyr raised the bracelet over his head, making the metal charms clink against each other, his smirk growing even sharper than before. “What, too short to reach?”

Petre felt something in them snap. But before they could strike, a blinding flash of light flew over their head, hitting Hantyr in the eyes. The man went down with a painted shout, his hands thrown over his face.

With wide eyes, Petre stared down at Hantyr for a second in shock before whirling around, only to see Ainreth walking over to them. And while that would explain the light, Petre didn’t quite understand why Ainreth had done this.

“Thousand suns, I think I’m blind!” cried Hantyr, blinking as he rubbed his eyes, his lips drawn into a horrified grimace.

“That was hardly one sun, not a thousand,” Ainreth grumbled, folding his arms over his chest as he stopped next to Petre, frowning down at Hantyr. There was no hint of amusement or humor in either his voice or his expression. “Be glad it’s very temporary.”

Then Ainreth looked at Petre, one eyebrow quirked up. “Does this happen a lot?”

Petre shrugged, but Enlin was more than ready to give her opinion on things. “Yes, sir, though it’s usually not this bad. And—”

“Meet me in my tent tomorrow morning, Petre.”

Petre nodded, wanting to ask why but felt somehow too intimidated to. They weren’t even sure why, but they couldn’t get a word out right now. Not when they thought about what had just happened properly. Ainreth had just attacked a soldier on Petre’s behalf. That wasn’t allowed, even when a general did it. Even though there were very few people willing to report the Daybreaker for anything—and even if they did, Ainreth would likely not face any punishment—Petre was still stunned that Ainreth had done that for them.

They certainly couldn’t remember Ainreth ever doing something like this before.

“Someone get him out of here, please,” Ainreth said as he stepped around Hantyr. “And get me some schnapps.”

As some of the other soldiers helped Hantyr on his feet, Petre quickly picked up their bracelet, pulling it onto their wrist again and tightening the straps. Maybe it would be easier just to not wear it in public, but that felt like a betrayal of their family.

With their shoulders low, Petre sat down again, finally getting to eat the soup. If only they could taste it over the chaos of thoughts in their head.