Page 109 of Shattered Stars
Winnie groans. “I guess you’re going to have to make do with one of Nonny’s designs then.”
“I’m sure Rosa’s creations are far better than anything we could buy in a shop.”
“Hmmm,” Winnie says, examining a halter neck dress with a lot of fake flowers pinned round the neckline.
39
Spencer
A week passesand I fall into the routine easily. Up at the crack of dawn for physical training in the yard, breakfast in the mess hall, then duties – mopping and cleaning the barracks, scrubbing the washing, inspecting the weapons – combat training in the afternoon, dinner, lights out and try to sleep with the boom and blasts of real battles somewhere out there in the dark.
They won’t let me out there yet. I’ve asked – pleaded often enough – but out here it doesn’t matter who my family is, doesn’t matter I won Arrow Hart the Cross-lantic cup. I’m just a new recruit like all the other new recruits and despite our training and study at the academy, they aren’t prepared to put us out there to fight yet. I’ll have to wait.
Instead, I’m here outside, cleaning windows, slapping cloths against murky panes of glass, washing away grime and dirt. The frigid wind sweeps in from the West, bringing the stench of fire and burning. But it’s eerily silent today. No booms, no blasts, no fighting. Although something in the distance, something faint,and barely discernible – the crack of wings? – has me twisting my head to squint against the low clouds out in that direction.
What’s it like out there in the West? It’s where they pushed the dark forces all those years ago, during the war that formed the republic. I’ve been told for as long as I can remember it’s a barren place, a sinister place, a dangerous place. But all I see, squinting even harder, is trees and scrubland disappearing all the way to the horizon. It’s not how I imagined it as a kid. No black clouds hovering over the land, no dead trees, no forest of thorns. I scoff. I read too many fucking stories as a kid.
“Are you scheduled a break, soldier?” a deep voice says, and I turn to find one of the commanding officers scowling at me.
I give him the obligatory salute. “No, Sir.”
“Then why the pause? Keep it up. This isn’t the academy. There’ll be no maids to follow after and do this for you.”
I nod and return to my walk. It’s not the first time one of the commanding officers has alluded to my privileged lifestyle back home. They seem to think I’m incapable of hard work, despite all the times I’ve shown them how hard I can work out there on the training ground.
I drop my cloth into the water. It’s tepid now and I warm it with my magic, swishing the cloth around in the bubbles and slapping it against another window. Of course, this could all be done in mere minutes if they let me use my magic but I guess that’s not the point.
The commanding officer stands watching me and then I hear the pound of boots, another officer coming to stop by his side.
I drag the cloth over the glass, dragging the dirt and scum along with it. The commanding officers converse in tense, low voices and I strain my ears to listen, watching them in the reflection of the glass.
They don’t tell us a thing out here. I feel like I knew more of what was happening when back in the capital.
“Any news on what the scouts found?” the first one asks the second.
The second shakes his head. “The major’s keeping the information close to his chest.”
“What do you think that means?”
The second one drops his gaze to his boots. “It can only be bad news, if it were good, why not share it?”
The first one chews on this, quiet for a moment. “There’re rumors among our soldiers of a weapon.”
“There’ve always been rumors like that.”
“But have you ever known the major to send scouts into their lands?”
The second shakes his head again and together they walk away.
A weapon? I haven’t heard rumors like that among the new recruits. But then hardly anyone talks to me and we’re not at the front. Perhaps the rumors are yet to spread to us.
I smooth the wet cloth against the window, water racing down the pane.
What the hell could it be?
I lieout flat on the lumpy bunk, staring up at the ceiling where the plaster’s cracking and listen to those distant booms. I think of my brother. Think about how he died. About what happened to him. They say he died a hero’s death – at least that’s what they told my parents. But there’s never been any more detail than that. And no one treats me like the brother of a hero. In fact, most people give me a wide berth, ignoring me as best they can.
It makes me think of the pig girl. Of how they treat her back at the academy. Maybe I’m beginning to know how that feels.
