of silver caught Tauran’s eye here and there. Messengers, or perhaps weather specialists, on their way to delivering flight reports and air pressure charts.
Tauran took a deep breath of the air inside the grounds and found it didn’t sting as much as he’d feared.
“Mister Darrica?” A young man approached, not a day over sixteen, and with an angry sunburn across his nose. He stared at Tauran with eyes wide as saucers.
“Yes?”
“Wow. It really is you.” A slow, slightly manic smile spread on the boy’s face, but then he caught himself and tried to adopt a more serious expression. “I’m a huge fan of yours, sir.”
Whatever Tauran might have said died on his tongue. Which Tauran was he a fan of? The man he’d been before? The man who’d lain broken and bloody at the foot of the Solar Tower? Or the man who’d never quite managed to leave that ruined place? Tauran swallowed. Keep it together. “What do you want?”
The boy flushed from chin to hairline. “Apologies, sir. General Landa is in his office. He can see you now, if it suits you. Sir.”
“It suits me,” Tauran said, and followed him across the open space to the rows of low buildings, trying his best to ignore the constant wide-eyed glances he received from over the boy’s shoulder.
The recruit left Tauran at the door. It took Tauran a moment to summon the courage to knock. A familiar voice called for him to enter.
The man sitting behind the desk was nothing like the man Tauran remembered.
Emilian Landa was barely thirty years of age, just a year or two older than Tauran. But in the years since they’d last seen each other, Emilian’s light brown hair had become shot through with gray. When he looked at Tauran, his eyes were haunted and hollow, sitting deep below a permanent worry-line between his brows. When they’d both been younger, serving together in the Sky Guard, the other teams had jokingly called Emilian the prettiest rider in the guard. Those features were still there, although overshadowed entirely by the sheer fatigue emanating from him.
“General Landa,” Tauran said, extending his hand in a gesture that felt far too formal. They’d been friends, once. Promoted on the same day, at the same ceremony, celebrated together. Just one week before the Battle of the Broken Wings.
“Emilian is fine,” Emilian said, and shook Tauran’s hand, although the touch was brief. “It’s... good to see you, Tauran.” His words were kind, but there was a distance in his voice, same as in his eyes. He didn’t smile.
“Congratulations on the promotion. General is a big deal.” Tauran took a seat in front of the desk when Emilian offered with a gesture.
“I was promoted two years ago. General Braxton’s health forced him to resign.”
Emilian looked like someone who might soon follow, but Tauran didn’t say that out loud.
“I can’t say I ever expected to see you back in Valreus. Are you sure this is where you want to be?” Emilian continued, pouring himself a glass of something that smelled rather strong. He didn’t offer Tauran a glass, and Tauran didn’t ask.
“I didn’t plan on ever returning,” Tauran said, honestly. “But here I am. And Falka said you might find some use for me. I can sweep floors, if nothing else.”
“I have no use for you sweeping floors,” Emilian said, in that same monotone voice. “But you have experience with the Ground Guard. One of my captains recently went on leave. You won’t be acting captain, but I’d like you to keep an eye on the recruits he was training. I have no one else to take them.”
“You have a lot of new recruits,” Tauran noted. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many greens all at once.”
“Yes,” Emilian said, as if the word itself displeased him. “Your group is twenty in total. They should all be gathered at the back of barrack seven. If you introduce yourself as Captain Tavius’ replacement, they’ll be on board.” He downed the rest of his drink and moved a stack of papers from his desk drawer to the table. It seemed to signal the end of their conversation.
“Thank you for your time,” Tauran said, and rose.
“One more thing.” Emilian picked a sealed envelope from the top of the stack and held it out to Tauran. “General Falka asked me to give you this. If it’s not an inconvenience, he’d like you to deliver it, since your apartment is close by.”
Tauran took the envelope and flipped it over