Crown of Iron (Book 1 of the Crown Trilogy)

Seven

For hours, we follow a narrow path, gradually inclining through a dense forest. When we break free of the tree line, it feels like days have passed since the sun last touched my skin. I squint against the light and take in a trail leading straight to a clearing with a wooden fence and rustic buildings. Clashing of metal, laughter, mumbled conversations, and an array of animal cries fill the wide-open space. It reminds me of a small blacksmith community I once visited with my father.

"Hold on a second," I say to Leif.

He stops his horse and turns in his saddle. "Are you all right?"

"I just need a moment to get my head on straight."

With a roll of his eyes, Leif mutters, "Oh, now you want to be sensible."

I ignore his playful jab and turn my attention to Basecamp. Men and women go about their day dressed in shades of brown and green, and armed soldiers keep watch on wooden towers overlooking the treetops. The army is less refined than the king's guard, and every one of them appears frightfully lethal.

I curl my lips between my teeth and ask the Statera for guidance and strength. It's rare to encounter someone who serves in the Lucent army. Everyone knows once you choose the life of a soldier, you are not likely to come home. And the ones who live a long life find it hard to leave behind the camaraderie they find within their camps. My father has been an exception to the rule, acting as a liaison between the frontline and Micah. The bond between soldiers is impenetrable, and I question if I can effectively wiggle my way in.

My quest would be easier if I could tell them who I am. These men and women not only protect our people but serve the crown. If they knew I was their future queen, they may jump at the opportunity to help me rescue my father. I can't so much as tell them I'm the general's daughter, let alone their next ruler.

With the odds are stacked so high against me, I doubt I'll ever overcome them. But I won't fail from a lack of trying. I will do everything in my power to win these men and women over, and I'll do it as their equal.

Leif clears his throat, and I glance up to find several soldiers looking our way, including the ones with their arrows notched in the towers. I pull my hood over my head and urge Nortus forward. Leif steers his horse in step with mine, and we ride to the entrance.

"Captain Stone," says a hefty man with a silky black braid to his waist. "Your friend is not welcome beyond this point."

I shoot the gatekeeper a sidelong glare, and Leif says, "She's not my friend; she's a recruit."

The large soldier, in a sleeveless shirt, rubs his huge bicep and smirks against his bare shoulder. "Well, I wish you luck, little lady."

The patronizing tone of his voice heats my skin, and I fight the urge to dismount Nortus and prove his assumptions about me wrong. "Keep your well wishes, soldier; I don't need them," I say. The words flow from me with the authority Borin spent years teaching me to radiate.

He snorts and turns back to Leif. "I can take her to the general."

I grip my reins and shift in my saddle. The new general—my father's second in command. Our meeting was imminent; I just didn't expect it so quickly. I've barely thought of what I'll say to him...how I'll persuade him to allow me to join his regiment and help in the search for my father?

Leif shrugs and spurs his horse through the gate. "It's all right; I'll accompany her to her assessment."

I wait until we are out of earshot and move Nortus alongside Leif. "Assessment?" I whisper.

"You didn't think we just take on anyone who comes to our gates, did you?"

"Well, no, but what's he going to want me to do?"

"Each higher-ranking officer has their own way of testing a future soldier—traits they believe make for a strong unit. Since you are at Basecamp, you'll have the honor of being assessed by the general."

Leif leads me to the back of the camp where a stable made of wooden slats and a thatched roof stands. We dismount our horses, and he takes them to two empty stalls with full troughs of food and water. He removes Nortus' saddle and tosses it to me. I stumble back and carry the heavy, engraved leather to a hook on the wall.

"What traits does the general find important?" I grunt, hoisting up the saddle.

Leif brushes his horse's mane and says, "A strategic mind, expertise in weaponry, pure and utter obedience." He looks back at me with a raised eyebrow.

I scoff and lean against the railing of the stall he's in. "I can be obedient. I've spent my entire life doing just that, and I can learn the rest."

"Let's hope your father's successor feels the same."

Leif walks with confident steps out of the stables, and his pace doesn't slow as we come to the dirt street. I struggle to keep up and wear the same stoic expression as him. This differs greatly from the Leif who strolls the streets of the capital. He doesn't stop to kiss the knuckles of attractive onlookers or spare a flirtatious wink. The only acknowledgment he gives to those around us is a curt nod. And unlike my best friend, who is comfortable in all situations, I feel like a lamb thrown into a den of lions.

I'm met with scrutinizing glares and whispered exchanges. Nobody seems to recognize me, but they appear intrigued by the new recruit Leif as brought. Perhaps it's my tailored clothes or my clean nails drawing their curiosity. Even after this morning's squabble, I'm in better shape than many of them. Dirt and even blood cake their uniforms, bruise and scrapes litter their skin, and dark bags circle their eyes. I can't help but wonder if they recently saw battle.

We reach the center of the camp where the largest of the wooden buildings stands. The hub is nothing spectacular—wooden slats, no windows, and a heavy iron door. We step inside and make our way down an aisle of occupied desks. Soldiers hurry through the room with notes in hand or focus on the maps and journals laid out before them. There is no talking, just the tapping of boots and the scribbling of pens.

Leif nods to a guard at the back of the building and leads me down a dimly lit hallway. Oak doors with branded plaques sit open on either side of us, and inside, the soldiers are hard at work. We turn down another corridor—this one slanting down into the bowels of the hub.

If I thought things were abnormally quiet on the ground level, I was sorely mistaken. This is the kind of place where people lose their minds, with only their thoughts to keep them company. The soldiers we pass don't exchange a word, and something tells me everyone conducts their business behind the steel doors and walls.

Leif taps his knuckles against an engraved door plaque—Captain Leif Stone. It's strange to know that my best friend has an important job that requires an office and desk. This is the boy who swims in the nude and cracks dirty jokes. I have a hard time picturing him buckling down to complete a serious job.

We stop in front of enormous metal double doors at the end of the hall, and without warning, Leif knocks.

"What are you doing?" I hiss, smacking him on the arm.

"Taking you to your assessment."

"Leif—"

"Captain Stone," he says, correcting me.

I release an exasperated sigh and say, "I'm not ready."

The doors click, releasing from the jamb, and creak open. The simple act sends my heart racing to break free of my chest.

"Well, it looks like you have no choice, recruit." Leif smiles and pushes his way inside.