Page 83 of Marked

“Before we met. I looked up to her and it was just the two of us for so long.”

I swallowed, knowing the feeling. It had been Paul and I against the world when we were on the streets, when it was just the two of us. Sometimes, I missed that time when we were so close, I knew what ran through his head without him saying a word. I missed that closeness. Now, I missed him even when he was in the same room.

The rift started when I found my familiar and grew once he started working for the royals. Despite trying to keep him close, we kept growing apart, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t even know if there was anything to fix or whether this was just part of growing up. I didn’t like it, though. It stung, and I wanted my brother back.

I cleared my throat. “What happened to her?”

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how feral people have become in their desperation for food and supplies especially during harsh winters and how some are overprotective of what they view as their hunting grounds.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. He didn’t need to elaborate. With that short statement, I connected the dots and figured out how he’d lost his sister.

“This all happened when I was a young boy. I vowed that day when I found her with three arrows in her chest that I would become a hunter to make this world a safer place for people like my sister. That’s why I moved to Perga.”

“You never said anything. At least not to me.” How had he kept all that to himself? Sure, he was fourteen when we met, but he’d gone through his teen years grieving alone.

“I didn’t want to voice a dream,” he said. “It felt as if speaking it out loud would somehow make it even more insurmountable.”

“Yet, you’re here.”

He raised his pint. “I’m here.”

I ran through his words again. “What do you mean people like your sister?” Did he mean young, female, both? Something else? I had to know.

“Weak,” he said. “I don’t mean that in a negative way. Some people are too soft for this hard world.”

I nodded, knowing what he meant. I’d seen enough soft individuals on the streets. They never lasted long. “So, you became a hunter to protect the weak?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever thought about using your knowledge and expertise to teach the weak to protect themselves?”

Ace’s head snapped up. He narrowed his eyes as he studied my face.

I shrugged and took another sip of ale. “I’m not being flippant. And I’m definitely not trying to give you shit. It’s a genuine question. Given your skills with a bow, I think you’d be quite good at it.”

“You’re also good with a bow. Why have you never tried teaching?”

“Well, that’s easy enough to explain.”

Ace waved his hand at me to continue while he drank more beer.

“I didn’t get into hunting for the same reasons as you.”

“And what were your reasons?” Ace asked. “Most galeons like to flock to the city and kiss the king’s ass to live in splendor.”

“You want to hunt to protect weak humans. I hunt to protect the forest from weak humans.”

Ace chuckled, the pinched expression on his face fading away as he relaxed. “You’re such an idealist.”

“And you’re such an asshole.”

That earned me a true laugh. His gaze brightened and he leaned forward. “Tell me, Mouse. Do you still hate me?”

“Of course. You’re arrogant, rude and over-estimate your significance.”

His smile widened. “I’m beginning to think you don’t hate those things as much as you want to.”

I waved his comment off, but deep down, I worried he was right. “We were born to hate each other. I’ve made peace with it.”