The last drop of wine lands on my tongue before I pull the bottle away and hold it at my side. “Isn’t this a little counterproductive for you guys?”
Lu looks over. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m technically your enemy, and you’re training me to fight.”
Judd nudges me slightly, but I flinch because I’m already bruised up from all the hits I didn’t block. He notices and grins. “You’re not our enemy.”
...Yet.
I hear the unsaid word from all three of them, an unspoken question that hovers in the frigid air, freezing into something solid but untouched.
“Why are you doing it, though?” I press. “If you know I’m going back?”
To him. Going back to him.
“I guess we’re just waiting to see how this plays out, Gildy Locks,” Lu says vaguely.
“You’re not ready for us, anyway,” Osrik says. “You can’t even take a little tap to the shoulder.”
I whip my head to the left to glare at him. “It was not a little tap.”
He shrugs. “You need to toughen up.”
No argument there.
“So, are you three the only members of Rip’s Wrath?” I ask curiously.
“First the enemy talk, and now you’re trying to suss out our secrets?” Judd asks with an arched brow.
I quickly shake my head. “Sorry. I was just curious. You don’t have to answer.”
He hums. “Enemies are usually much better at espionage than this, aren’t they?”
The other two nod in agreement.
My steps falter. “No, I swear, I’m not—”
All three of them laugh, cutting me off. “We’re just fucking with you,” Lu tells me.
I let out a breath of relief. “Oh.”
They chuckle a bit more...but I notice that none of them actually answer my question.
The four of us crest a shallow slope and then cross into the camp, still noisy with soldiers carrying on around their fires, crude tavern songs being sung from deep bass voices.
“More training soon, Gildy,” Judd calls.
“Yeah, and be better at it,” Osrik says.
I see Lu elbow him in the gut, hard enough that the monolith actually grunts and rubs his stomach.
With a smile, I break away from the three Wraths, feeling oddly energized despite how badly I just got my ass handed to me. With an idea sparking in my head, I veer away from my original direction and go in search of Keg.
I find him at his fire of course, but he’s done serving for the night and is propped up against a nearby tent with a harmonica at his mouth.
He’s blowing out a tune I don’t recognize—one that lilts, hard to keep up with his quick breaths. There are a dozen or so soldiers around him playing dice, but when Keg sees me, he pulls the instrument from his lips.
“Ho, Gildy!”