Fennrin is a shadowforger, a type of az-ari who have mastery over shadows. But all it's ever brought him is misery. People are afraid of the power that he himself barely understands, seeing his shadows as omens of bad luck and death.
Forced to bare...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Ainreth was in a horrible mood. Not even the threat of war on the horizon could make him as annoyed as traveling with the blighted Herald over any distance, let alone one as long as this. He just kept glaring at nothing as they rode their horses along the road with around ten more soldiers, rolling his eyes ever so slightly when Varilik said anything, especially when talking to Fenn.
Fenn himself seemed quite happy to talk to Varilik, and it made Ainreth's blood boil. He didn't want to be that kind of boyfriend to tell his partner who they could and couldn't talk to, but why couldn't his liri hate Varilik as much as he did? It would make things so much easier.
But as irritating as this trip had been, they were going to reach the border by today's evening, and that was all Ainreth cared about. He should be looking forward to likely battling Orinovo less, but he couldn't help but make light of it. With Fenn at his side, he felt unstoppable. He had at some point heard rumors about Orinovo attempting to figure out how to stop his rays of light from burning their soldiers, but even if that were true and not simply propaganda, how were they possibly going to get rid of their shadows?
It was thoughts like this he clung to whenever he thought about fighting another war. He hadn't even properly taken part in the last one, having fought in it only during its last year, and even that had been far too much for him, even as relatively invulnerable as he was against average soldiers. But he'd seen how strong Fenn was time and time again. There was no way they would lose. They would show Orinovo and its insane queen that Lys-Akkaria was and would remain free, no matter what Orinovo tried.
"And you do this every year?" he heard Fennrin ask Varilik from where the two of them were in front of Ainreth. He narrowed his eyes, scowling at the genuinely interested tone Fenn had used. Nothing about the Herald was interesting. Nothing.
"Yes, I always look forward to it," Varilik replied in a stupid, smug tone. "I have considered making these trips twice a year, but alas, my duties to our nation keep me quite busy." A short beat of silence followed, almost making Ainreth hope that this was over, but then Varilik spoke again. "I heard you lifted a tower bell all by yourself?"
Ainreth scowled at the impressed tone. He was impressed too, still, and as far as he was concerned, Fenn should get all the recognition and compliments under the sun, but not from Varilik. It always seemed as though the older man had some kind of angle. Petre had called Ainreth paranoid for thinking that already, but he couldn't shake it. Everything the Herald said seemed calculated, always.
But what could he be trying to achieve by complimenting Fennrin? Perhaps to get him to like the Herald? Turn Fenn into another general for him, the way he'd done to Ain, even though Fennrin had expressed no desire to even become a soldier? Whatever it was, Ainreth didn't like it.
"Yes, it was...surprisingly easy," said Fennrin, hesitating, as if he was afraid of looking as though he was bragging. Which, even though he wasn't, he would be completely justified in doing. Fenn could brag for days, as far as Ain was concerned. He'd earned it already.
