Lucan hit the dirt hard, elbow scraping stone as his legs gave out. The bile came next, the second time that week. His endurance and speed had been getting better, but he was still far from being athletic.
He rolled onto his side and groaned. Around him, the others kept running, sweat flying off faces, boots pounding earth.
"Already out of steam, huh? Well, that's one more lap than yesterday," a gruff voice called.
Lucan cracked an eye open. One of the older soldiers, he thought his name was Jorek, tossed him a waterskin. Lucan caught it weakly.
"Get the bile out of your mouth and get running," another shouted. "You're staining the dirt."
A few chuckles. Less cruel than before. Almost… friendly.
Lucan sat up and wiped his mouth. He felt like he'd been run through, but he drank anyway.
The waterskin was half-empty before he could stop himself.
Lucan stepped into the canteen. Earlier than usual.
He wasn't about to be late again. Not after last time, there had been no stew left, and he went to bed hungry.
The smell hit him first, sweat, broth, and spilled beer. But something else tugged at his attention. Subtle. Off.
He moved toward the serving line.
The usual serving woman, Ms. Isabelle, wasn't there.
In her place stood someone younger, with dark hair pulled back in a loose tie. She didn't speak. Just handed him a bowl, then some bread, her eyes flicking up to meet his, then darting away. She was avoiding eye contact.
Lucan paused.
He didn't know her. At least, he didn't think he did.
But something about her face pulled at him. He thought he had seen her before.
He frowned, took the food, and turned away.
At his usual corner table, the shadows greeted him. So did the stares. Same as always.
He sat, barely noticing the sticky wood beneath his forearms.
They still watched him like he didn't belong. Like he was an outsider pretending to wear armor.
Even after everything. Even after-
His spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.
That girl.
He had seen her before.
Not in the canteen. Not anywhere in the keep.
The riot.
She was there. One of the first to shout. To throw.
His eyes snapped across the room.
Another unfamiliar woman had taken over pouring beer. She smiled too much. Moved too enthusiastically.
Lucan stood so fast his chair scraped hard across stone.
"DON'T EAT OR DRINK ANYTHING!"
Silence.
Dozens of heads turned toward him, confused. Startled.
"She was at the riot," he said, pointing at the woman, his voice sharp. "I saw her. And her friend, I don't know who they are, but something's wrong."
Murmurs. Confusion.
Then a shift. Soldiers rising. Hands moving to hilts.
Across the room, the beer woman froze. Then turned to bolt.
Too late.
Rorik came out of nowhere.
He slammed her onto a table so hard it cracked.
"Who sent ya?" he growled.
No answer.
He yanked her back up and drove her down again. "WHO SENT YA?"
That was the spark.
Chairs flew. Voices rose. Men moved fast, wresting the stew girl's arms behind her back and dragging her to the wall. Someone shouted for a lock. Another cursed about Isabelle being gone.
And in the middle of the chaos, Lucan stood still.
The canteen hadn't settled. Voices rose, boots scraped. The two women were tied in the back, hands bound behind their backs, cloth stuffed into their mouths.
Lucan stood to the side, heart still pounding, as Thorne pushed through the door.
The captain didn't yell. He never needed to.
The moment he stepped inside, the noise pulled back. Men parted instinctively, the way soldiers did for someone they feared.
"What happened?" Thorne asked, scanning the room.
Lucan stepped forward. "They weren't supposed to be here. I recognized one from the riot. I think they tried to poison the food or drink."
Thorne's eyes flicked to the tied women. "Anyone eat yet?"
Lucan's stomach dropped. "Maybe. I… didn't see."
Thorne gave a tight nod. "It's alright. If it was poison, they'll want it to act slow. Subtle. We can fix that if we figure out what it is."
He didn't waste time.
Thorne crossed the canteen, boots thudding against the stone. The crowd opened again as he approached the prisoners.
He stopped in front of the younger woman, the one Lucan had seen first. The one from the riot.
She flinched as he loomed.
He yanked the rag from her mouth.
"I'll deal with you for the rest later," he said, voice flat. "But right now tell me what was in it."
She stared at the ground, lips tight, trembling.
Thorne's hand snapped forward and slammed her into the wall.
"I could do it, you know," he whispered as he leaned into her ear.
Quiet. Cold.
Her eyes widened.
"That'd be too easy a death, though. And you don't look like someone who was paid enough to die for a cause." He looked her over. "You look like someone who thought this would be simple."
Still, she said nothing.
"You," Thorne said, holding out a hand.
A nearby soldier fumbled to obey.
Thorne caught a dagger, then grabbed the girl's hand and pulled it flat onto the counter.
"Last chance."
"I-Ironshade," she gasped, words tumbling out. "It was Ironshade. Full dose. In the drinks, that's all I know."
Thorne let go of her wrist.
He turned, his voice like a blade. "Anyone who's drunk, hell, even if you just ate, to the infirmary, now!"
Chairs scraped and boots thudded as soldiers shoved past each other toward the door.
Thorne pointed sharply at a nearby man. "Get Physician Marlow. Tell him the poison's Ironshade, a lethal dose in ale and possibly food."
The soldier blanched and ran.
Thorne stayed where he was, breath even, gaze cutting through the silence now settling in the room.
Then he turned to Rorik, who stood nearby, arms crossed.
"How'd we catch it?"
Rorik thumbed toward Lucan. "He recognized that lass. Said she was at the riot. Put it together fast."
Thorne's eyes flicked to Lucan.
He studied him for a moment. "You saw her before?"
Lucan nodded. "Yeah. She was one of the first to start rioting. I thought I'd seen her face but couldn't place it. Then it hit me while I was eating. I wish I had remembered as soon as I saw her."
Thorne gave a small grunt. Not praise but acknowledgment.
"You still saved lives today," he said finally. "Tomorrow will confirm how many."
Then he turned and strode out, already giving orders as he vanished down the hall.
Lucan had turned back towards the rest of the canteen, and all the soldiers were staring as usual. But not the usual stare, these were different. They where nodding to him, had he finally gained their respect?