Praetorian Rising, стр. 19

"Al'ri, gentlemen," Betty Anne barked at the group of men nearby. "I think yeh've had plenty of my finest mead for the moment. Sober up before I toss yeh on your arses out the door!" She was never serious about tossing anyone out—unless they criticized her cooking, and then they were shamed by the whole of Sierra Village and never allowed back.

"You gonna sic a Praetorian on us, Betty Anne?" one of the men cajoled, his lips splitting into a lopsided grin.

"Aye! Watch yeh backs, or I'll fetch my Praetorian," Betty Anne teased, before ambling back to Camille's side of the bar. The group of rowdy men clapped and yelled, but it quickly subsided into murmurs and slurred repartee. They were completely harmless, but Camille still had no doubt she'd see them leaving the prison the following morning. For those on the rundown side of town, it was easier to drink themselves into a stupor and hunker down in the jail than to freeze out in the open air.

Camille's ears had perked up at the mention of a Praetorian, and she squinted as Betty Anne wiped down the counter.

"Looks like somethin' cookin' away in that there lil' head of yours, dearie. Care to share?" Betty Anne prodded, sidling closer to Camille. Her raven hair shifted attractively over her shoulder, and despite the spider web of lines edging her eyes, Betty Anne was quite the attractive woman. Camille placed her somewhere in her mid-forties but couldn't be sure. Her sharp hazel eyes retained the most youth. Through a shroud of sprouting grey hair and blooming wrinkles, Betty Anne was a very young and vivacious woman at heart.

Camille swallowed an unusually large bite of food before her tongue was able to form the words on her mind. "How many Praetorians lived here in Sierra Village?"

Betty Anne stopped her circular rhythmic cleaning, her brow quirking into a sharp arch. "That's a hard one to answer."

"Why?"

Betty Anne inspected a tiny stain on her polished wood countertop, rubbing the spot repeatedly with quick circular motions. "To be honest, it's all speculation. They weren't the easiest to pick out o' a crowd. They were once Asperians, yeh know—looked just like yeh and me. There were a few signs, though—a few ways to see through their shield."

"How?" Jacob asked.

Betty Anne winked at him conspiratorially. "They never age. It's one way to tell."

"They don't age?" Camille repeated, a little shocked.

"From the day they turn, their bodies are frozen in time. They can neither age, nor be killed 'less someone really tries. I'd like to see someone come back from the dead once their head has been chopped off!" Betty Anne said, a rumbling boisterous laugh bubbling from between her cracked pink lips.

"Have you ever seen one before?" Brian continued.

"Oh yes," Betty Anne replied, clearly enjoying their rapt attention. "Once yeh recognize their patterns, they're hard to miss. There's speculation that some are still around, a few at least. Hungry eaters they are, wouldn't mind them stoppin' in for a heavy plate or three of food!"

"I can't believe it. Praetorians were here in Sierra Village," Brian said, face alight with awe.

"Absolutely. The High King needed to ensure a strong army against the intruders. I'm surprised your parents haven't told yeh. Not long ago, they were everywhere." Betty Anne shook her head wistfully and wove her long raven hair into a loose braid.

Red eyes and black, matted fur swam to the forefront of Camille's mind at the mention of intruders. She knew very well that Betty Anne spoke of the shadow beasts, and the question remained: why would the High King exile an entire army of unbeatable soldiers if those creatures were still roaming Aspera?

One of the villagers down the bar hailed Betty Anne away, but Camille's brain continued to speculate.

"I see the thoughts rolling around in your head," Jacob said with a frown. "Out with it."

"Would you turn away an elite group of protectors if there were threats of an intruder?" Camille asked, her focus on both the boys sitting on either side of her. Jacob shoved a hefty chunk of meat into his mouth followed by a thick pile of potatoes. His cheeks bulged out like a chipmunk hoarding his winter storage of nuts. He shrugged noncommittally and lifted his glass of mead to wash down the mash of food in his mouth.

"Well," Brian chirped up. "It depends on how dangerous the protectors were, no? Perhaps the Praetorians are the threat."

"Listening to Betty Anne talk about them that doesn't seem likely. I mean, to the everyday observer they would have looked like you and me. Why remove them? Doesn't it sound strange?" Camille huffed as her mind whirled with questions. "It doesn't seem like the Praetorians were the problem," Camille mused, stabbing a chunk of potato with her fork.

"It wasn't all of them that caused the exile; it was just one. That one Praetorian started the rift, and it rippled throughout the entirety of Aspera. Like a bad apple, you know?" Jacob said, licking the grease and butter from his fingers.

Camille scrunched her nose in distaste at the visual image of a crumpled rotting apple in a barrel of freshly picked red ones. Betty Anne's potatoes usually tasted delicious, but Camille's edginess began to make all her food taste like a thick paste. She choked the current bite down, then went to work on the fatty meat, hating the idea of wasting food. Jacob shifted in his seat as he peered at her from his peripherals. She could feel the heat of his glare, and it made her feel uncomfortable—asking too many questions must've been against their Asperian rules.

"Rules are rules," Brian chimed in. "We follow the law of our Holy King, Faeder. The High King was appointed by our Lord and carries out his teachings. It doesn't matter if just one person broke the law—they all had to be exiled. It's just how it's done."

"I hope you realize how ludicrous that sounds,"