The Ivory Rite

Chapter 29

We come to a halt in front of the armory, catching up with Roye. The stone structure looms ominous, seeming out of place as the only solid building in the camp.

They need a place to secure all of the weapons, I realize.

My tour commences with Roye pointing out the various training areas and storage spaces inside the building. "This is the largest training ring we have," Roye tells me, ushering us through a doorway into a bright, spacious room.

My eyes are drawn upward to the high ceiling. It's made of glass, allowing natural light to spill in from every direction. Spinning in a slow circle, I stop facing the massive outer wall which sports more weapons than I've ever seen in one place. I don't even know what to call most of the sharp, threatening objects hanging in front of me.

Noticing a stain on my leather boot, I bend down to inspect the floor. I've stepped in a puddle of what appears to be blood, and I look over to Adair for an explanation.

"The men train hard," he says, shrugging. "Get this cleaned up," he growls, grabbing a small boy by the back of his uniform.

"Yes, Dara Belmont," the kid shouts, breaking away and saluting Adair before running off. There's not a chance he's older than seven or eight.

"How young do you recruit?" I ask, unable to keep the horror from my expression.

"Not that young," Adair concedes, after the boy is gone. "Boys like that don't hold rank. They're high born troublemakers, sent here by prominent families to be straightened out. They perform menial tasks until they're old enough to join the troops."

"I bet you've never performed a menial task in your life," I mutter, shooting him a look of disdain.

"I'm not surprised you think that," he says, his own look unreadable. I wait for him to say more, but the silence only expands.

I shift my attention back to the weapons. Taking a few steps toward the wall, I trail my fingers over a club with sharp spikes clustered on one end. Adair steps up behind me, bending down to talk in my ear.

"Did you honestly think that boy was a soldier?" he asks, not waiting for me to respond. "Don't you know how the military operates?" He keeps his voice down despite the fact that no one is standing close enough to hear us.

My back stiffens. I think about lying, but decide against it. After all, I'm probably going to need his help to fix the problem.

"Landon and I haven't exactly gotten to many of those specifics. We thought we had another year," I remind him. His answering nod is slow.

"Still, you're going to need an intricate understanding of military tactics in order to serve on Tricouncil." He looks troubled as he moves to my side, leaning one of his shoulders against a section of the wall where several of the weapons are missing. "Which you're already doing," he continues with exaggerated care, trying to catch my gaze. "How could this not have been a priority for you?"

"It would've been a priority for me," I snap, feeling defensive. "It wasn't a priority for Margret, who until quite recently had control over my lesson plan." I scrunch up my nose. "She was more concerned with the possibility of me embarrassing her in public by not knowing the proper way to sip at afternoon tea."

Adair snorts. "Yes, that sounds like her." He shakes his head. "She never showed much interest in any of this. I think she was happy to let my father make most of the tactical decisions." He takes a long knife off the wall, looking thoughtful. "She was offered weapon training, but only as a courtesy. No one expected her to accept."

"Weapon training? What do you mean?" I ask, reaching out and taking the knife from his hands.

"Wait," he says, grabbing my wrist. His touch is gentle now, nothing like the day I cut my hands at the Mart. He unsheathes the handle, revealing a second blade. "Double sided," he says, before replacing the cover and handing it to me. "Be careful."