Her hands were loosely clasped behind her back. Emerie’s were stiff, as though having just a muscle out of place could be taken disrespectfully.
There was no one else in the room with them, and the silence Wren forced upon them was long and uncomfortable. Especially with the waning, near-full moon highlighting her silhouette and casting a dark shadow over her.
“You are among the few who are an expert with a whip,” Wren factually stated without turning. “It’s not an easy tool to master.”
Emerie’s gaze darted down to the whip coiled neatly at the woman’s hip. It was different than the generic version that other guildmembers were given, as it had a singular thread of blue within its plait.
When Wren dipped her head ever so slightly to peer at Emerie from the corner of her eye, she stiffened further.
“That is correct,” she answered, despite having not been asked a question.
“You are to join the team of Elders who are currently readying themselves on the floor below. You will join them outside of the gates.”
Her brows twitched to knot, but she quickly managed to stop her confusion from fully forming. I don’t understand. She nodded, before stepping back to do as she was told.
“Halt.”
Emerie stood straight once more.
Shit. Wren had noticed her facial twitch, and her hawk-like gaze pierced all the way to Emerie’s centre as she examined her.
Her feet were silent as she drew away from the window to fully face Emerie, and a mirror threatened to stare back at her. They had no blood relation, as made apparent by the fact that Wren was much paler than her and lacked that scattering of freckles. She also had dark chestnut hair in comparison to Emerie’s usual orange nest of knots, but much about them was the same.
Their blue eyes were similar, their busty statures were the same, and even the scarring on their faces mirrored each other’s.
It’d always been difficult for Emerie to look at the impression of her own appearance on Wren. From her forehead, down the right side of her face, all the way down to the visible part of her neck, Wren had the webbing evidence of a burn scar. Emerie’s was on the left and was almost identical; both of their scarring showing signs of going lower down their bodies.
Even the singular claw mark splitting their bottom lip was the same, just on opposing sides.
For the longest time, Emerie had wondered if that was the reason the Head Elder had taken an interest in her. Given that they were also both excellent whip bearers, obedient, and outwardly cold – although that was a farce on Emerie’s part – it was like she was looking at an older version of herself.
Did Wren feel the same way, just in reverse?
There had been whispers that Wren was looking into her replacement, who would train under her until her death or when she stepped down. She was egotistical and political; it wouldn’t be an unjustified assumption that Wren would replace herself with a potential younger version.
“I give you the freedom to speak.” There was a calculating glint to her icy-blue eyes.
“I don’t mean to be disobedient, Head Elder, but whip bearers are rarely needed on invasions. The best tool to use at the fortress is a spear, and we have the advantage of having a large number of soldiers and a wall. Whereas a sword is for ease of movement on assignments, and whips are usually a last resort against Demons.”
“Usually you would be correct,” the woman answered, before drifting back to the gaping window. Rain began to pitter-patter against the ledge softly, but loud enough to echo. As if to punctuate her next words, a beastly roar faintly thundered in the distance. “However, our foe is not a Demon.”
If it’s not a Demon… And since that sound definitely couldn’t belong to a human bandit, that meant…
Her lips tightened, not in fear but in realisation.
Lightning struck within the grey clouds.
A Duskwalker.
“The fight has begun.” Wren’s face hardened. “Someone made a foolish mistake.” When Emerie made no comment, choosing not to interrupt the woman’s musings, Wren eventually chuckled. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve sent your companion to be fodder.”
Emerie’s body language made absolutely no change, and Wren’s humour brightened.
“Good. Your attachments aren’t deep.”
“Whatever you order is for the best of the guild. I would never question your decisions.” The lie fell easily from Emerie’s lips.
Bryce meant a lot to her, even if he unwittingly made her feel like a cheap hole to be fucked every once in a while. They’d shared other pleasant memories and had saved each other’s lives numerous times. They had problems, but not enough to truly deter her… she didn’t think. Or was she just being stupidly hopeful?
Even if she didn’t outwardly show it, Emerie was exceptionally self-conscious of her damaged appearance. The scars on her face and neck weren’t the only ones she bore, and there were many others that went soul deep.
She was also missing a chunk out of her. Although she’d willingly done it, had made that choice, it still lingered in the back of her mind that she was incomplete – and therefore unlovable in the long term.
Bryce was a chance for her to find some form of companionship along the hard road she’d taken. The fact that Wren had purposefully put him in harm’s way just to test Emerie didn’t sit well with her, although she had no other choice but to accept it.
With an unfeeling expression, Emerie waited to be dismissed, hoping their conversation would end. There was much she wanted to say, but couldn’t, wouldn’t.
“How’s your fear these days?”
Wren was aware she was going through a recent bout of trauma and mental recovery.
“It’s managed. Once my wounds healed up, I remembered why I stopped being afraid in the first place.”
Wren nodded, appearing satisfied with her answer. “The Elder’s team you have been assigned to will have your whip ready. Be careful in the rain, Emerie. The creature will have the advantage.” Then she inclined her head towards the door. “You may l–”
Just as she was about to thankfully be dismissed, hurried footsteps pounded up the staircase. The person didn’t wait for permission to enter, and knocked into Emerie as he passed her.
“Wren.” He stood in the same position as her. “The Duskwalker has begun its attack.”
“What happened?” she asked with a lack of ire. “I told everyone to hold off on the attack until our whip bearers were ready.”
“One of our bowmen accidentally unleashed an arrow into its chest. It grew enraged and tried to scale the wall.”
“Idiots,” she bit in return. “What Duskwalker is it?”
“It has a beak, that’s all I know.”
“The raven.” She spared a glance at Emerie, before shaking her head. “The winged one won’t be far away. They never travel without each other. It’s likely lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to push through the gates. Double the foot soldiers, don’t allow them through.”
“Understood, Head Elder.”
The man left.
“You.” Emerie didn’t think it was possible, but her back straightened further. “Tell the leader of your unit that I no longer care if it’s alive. Two will be difficult for you to battle against, but I want one of them. I don’t care which one, and I no longer care if it’s dead so long as I have one.”