True to what Sothin Marche told Valentin, the warband under the banner of the boar departed from Gladaghol castle in the early light of the morning. Three field mice, garbed in armor and haggard from poor sleep, watched the massive force spill out from the confines of the castle over the course of the next couple hours.
It was only when the final cart disappeared over the horizon that the hidden trio scurried from the fields to enter the castle. Waiting inside were a small contingent of cavalry and Sothin Marche.
“Greetings, Young Master Guerros. How was your grass bed?” Sothin asked with too much mirth for such a morning.
The grumpy boy was not amused by the light jest that was provided to him. He only slept this night because it felt like his mind was being smothered into submission by his body’s weakness. Even then, it was not ideal resting conditions, and he awoke sore.
“I should send servants to cultivate this grass so I may use it as a mattress,” Valentin responded, stretching his arms over his head. He chose his words to appear as noble as he could to ensure the continued respect from the Marche brother.
Sothin laughed at the boy’s answer. “If I had known such luxuries were just outside the walls, I would have joined you. Come, join me for a meal.”
Valentin sat alone in a small room with Sothin. Before them was a simple spread of bread, dried fruits, cheeses, and fried eggs. Despite the mundane spread, the aromas that filled the boy’s nose made his stomach ache with hunger.
“It is too bad that I have nothing to entertain ourselves with in the meantime,” Sothin said disappointedly. “My Seren’s Strategy set is packed in the cart heading up the road. Do you happen to play?”
“Not as much as I should it seems,” Valentin replied, continuing to eye the food but not daring to make the first move. “I don’t even own a set.”
“Impossible,” Sothin gasped, grabbing a raisin and popping it in his mouth. “You must request some pieces of your own from the Matriarch of Guerros. It is unacceptable that a boy your age does not have his personal set yet. Let me write you the name of an artisan that lives in Corvello. His only profession is crafting custom pieces.”
Seeing the first morsel of food taken from the table by his host, Valentin descended on the meal hungrily. However, he did have enough presence of mind to not be brutish in his attack of the meal. Sothin seemed to cordon off his own planned portion early to prevent losing it to the greedy tyrant that sat across from him.
“You have an impressive appetite,” the man commented, ripping off a piece from his loaf.
“I have eaten nothing but rations for several days, even this is a major improvement,” Valentin explained, ensuring that he had stopped chewing before answering. “It does not take long to grow tired of salted meats and cheeses.”
“I will keep that in mind when I will be dining on similar staples,” Sothin replied.
Valentin chewed on a few more bites of his meal, contemplating Sothin’s words. He sopped up the remaining egg with his bread and made sure to swallow completely before continuing.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Valentin began, wiping his hands of any residue from his meal. “What is this war to the north that I’ve heard so many people refer to? Is there a civil war brewing amongst the northern realms?”
“This will not be a war of Strettians killing Strettians,” Sothin corrected. “With the permission of the Iron Gauntlet of Dolofeir, we are setting forth on a punitive expedition against the Fourteen Clans of Greater Torgen in Norzyet. It will be an arduous campaign that will promise significant riches to those that participate.”
“A punitive expedition?” Valentin asked with his head tilted to the side. “I’m surprised this isn’t bigger news.”
“I am surprised that word did not reach your ear. A rallying call was delivered to the noble clans across Strettia. Though I suppose that the Marshal of Verbosc would not have been moved to act or even find such an invitation worthy of speaking about. It is the lesser clans that have the most to gain through participation.”
“Were you sent an invitation then?”
“If we were, it was delivered to Forstier,” Sothin replied bitterly. “I was only able to learn of it after a chance meeting with Tiarna Eanna. I have committed my remaining thirty eight warriors and my little wealth to this cause. I have joined my banner with that of Sarcinel in the hopes of gaining an alliance.”
“I understand,” Valentin replied, earning a smile from Sothin. “Is it not strange that Norzyet is so willing to allow an army from a rival nation to assault their own people?”
“It is not strange,” Sothin replied, wiping his own mouth of crumbs. “The Torgen are to Norzyet as the Ampoli are for us. Unlike our own rebellious tribe who seceded and became isolationist, the Torgen clans raided any land that had a coastline. They have amassed riches from all nations, including our own, and their strength has been enough of a deterrent to keep them safe.”
“What gives us the confidence to perform better? Even if our warriors are of a higher quality, they have too many advantages,” Valentin asked, not seeing a way that this was more than a slaughter for his countrymen.
“This time, our forces will include a Storm Heir.”
Valentin’s eyes narrowed at Sothin’s answer. He had heard of Storm Heirs fighting in battles before in stories and histories provided by Cuin, but those battles were always directly in the name of the nation.
“If the famous clans have no interest in this mission, why would someone like a Storm Heir risk their life? More importantly, what High Tiarna would use them like that?” Valentin interrogated.
“The Echavin Clan of Croismor has two heirs. From how it has been explained to me, the heirs are split between two factions vying for power. Storm Heir Ilyssa Echavin represents the side that is currently losing. By achieving her faction a major victory, she will have more resources to draw from during the Choosing. In that way, she is much like the rest of the vassals that move to rally around her.”
In the moment, Valentin was unconsciously thankful that he was the only heir that Ferron was associated with. While competition is said to help young bodies sprout into more formidable versions, Valentin’s growth was too delicate and insecure to have survived its roots sapped by an adversary. A garden where he was the lone flower was the one that he would thrive most in, where care and attention was placed on him alone.
Ferron should never need a second heir.
“An unenviable position,” Valentin replied.
“It is a stress that trivializes my own,” Sothin agreed. “However, I think that stress and desperation is what we will need most in our leader.”
“Then I wish you luck on your journey,” Valentin said.
“Are you sure that you should be wishing me luck? I may return as your enemy,” Sothin quipped. “Then you will only have your blessings to blame.”
“Returning as my enemy will be the unluckiest thing in your life,” Valentin half joked in response, in an attempt to maintain levity.
The conversation from then on drifted to various things from the food of Sarcinel to the news from Verbosc. Sothin quickly brought the topic back to the topic of Seren’s Strategy. The man seemed keen on preaching his style of play to the novice player across from him. He spoke of formations and maps and the best units while Valentin tried to supplement the conversation with stories of the few games that he played. He made sure to omit the information that he was playing with his sworn enemies.
It grew to be late in the morning. Several hours had passed since the final cart left the castle and Sothin was beginning to look restless. Valentin could see that, somewhere in his heart, he was battling over whether or not he actually wanted Julianna to appear. As the time moved on, the turmoil only grew.
“Perhaps we should go for a walk,” Valentin suggested, rising to his feet. “The day seems nice enough.”
“An excellent idea,” Sothin agreed as he hopped up from his seat.
Without the mass amounts of people camping within it, the castle seemed more like a relic than a fortress. It had long since been robbed of all its richness and color, leaving only the dull bleached stones of the walls and buildings. The courtyard, trampled by the numerous feet of the warriors, served as a poor replication of its verdant past. The cobble walkways had long since been unearthed and moved somewhere else. Only a sparse community of dandelions provided the area with any color.
A pedestal sat in the center of the courtyard. The lower legs of a statue was all that remained fastened atop it. Whoever it was meant to be would remain a mystery.
While the main keep and courtyard still maintain some identity, the rest of the fortification was devoid of any indication of what existed there. The barracks and stables had long since rotted away, replaced by hitching posts installed by the most recent occupants.
It was those little hallmarks that remained from the previous occupants that gave the castle any sort of life. Once Sothin and Valentin left, even those signs would fade as well.
“Why did you stay here of all places?” Valentin asked, looking around the gutted structure.
“I have barely been here for twenty days,” Sothin answered. “I spent most of my time in Sarcinel and the rest in an inn in Galleat under a false name. It was only when I was told that we were soon to depart that I traveled here to participate in the strategy.”
“Ah, so that’s why the citizens of Galleat had never heard of you,” Valentin replied.
The walk quickly ran out of interesting scenery, so they moved to the wall to out towards the horizon. A sea of fields expanded in all directions. The land that once existed here had long been changed to feed the people that no longer lived here.
Sothin fished in his pocket and offered Valentin a small square of parchment that had been folded several times.
“Please take my letter to Julianna,” he requested, pushing the parchment closer to the boy.
“It is too early to hand me that,” Valentin declined. “Wait until Ortus has slumbered and I will take it from you then.”
“Do you believe they will arrive?” Sothin asked.
“I am not sure,” the boy answered honestly. “I was not the only person tasked with locating you. If your sister heard a credible lead from them first and pursued it, then my report would not have reached her in time.”
“I see,” Sothin said. If the man had wished to be encouraged, Valentin had not picked up on the que to do so.
“However, I do believe that your sister had a place she believed that you would be,” Valentin reassured. “If this happens to be it, then she will be here soon.”
“She was always clever like that,” Sothin added.
They stayed atop the wall, sharing a bottle of wine. There was little else to do and Valentin did not mind lounging under Ortus’ gentle heat. A firm breeze blew over the relaxed pair, the grasses below began to move like the sea. Waves of grass formed with every blast of wind that came from the west.
Valentin believed that he saw movement on the horizons, however, the movement of the landscape made him mistrustful of his eyes. He kept his eyes transfixed on the road, hoping that he was not deceived.
The movement began to take the form of several horses moving down the path at speed. Dust kicked from their hooves and was scattered by the wind, creating a brown haze over the eastern portion of the field. No banners hung above the riders to indicate whether friend or foe was making the castle their destination.
“Riders in the distance,” Valentin commented towards his lounging partner.
He looked to his left and saw that Sothin had finished the rest of the wine bottle without him and had taken to napping upon the warmed stones of the walls. Valentin felt a pang of jealousy of how easily the man had fallen asleep.
Valentin nudged Sothin with his forearm, yet the man did not stir. He nudged again, this time rougher and with his elbow.
“Huh?” Sothin sputtered awake from the depths of his nap. He wiped the drool from his mouth, looking deliriously in all directions.
“Riders in the distance,” Valentin repeated, pointing towards the road.
Sothin smacked his lips a few times and took a swig from his waterskin. Only after he had hydrated that his mind snapped into focus. He rose to his feet and leaned forward over the side of the wall to gain a better view of the approaching riders.
“Riders!” Sothin called down to his remaining warriors who reached for their weapons and scaled the walls.
Renne and Henriette also sprang into action, joining Valentin at his position atop the wall, spears in hand.
“Ours?” Renne asked the boy, glancing towards the road.
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“Can’t tell yet,” Valentin replied. “I hope it is, I want my clothes back.”
As they grew closer, Valentin believed he saw the hulking form of Ferron upon his massive horse. Some of the horses ran without riders, tethered to the ridden horses by ropes. One of those rider-less horses was a familiar bay horse loaded with saddlebags.
“It’s Ferron,” Valentin said confidently.
Over the next few minutes before the riders reached the wall, that assertion became all the more clear. The warlord stopped his horse at the gate. The jewelry woven into his beard glinted in the light. Behind him sat the figure of his strategist.
“We are here to meet with Sothin Marche,” Ferron announced.
“I do not recall inviting such an ugly and violent guest,” Sothin called back.
The jest carried enough levity to allow Ferron to laugh heartily at the jape. To Ferron, Sothin’s remarks were no more than the bitter words of the defeated. It was not worth the energy to elicit a reaction from the warlord.
“Sothin, let us in!” Julianna’s voice carried over the wall to the man.
“Yes, yes, impatient sister,” Sothin remarked, a childish smile crossed his lips. “Allow our guests in the front gate.”
The gate opened for the riders to be allowed into the castle grounds. It was a largely ceremonial act as there was a wide gap in the wall on a few paces around the left corner of the wall. The riders were led to the hitching posts to allow their horses a place to rest and they were brought in the direction of the keep.
Sothin and Valentin stood at the entryway to the keep to greet the guests. Valentin was uncertain why he was posed next to the host as he was a guest himself. He simply followed the lead of the man next to him.
Valentin suppressed his surprise to see that Maeve and Dacin returned with Ferron. Her desire to determine what happened to the spirits overpowered the side effects of being in too close proximity to them. He was close to questioning her before realizing he’d be ruining Sothin and Julianna’s touching moment.
“Welcome to Gladaghol Castle, sister,” Sothin greeted. “If I had known how difficult it was to reach me, I would have given you detailed directions.”
Valentin could see that, despite Sothin’s jests, he was using all his control to keep himself from rushing over to her. Was it a desire to keep up appearances in front of his warriors and a respected warlord that made him shield his vulnerable emotions?
“Sothin!” Julianna called out.
The strategist held none of the same emotional restrictions that her brother had placed upon himself. She ran into his arms, tears of joy beading the corners of her eyes. In the face of such unbridled joy and emotion, Sothin could not maintain his aloof front. The man returned the firm embrace and turned his face away from the onlookers to spare his image.
“C-come inside with me,” Sothin invited. “I feel that there is much to discuss.”
The siblings entered the keep with the remaining Marche warriors in tow. Only members of the Armée remained outside. Ferron and a pair of warriors that Valentin did not know the names of joined Valentin, Renne, and Henriette.
Maeve and Dacin seemed to be snooping around some open areas near the northern wall of the castle. He could see her making all manners of faces, even from a distance, as Dacin, loyal and clueless, followed her about.
“It appears that you have had an eventful experience as Deggan,” Ferron remarked in his signature, even tone. He closely inspected Maeve handiwork repairing the right side of Valentin’s face.
“Yes. Eventful,” Valentin answered, fortunate that Ferron used an ambiguous word to describe it.
“We will have Zalavo check you later,” Ferron said. “I would like to hear about it from you. But first, I would like to discuss what happened with your remaining companions. In the meantime, I have returned Vescal to you and I believe that you will be desperate to change out of your armor.”
The words were a symphony in the boy’s ears. Once the remaining warriors had made their way into the camp, Valentin quickly made his way over to Vescal. He placed his arms into the saddlebags and pulled the cloth contents from inside.
Looking to his left and right, he spotted a spot that was obscured from sight and moved his belongings to change. As each piece of armor was removed, he was lightened in numerous ways. His skin, smeared with sweat and grime, finally felt the cool air brush against him. Unfortunately for him, there was no wash basin around and he would have to soil his clothing with his reeking body. He felt unworthy of the niceties that he donned.
That was a problem for another time. Just as figuring out how to stow his armor was a problem for another time. He set his protection on some stacked stones near the hitching posts and found a comfortable place to sit down.
Valentin rested against a wall under the shade of an oak tree whose branches spilled overhead and offered a pleasant shade. Heat still radiated from the dirt from when the shadows were not protecting the space. He felt his body slowly unwinding in this tranquil environment. It wasn’t until the sensations of relaxation hit him that he understood just how much tension had existed inside of him. He had grown accustomed to it since the expedition started and the relief that he felt was akin to when one’s nostrils finally cleared after a seasonal illness.
It was under these conditions that a peaceful sleep smothered the boy. Without the worry of threats and responsibilities, his mind went quiet. There were no dreams born from this exhaustion induced nap. Only timeless blackness enveloped the boy’s mind.
“Valentin,” a deep voice rumbled the boy awake.
Valentin jolted awake to see Ferron standing a few paces away from him. He wiped the precious moments of sleep from his eyes and rose to his feet.
“Are you done with your other discussion already?” Valentin asked with a yawn. He leaned his body against the wall and scratched an itch on his face.
“It’s been almost an hour,” Ferron replied. “I’d like to hear your version of the story now.”
Valentin frowned. He was not looking forward to revealing to Ferron his innumerable failures during this expedition. However, it was pointless to attempt to lie to the man. There were too many witnesses to his impotent leadership.
So he told Ferron everything that had happened the past several days. He spoke of the deg’s disinterest in completing the task to his discovery of the silver to the fateful duel that lost him control of the deg. He spoke of his thought processes and his concerns, his endless dilemma over passively allowing the events to unfold and stepping in to prevent it.
Most importantly, he spoke of how he felt during his duel with Barth. How his attitude metamorphosed from attempting to would Barth into submission to outright killing him.
Ferron did not speak the entire time that Valentin went through his version of events. The man’s piercing eyes were focused on Valentin for the duration of the tale. Only the occasional nod or grunt was all that indicated to the boy that the warlord was listening to his story.
“What would you like to be done about it?” Ferron asked with a grave tone.
“What do you mean?”
“Barth disobeyed my orders and acted aggressively without cause and without foresight. He invoked a duel for leadership during an expedition meant to train you. His camp was found. So I ask again, what does such a man deserve?” The man questioned with a sharp tone and sharper gaze. His jaw was tightened with quiet fury.
Revenge was offered freely to Valentin. Barth’s swift comeuppance could be the violence needed to fix Valentin’s wounded ego. Initially, there was an unmistakable temptation to agree to this just to watch them suffer. Despite this, his mind did not show eagerness at such a suggestion. Instead, all he felt was deep dissatisfaction.
“Punish Barth for his disobedience as you see fit, Ferron,” Valentin answered with a frown. “But do not take action on my behalf.”
“And why is that?” Ferron asked with a curious tone.
“I cannot rely on your strength to earn the respect of the Armée,” he explained. “These past days have shown me very clearly where it is that I lack and where it is I must strengthen myself. I will never be able to right this wrong if you do it for me. It must be my own strength that they must fear.”
“An excellent answer. I see that this was not a waste,” Ferron complimented with an approving smile. “Since you have found Sothin Marche, what is it that you would like as a reward?”
Not even the promise of a reward stirred light in Valentin’s bitter disposition. The boy brushed away Ferron’s words with one hand and shook his head.
“Give the rewards to the warriors that stayed with me. I do not want anything.”
Ferron continued his grin. While the praise would have normally given the boy joy, he felt deadened. Whether that was his exhaustion or his disappointment, he was not sure. All he knew was that this ordeal had left him deeply dissatisfied with what he currently was. A greater and more urgent fire to improve was being stoked deep within his heart.
Maeve seemed to finish her search and stood under the nearby with Dacin. A complex look of contemplation covered her face.
“Did you learn anything?” Valentin asked Maeve.
“There were over a dozen spirits here as early as this morning,” she explained. “They all likely were under the effects of the talisman that we found. They were all lesser spirits, easier to transport and grow under the control of their captor.”
“I see,” Valentin replied, not fully understanding.
“Stranger still, they all seemed to be fire spirits,” Maeve explained. “They are a rarer and more destructive type of spirit. I’m still not sure why they need so many.”
“For war,” Ferron replied casually. “If there is a punitive expedition into Norzyet, then it is only natural to wish to use fire spirits to assist you. Of course, obtaining spiritual permission to do such a thing is another matter entirely.”
“I plan to report this to Elder Eudes,” Maeve announced.
“Was there something else wrong?” Valentin asked, seeing that Maeve’s expression had not changed. Her brows were still furrowed in thought.
“I’m not sure, but something felt familiar about it.”
“No, no, no, no, no! I knew something like this would happen,” Sothin’s voice echoed from the courtyard, attracting Valentin’s attention and ending the conversation.
“Brother, please, you mustn’t,” Julianna pleaded with Sothin, following the man out of the keep. “We’ve only just reunited.”
The pair passed Valentin and Ferron on the way towards the hitching posts. All of the Marche warriors quietly followed their displaced nobles, none wishing to step between the tiff between siblings.
“Yes, and I am grateful beyond words that this was able to happen,” Sothin responded, looking away from his sister in an attempt to prevent her from convincing him to cease his plan. “I have made an agreement with Catria Eanna. I have already committed coin and bodies towards this venture. I will not relent because you tell me to.”
“We should be working together, here within the borders of Strettia,” Julianna argued. “To go on this ill-advised campaign for the hope of money will leave you dead.”
“Do you have no faith in me at all?” Sothin spat. “Am I as good as dead whenever I am not following an idea that you approve of?”
Empathy welled within Valentin. As a fellow younger brother, he was no stranger to the conversation unfolding before him. While it would benefit him to have Sothin surrender and stay with Julianna, a strong part of him cheered for Sothin’s resolve to win out. It was to be a victory for younger brothers everywhere.
“That isn’t what I meant at all!” Julianna angrily rebuked, her frustration not hidden at all. “Why must you be so stubborn?”
“I must ensure that my love towards my clan and my convictions are both strong. To waver here is to show to everyone present that I will never be capable of reclaiming what we have lost,” Sothin replied, offering a quick glance towards Valentin. “If you wish for me to remain the brother that you know, you must not fight me.”
Valentin winced at Sothin using his words as an argument. Part of that was attributed to inspiring Sothin to disregard Julianna and continue his mission The rest stems from the embarrassment of hearing his words used in that way. It did not sound nearly as impressive as he had hoped.
A quiet chuckle from Ferron at Sothin’s statement made Valentin wish he had died in the duel. It was too much to bear.
“Please, sister,” Sothin cooed. “Let me go in peace. When I return with riches and glory, I will deliver us happiness once more.”
“I do not wish to spoil our reunion by separating from a fight,” Julianna relented, a pained look of defeat crossing her face. “But you must send me letters regularly.”
“Of course, of course. Thank you,” Sothin said warmly. “I will return home safely.”
The two held each other in one final embrace. Valentin turned away from the display of affection. It lingered for too long and created bittersweet emotions within him. He shoved the joy and jealousy and all that resided between away to the void in his mind.
Valentin saw Ferron raising an eyebrow of curiosity towards his reaction, but the warlord chose to keep his probing questions to himself.
“Valentin Guerros,” Sothin called out to the boy. “For creating the opportunity for me to meet my sister, I am eternally grateful. I can leave without regret.”
“It was just what I had to do,” Valentin quietly answered.
Sothin, without hearing the boy’s words, continued. “I hope that the next time we meet, it will still be as friends.”
“Me too.”
Though it was unnecessary to do so, Sothin Marche departed Gladaghol Castle. A brief wave from over his shoulder was all he offered before riding off at speed to join his distant war.
Watching the man leave made Valentin believe that, in a similar situation, he would have done exactly as Sothin had done. Living in comfort in the presence of loved ones is a frail existence when one has been robbed of their security. Valentin knew that he would only suffer if he had taken the offer to give up.
However, that did not spare him from witnessing the aftermath to those selfish decisions. Julianna, the abandoned sibling, quietly cried in front of the boy with her face held firmly in her hands. While it seemed cold, Valentin understood why Sothin did not look back.
“We should ride back to Galleat,” Ferron said, ripping through the emotional air. “There is no reason to remain any longer.”
“I agree,” Julianna responded, vigorously wiping the tears from her reddened eyes. “I do not wish to spend another moment in this ruin.”
After stowing away some of his armor in various saddlebags, Valentin mounted Vescal with the rest of the warriors and rode out of Gladaghol Castle. They rode at a trot, expecting to reach their lodging before night fell.
On horseback, the miles that they had spent in complete darkness days prior were traversed without much difficulty. The land that they passed looked unrecognizable to him. Large rocks and other landmarks passed Valentin. A large patch of Ortus Watchers peeked over the long stalks of grasses of the fields. If he stayed long enough, he could watch them twist to view Ortus’ fall.
When they reached the crossroads, he was surprised to find a fairly sizable village sat there. Livestock grazed on the grasses that they once walked through, the bells on their necks jangling with every bite.
They returned to Galleat without any issue. The town seemed to have already relaxed from the recent attack. There were no added guards at the entrances into town.
Ferron led the horses to a familiar inn off of the main road. There was a stable behind the inn where the horses were stored with an extra couple of silver flipped towards the attendant to provide them with extra care.
While there was nothing more that he wanted than to collapse into a bed, a rattling hunger in his stomach forced him to take a seat at Ferron’s table.
“How can I serve you?” A different barmaid from the previous visit arrived quickly towards the well-dressed patrons.
“Is there anything you want to eat?” Ferron asked the boy.
“Their braised pork is good,” Valentin replied impassively. At this point, even boiled leather would have been fine.
Using his arms as pillows, he slumped onto the wooden table. His face pointed down to obscure the lights around him. The act of sitting up was too much energy to expend at this point. He had to conserve if he wished to eat later. Ferron, much to Valentin’s appreciation, didn’t seem interested in rectifying the boy’s slovenly behavior.
It was only when the steaming plate of food was brought before him that he unfolded from the wooden surface. He blinked blank eyes at the meal and at the empty seat across from him. Without the patience to wait for his benefactor’s return, he began cutting one of the pieces of meat and placed the savory flavors in his mouth. It stirred him enough to continue his meal, but little more.
He had made slow but steady progress in his meal when Ferron sat back down in his seat. Joining the warlord’s table in one of the unoccupied seats was Julianna Marche. The woman offered Valentin a warm smile that Valentin could only weakly reciprocate.
“I wanted to thank you for your efforts in finding my brother,” Julianna thanked earnestly. “While I am disappointed that I will continue to be apart from Sothin, I am truly grateful that I know that he’s alright. That’s because you didn’t give up on him, Valentin, even when nobody else seemed to be trying at all.”
“You’re welcome,” Valentin replied curtly between bites. He wished that this could have waited for another time.
“I heard that you weren’t going to accept anything from Ferron for a reward,” she commented, trying to make eye contact with him.
“I succeeded at finding Sothin,” he agreed. “I failed at everything else.”
“I understand that you’re disappointed,” Julianna continued, a sympathetic look crossing her face. “You found my brother at personal cost to yourself. If you won’t accept Ferron’s riches, would you accept a gift from me personally?”
“There is nothing that I want in return,” Valentin rejected.
“Valentin,” Ferron’s voice, tinged with anger, boomed Valentin to attention. “I know you wish to accept responsibility for the results. That said, it is highly disrespectful to disregard someone’s desire to reward you.”
“I’m sorry,” Valentin apologized, mostly from Ferron’s admonishment. “I will accept your gift.”
Julianna handed Valentin a brooch fashioned in the shape of a flower. The petals were made of folded silver and three small crystals sat in the center.
“It is not much and it doesn’t suit you,” Julianna admitted with a weak smile. “But, I just wanted to give you something important to me because you gave me something even more important.”
He stared at the jewelry in his hand. Despite his aloof act and the exhaustion induced petulance, the boy felt the emotions behind the gift reach him.
“I’ll make sure that it finds a proper use.” Valentin fastened the brooch to his jacket, causing Julianna’s eyes to widen before softening.
“I’m glad.”
Valentin excused himself from the table and made his way up to his room. He collapsed onto his bed, allowing the mattress to envelope him in comfort. It was only moments between him closing the door to his room and falling into a deep, heavy slumber.