Raze the Night (Nightstar Book 2)
Chapter 3

“I don’t like this, you know,” said Ain as he read their new orders over again for what felt like the hundredth time. They’d arrived a few days ago already, but they hadn’t left to act on them yet. He’d already mentioned not liking staying in Orinovo before, but he liked this even less.

Pushing the fight to draw out more of these experimented-on soldiers so they could capture and interrogate them? It didn’t matter to him what the point of this was—it felt like trying to conquer more of the country that they had no claim to and finding an excuse, no matter how much sense as a plan it made.

The parts they’d just taken from Orinovo were originally Lys-Akkarian territories. This was on a different level, and if the Bulwark’s signature wasn’t on the piece of parchment Ainreth was holding, he’d think this was all some ruse from Varilik. But he trusted the Bulwark to make a good decision. That woman was so sundering stubborn that Ainreth didn’t believe for one moment that she’d let herself be pushed into anything she didn’t agree with, especially not by the Herald.

“I’m not thrilled about it either,” Fenn grumbled in that adorable tone of voice he always used when annoyed. He was frowning down at the new orders over Ainreth’s shoulder, his arms crossed over his chest. Ain made the mistake of looking at him then, his mind flooding with things he shouldn’t be thinking about right now.

And sunder, dating Fennrin had clearly had an effect on him if Ain was thinking about what was appropriate for the moment. If this was before having met him, Ainreth wouldn’t have cared in the slightest. He’d be using all his seduction skills to act on those mental images, no matter what was happening.

“But it makes sense. If we can capture one of these…” Fennrin waved his hand, clearly looking for the right word, “man-made az-ari, then perhaps we can question them and find out where they are being made. And then we can simply destroy that facility.”

Ainreth was thinking the same thing, but that didn’t mean he felt any better about this as he nodded. “Really makes you wonder how they did it, doesn’t it? How it all works, in general.” Fennrin frowned at him, looking a little confused, and so Ainreth continued. “You know, the az-ari. Why are we the way we are?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve never given it much thought. I’ve always seen myself as lucky to inherit the power of a lightweaver, to be descended from that line, and that was that. But now with Orinovo somehow giving people these powers—even more than one at once—it really makes me wonder where it all comes from.”

Fennrin stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable, which usually meant there was a lot going on just below the surface. “Maybe once we find the place, we can learn how they did it.”

Ainreth nodded. “Yeah.” That was probably the best option they had. Perhaps they would find out something about themselves in the process. But Ain also couldn’t help but wonder if they would end up regretting finding out.

He frowned at a sudden commotion outside, throwing the orders onto the table and strolling to the entrance to their tent to stick his head outside, only see the worst possible thing—that misborn Varilik, riding on his horse right toward them.

Oh, the moon hated him. Ainreth would have simply stayed in the tent, let Varilik do whatever he wanted far away from him and Fenn, but if he was coming to them, there was no way to avoid it.

“What is it?” asked Fenn, making Ain go back to him with a sigh.

“We have a visitor. Unfortunately,” he grumbled, folding his arms and staring at the entrance, waiting for the Herald to show up, which he did a moment later, clearing his throat just outside after a thump of him presumably getting off his horse.

“General, could we speak?”

Ain rolled his eyes, kind of hating that Fenn didn’t look nearly as irritated as he should. He didn’t seem pleased, exactly, but even just his neutral expression was too much for Ainreth. He was sure Fenn would recognize how much of a sleazy misborn Varilik was one day, but until then, Ain would suffer greatly.

“Sure, barge in here.”

The Herald did, clearly unaffected by Ain’s complaining, which wasn’t surprising, but it also wasn’t going to stop him. If anything, it encouraged him to keep trying to get a rise out of him. Making Varilik irritated was difficult, but it was also satisfying.

“Good afternoon,” the Herald said, looking at Ain first with a completely neutral expression before his eyes turned to Fennrin. And then he sundering smiled at him.

And to make things even worse, Fenn smiled back. It was a very weak sort of smile, but he was still smiling, and that was awful. And Ainreth couldn’t even say anything without seeming unreasonably controlling. He couldn’t just tell Fenn who he could and couldn’t talk to, and he didn’t want to do that, either, so he supposed he just had to suffer in silence.

“Any reason we’re honored by your esteemed presence?” Ain asked through gritted teeth, to which the Herald responded by narrowing his eyes at him.

“I merely wanted to congratulate you on your quick, sweeping victory over Orinovo,” he replied, his tone perfectly even and calm. “It is mostly due to the two of you, so it felt appropriate.” The misborn was smiling at Fennrin again, forcing Ain to keep himself calm. “I think we both can agree, general, that we can especially thank Fennrin for your success here. It’s through him that this has all been possible.”

Never had Ainreth been so infuriated by something he absolutely agreed with.

Fenn meanwhile blushed hard, staring at Varilik with shock. “W-what? No, I just help.”

The Herald huffed in amusement, shaking his head a little. “My dear Fenn, when will you stop being so humble and accept the praise you deserve?”

And again, Ainreth couldn’t believe he was agreeing with Varilik of all people. Fenn deserved all the praise he got. He’d heard some grumbling from his soldiers about how both he and Ainreth are seen as heroes simply because of their powers, and sure, it was true to some extent, but that didn’t mean they didn’t work just as hard as everyone else. And Fennrin wasn’t even a soldier—he’d had a few months of training.

So yes, Ainreth agreed completely with the Herald. And he couldn’t help but glare at him for it. That, and calling him my dear Fenn. Fennrin was Ainreth’s, by the sundering sun.

“Er, sorry, sir,” Fennrin said, making it sound like a question. As if he wasn’t sure what he should be saying. And it made Ainreth even more angry with Varilik.

“No need to apologize,” Varilik said, raising a hand. “Though I’m surprised that our favorite general’s bravado hasn’t rubbed off on you even slightly.”

Ainreth narrowed his eyes at the Herald, knowing him well enough to notice the slight change of tone on the word favorite. And the less Varilik talked about rubbing, the better.

“Is that bad?” Fenn asked, and Ain really wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t listen to a word the Herald said. But he held his tongue, not wanting to cause another scene for no reason. Fennrin hadn’t been happy with him last time, and he wasn’t going to risk a repeat of this.

“Of course not,” Varilik assured him brightly. “It is quite charming, in fact.”

Fenn blushed a little while Ainreth gritted his teeth. “Is there a point to this visit of yours?”

“Aside from congratulating you?” Varilik asked, his voice perfectly even, but there was a hint of annoyance in his eyes. “Yes, I also wanted to thank you on behalf of all the people you freed from Orinovan oppression. I’ve been following a few days behind your army, meeting with them, making sure they are provided with aid. They are all very grateful you helped them.”

The Herald looked at both of them with what seemed to be genuine pride, which made Ainreth very uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to anything positive from this man aimed at him. It made him deeply unsettled.

“It is quite wonderful,” the Herald continued. “So many families will be able to reunite now that we have taken back what is rightfully ours. And it’s all thanks to you.”

Fennrin was smiling, Ainreth wanting to join him but still too unnerved by Varilik complimenting and thanking him so genuinely to do so. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“We are very glad to have been able to help,” said Fenn, bowing his head quickly.

“Again with the humility,” the Herald said, chuckling. “Would you mind if we talked for a moment, Fennrin? Alone?”

Fenn immediately looked over at Ainreth, which of course that misborn Varilik used to his advantage immediately.

“Surely the general doesn’t get to decide that for you, does he?”

Ainreth glared at the Herald, hate burning within him. “No, of course not. Go ahead, Fenn, if you want to talk to…him.”

Ain wanted to pat himself on the shoulder for managing not to insult Varilik directly. Fenn looked at him strangely, clearly picking up on something going on, but he followed Varilik out of the tent, leaving Ain alone.

What was he supposed to do now?

Well, as he always said, when in doubt, bother Petre. Ain had been meaning to come see them, anyway. He’d checked on them right after the battle, just to make sure they were all right, but he’d been meaning to go check on them properly later. And this was as good a time as any.

Walking out of the tent as well, Ain was both relieved and displeased by the fact that he couldn’t see Fenn and the Herald anywhere. But he didn’t go looking for them. He didn’t trust Varilik at all, but it would make no sense for him to hurt Fenn in any way. Not to mention that the Herald couldn’t touch Fennrin. The shadowforger could snap his neck in half a second if he wanted to.

Satisfied with that rationalizing, Ainreth set off, knowing how to get to Petre’s tent from here fairly well, given that they always tried to set up their tents in the same places relative to each other, and as his second in command, Petre was always nearby.

Ainreth almost barged unannounced into their tent immediately, pausing only because Petre had yelled at him for it before. So instead, he cleared his throat. “Um, anyone home?”

“Come in,” called Petre from inside, sounding a little absentminded. Ainreth pulled the tent open curiously, wondering what was up, only to find Petre with their glasses on and that little friend of theirs, Enlin, sitting on the ground playing a card game.

Well, that certainly explained why Petre wasn’t paying their full attention to Ain. Enlin waved at him when he came in, smiling so genuinely that it almost surprised Ainreth. Usually, of his soldiers, no one was this happy to see him.

“Want to join us, gen—erm, Ainreth?” she asked brightly, blushing a little. Ain chuckled, pleased that she was respecting his wishes and remembered not to call him by his rank, even if belatedly.

“Sure. What are you playing?” he asked, sitting down next to them, looking the cards over curiously. They didn’t look familiar at all. And it wasn’t only the drawings of strange animals on them that confused him, it was the writing as well.

“A card game from Harena,” Petre explained without looking away from their cards. “It’s been a bit of a challenge to translate the rules, but I think we are playing it right.”

“Harena?”

As a general, Ainreth had to know some things about their neighboring countries outside of Orinovo, but given the fact that to get to those countries one either had to cross Orinovo enough to get to the sea and then sail to them, or even worse, go over the mountains and hope for the best with death being a pretty likely result, it didn’t seem very useful to think about other countries.

Harena was very large and had a lot of deserts, with their main source of income being trade with other countries and that all Ainreth had retained.

“Where did you get that?” Ainreth asked, tilting his head. “Also, since when can you speak…” Ainreth paused, wondering what the language of Harena was called, “Harenan?”

Petre snorted, grinning at him. Ainreth scowled at being mocked, but there was no force behind it. He liked to see Petre smiling. “The language is called Iramin.”

“That makes no sense.”

Enlin put a hand over her mouth as she clearly tried very hard to pretend she wasn’t laughing at him. But Petre did nothing to hide their own opinion, shaking their head at Ainreth with a raised eyebrow.

“And I can’t speak it, exactly. I know some words and phrases.” They frowned at Ain. “How do you not know this? You come to me with all your translation needs for the army. And I won’t even talk about the things you’ve made me translate for you personally.”

Ainreth raised his head pridefully, thinking about his many steamy romance novels, despite Petre’s clearly disdainful tone. “Hey now, that translation of Shaft of Light is selling like mad in Orinovo. I’m sure it would sell even better if their government wasn’t trying to censor that book.”

Enlin stared at Ain in shock, her eyes blown wide as she turned her eyes to Petre. “You translate books written by Ainreth? Ainreth writes books?”

“If you want to call them books.”

Ainreth scoffed. “You kids just don’t appreciate fine art.”

Petre sighed, shaking their head while Enlin stared at Ainreth in awe, her still wide eyes excited. “I assume you write under a pseudonym? Have I read something by you?”

Ain chuckled, leaning in closer to her. “You tell me. Have you picked my masterpiece, Heat of the Moment?”

Enlin’s whole face went red as she ducked her head, brushing a hand through her short hair. “Um. No?”

“You didn’t,” Petre said in disbelief, sighing long and loud while Enlin grimaced.

“A lot of the other soldiers were talking about it. I wanted to know what was up,” she explained, grimacing, her face still bright red. Ainreth couldn’t help but laugh at that. Yes, he remembered that period. He’d enjoyed it a whole lot, just listening to people talking about his book without them knowing the author of it was their superior. Though he hadn’t enjoyed some of the snooty attitude some of them had toward it.

They could write their own book if they thought Ainreth’s writing was so bad. They’d find out just how hard it was.

Hah. Hard.

“Well, at least now you know my suffering,” Petre said, their somber act failing as they grinned a little, clearly unable to stop themself. “I had to translate two of those monstrosities.”

“I thought it was good,” Enlin said, shrugging, making Ainreth nod at her in appreciation before pointing at her and looking at Petre instead.

“See? At least someone here can recognize worth.”

Petre rolled their eyes, huffing a laugh. “Sure. At least you pay well.”

Ainreth scoffed, pretending to be insulted. “As if I could ever pay my little guy too little for their hard work. What kind of man would I be, then?” He shook his head dramatically. “Anyway, would you be willing to translate another book once it is done?”

Petre gave him a blank, unamused look. “You mean the one I saw on your desk about a dark-haired general and a blond, skinny man who is definitely not Fennrin?”

Enlin threw her hand over her mouth in an effort to muffle the way she burst out laughing, staring at the ground as her laughing fit doesn’t stop. Ainreth scowls at Petre as they too start laughing.

“The character’s name is Nirnnfen, I’ll have you know!” he argued, huffing as he shook his head, the two continuing to laugh even harder than before. Ain folded his arms over his chest, though he was having a hard time to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching up. “Completely different person.”

Petre nodded in an exaggerated way, gasping for breath. “Right. Just don’t let Fennrin hear about it.”

Ainreth chuckled. “Well, he hasn’t found out about my mysterious second career yet. But I’m sure he’d be very supportive if he did. He’s so great.”

A love-struck smile on his face, Ain immediately started daydreaming about him and Fenn holding hands, which put him in a sour mood right after because it made him remember that Fenn was currently talking with blighted Varilik.

But he was sure everything was fine and they’d be together soon enough. He just hoped that Fennrin recognized that the Herald was an asshole sooner than later, so this could stop happening. Ain couldn’t keep pushing, knowing that if he did he’d just end up looking paranoid and biased, so all he could do was hope. And it annoyed him.

“So anyway, since we have some downtime, how do you play this card game?”

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