ravaged hearts

CHAPTER TWO,

RAVAGED HEARTS | CHAPTER TWO

LOUIS SANCHEZ HAD not spent much time in his hometown that didn't involve glancing over his shoulder every two seconds. He'd left when he was fourteen, when Vayante was partially taken over by neighbouring Melique. In the years that followed, he could count the times he'd stepped foot here on one hand, and the times he wasn't here on a mission numbered zero.

  Until now, of course.

  In a way, he was still in a state of disbelief that the war was over. Oh, there were temporary reprieves, of course. Like seven years ago, when the peace treaty between Melique and the countries it battled had been signed. But even then, everyone knew the war would continue on. Eventually, both sides would raise their rifles and pistols again, meeting each other on a blood-soaked battlefield.

  But this time... this time, it was permanent.

  And that both invigorated and terrified him.

  In the history books, they always spoke of children who were brought up by war. Who spent their lives living ration by ration, constantly hearing about fallen allies and friends. Who contributed every little bit they could to war efforts, praying nightly for peace. And when they grew, how they were affected and damaged and improved by the things they had to go through in their youth.

  It wasn't until recently he realised he was one of those children.

  Now, he walked away from the windows where the birds had been singing him a tune, giving him his daily report, and him whistling his message back. He stared at himself in the mirror as he adjusted his sleeve cuffs, making sure he looked alright for the evening's activities. He'd been summoned here for a reason, and he was quite certain he knew why.

  Vayante's future was in turmoil. It wasn't shocking anymore. These days, he barely batted an eye when that happened. It did not mean, however, that he could neglect his duties.

  Besides, agents from all over would be scrambling to Vayante after what had just occurred. Jenaro Bailen was the most promising and reliable out of all the candidates for president. He could not be taken out of the race.

  It mildly irritated him that they needed all these countries' interference for one bloody election, but he didn't have a choice. Vayante was still rebuilding from the effects of the decade-long war. It would be a while until it was fully self-sufficient. For now, they had to rely on the mercy and generosity of the other countries, while trying their best to keep them at bay in case they got a bit too close.

  It was like juggling a bloody circus act.

  They were managing so far. Had to. The fate of an entire country wasn't something you could just fail at. Especially when it was his home too. He felt responsible for Vayante, some kind of strange, unexplainable loyalty. Years working in Caershire hadn't changed that. The dirt of this land ran in his blood, and nothing short of draining him dry would make that different.

  He took one last glance in the mirror. He looked fine. Acceptably formal and well-dressed, yet low-key enough no one would pay much attention to him. Exactly what he wanted.

  He was no longer the youngest son of a Vayantean baron. Once upon a time, that title might have helped him. Now, it was nothing but a burden. He was just Louis Sanchez now, formerly Caershireen agent, now working tirelessly as an advisor for the newly established Vayantean Republic. Someone who'd made a name for himself.

  His flat was a pleasant and spacious accommodation, provided by the government. Louis had used most of his own wages in an attempt to rebuild his family's old manor. They'd been allowed to keep it. Their titles too, technically, even though it held not even a sliver of the power it once did. His family was still in denial over it, but they'll move on. If they didn't, they'd break.