Chapter 3 #2
‘I took no such vow,’ Thea replied bitterly, her body tensing. ‘I just —’
Wren’s hand found her arm and squeezed it. ‘It wasn’t your fault Evander turned out to be a prick.’
‘A complete moron,’ Ida chimed in.
A guilty pause followed before Sam nodded. ‘A world-class twat.’
Thea’s chest warmed at their unified front when it came to the stable master’s apprentice, but she waved them off. ‘That was years ago now.’
Sam shrugged. ‘He’s still a twat.’
Thea forced a smile, but her shoulders sagged at the memory.
‘I have no interest in warriors. You already conceal your beauty with men’s clothing and mud…
I liked you as an alchemist. But if you’re going to mess around with weapons and run around like a boy…
Not to mention tempt the prophecy…’ Evander had told her when she’d confided her dreams to him, the world slipping out from beneath her.
It had ended in a blur of anger and confusion.
She had shed her tears on the clifftops with her sister and then put the experience behind her.
The only vow she’d ever made had been to herself, one that had seen her dedicate herself to the way of the Warswords as best she could.
As for lovers, there had been others since, fleeting moments in the dark, but they were all the same.
Evander and the rest were nothing but scared fortress boys, not men, and as Wren had told her: ‘A true man won’t cut you down as you fight your battles, nor will he fight them for you.
A true man will help sharpen your sword, guard your back and fight at your side, in the face of whatever darkness comes. ’
None of them had fit that bill yet.
All around Thea, her cohort talked excitedly. Hawthorne’s return wasn’t the only one being discussed. A popular unit of warriors had returned from dealing with a threat south of the winter kingdom of Aveum, and the women were eager to note the changes in them on the next table over.
‘Raynor’s chest has certainly broadened.’ Samra smirked, wiggling her brows.
‘You’d hope so,’ Ida retorted. ‘There wasn’t much there to begin with.’
Wren laughed. ‘Don’t be unkind. He’s barely twenty. A little young for Sam’s tastes anyway,’ she chimed in, pouring another cup of ale.
Sam flicked her cherry-red hair over her shoulder and put a hand on her chest in mock pain. ‘You wound me, Wren.’
‘What about you, Althea Nine Lives? See anything you want on the menu?’
The dried blood on Thea’s cheek itched as she narrowed her eyes at the nickname their friends had given her after years of recklessness and close calls with the guild’s laws. Today not included.
Althea Nine Lives . She had always hated it. For one, it made it sound like she were the stupid youngster of the group… Two… She liked to think she had more than nine lives.
She helped herself to another serving of stew, not allowing her gaze to stray to the Warsword at the head table. ‘No. Besides,’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘Why should I be interested in anything other than the brief physical benefits?’
Sam snorted. ‘If they’re brief, you’re doing it wrong.’
‘It’s just a bullshit distraction. Amidst the work with Farissa and Audra, training and the rest, there’s no room for some simpering boy, not even on the side. I have too much to do, too much I want to achieve…’
And little time to achieve it , Thea thought. While the others had a lifetime ahead, she had three years and by all the gods in the realms, she wouldn’t squander them.
‘My purpose is singular —’
‘Ah yes, your purpose …’ Wren shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose like some long suffering elder.
‘They’ll never let you be one of them, Thea.
Not in a million years. Isn’t it time you dropped this and accepted your lot like the rest of us?
It’ll only land you in trouble or worse.
We still contribute to protecting the realm.
There is still honour in the work we do. ’
Thea bit back a retort about alchemists and scribes and took her sister’s cup, draining it. ‘You can go back to talking about boys now,’ she said. ‘Or girls,’ she added, with an apologetic nod to Ida.
‘You’re too kind,’ Ida replied drily.
Wren snatched her drink back and refilled it.
But Thea’s attention was already elsewhere… On the Warsword with silver eyes at the head table.
Thea swore at the chill as the young women returned to their sleeping quarters, the hearth cold.
With complaints from the others growing louder by the minute, Thea and Wren worked to light the kindling and build up a roaring fire.
Thea sighed as warmth spread to her fingers.
She stretched out her hands only to pull back sharply as something shot through the air towards her —
A small blade used for opening bottles embedded itself in the timber floor by her foot.
‘What in the realms —’
Another came flying at her.
Thea dodged. ‘Sam!’ she shrieked. ‘Enough!’
But she knew better than to stand idle. On her feet now, she leapt from one spot to another as more sharp projectiles rained down, hitting the wall and floor with rhythmic thuds.
It was a game they had adapted as children from watching the boys in the courtyard; a Thezmarrian contest to develop quick reflexes.
Of course, it was forbidden for girls to play, but Samra had always argued that because they were using alchemy tools rather than the traditional steel stars or daggers, no rules were being broken.
‘I also just like throwing things at Althea,’ she had said time and time again.
When the girls had hit their teenage years, they had also added an element of dance.
Ida insisted that some day, they might need to attend a ball, or a wedding and none of them knew how to be light on their feet.
Thea had never had the heart to tell her the unlikelihood of such events, thus, the game, ‘Dancing Alchemists’ was born.
Their sleeping quarters, and the girls themselves, bore the scars of the contest from over the years, though it had been some time since they had played. Work and the drudgery of every day had a way of robbing the quiet joys from life.
‘Fuck.’ Thea narrowly avoided a severed toe. ‘What are you playing at, Sam?’
Samra shrugged and threw another pointed tool. ‘You were chomping at the bit for some action, Althea Nine Lives… Thought I’d oblige you.’
‘Don’t test me… You know what will happen. You’ll regret it.’
‘Come on… I’ve got three left,’ her friend said, brandishing the knives.
With a frustrated noise at the back of her throat, Wren tried to snatch the remaining projectiles from Sam. ‘Farissa was looking for those!’
But Samra paid her no heed, instead, she flung the blades at Thea, one after the other in quick succession.
A thrill raced through Thea and she danced.
It was the most natural feeling in the world.
She spun gracefully, ducking and weaving, moving her body like water, all the while swiftly collecting the weapons.
It was a skill she had honed deliberately, knowing that against bigger opponents, she’d need to leverage her speed and agility against their strength.
When the last of them left Sam’s hand, Thea gave her a wolfish grin.
‘My turn.’ She flicked her wrist with masterful precision and the small blade was a blur through the air before —
‘Thea!’ Sam shrieked as the knife sliced through the lower half of her cherry-red ponytail, embedding the chunk of hair in the wall behind her.
‘Furies save us,’ Ida muttered, head in hands.
‘What?’ Thea said innocently. ‘You’ve been harping on about how you needed a haircut.’
‘I’m going to kill you…’ Sam threatened through gritted teeth as she yanked the blade and her hunk of hair from the stone.
‘I’d like to see you try.’
Sam stared at the severed tresses and then fingered the end of her now cropped ponytail, shaking her head. ‘You’re insane.’
‘Or incredibly skilled.’
‘Or both,’ Ida offered.
‘Definitely both.’ Wren confiscated Farissa’s tools from her.
‘You should have known better than to challenge me at Dancing Alchemists,’ Thea argued.
Sam was still shaking her head, but her anger had softened. ‘Classic Thea,’ she muttered. ‘Doesn’t want to be a woman, but she dances better than all of us.’
With the excitement dying down, Thea’s hand went to the thin scabbed-over cut on her cheek, the sound of the arrow whistling through the air echoing in her mind. She had the feeling that Dancing Alchemists had saved her life earlier.
Wren caught her gaze, her eyes full of questions.
Thea shrugged, what Wren didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and all in all, it hadn’t been a terrible day.
It wasn’t until she reached for her nightgown and kicked off her boots that the realisation hit her. Thea’s hands froze at the buttons of her tunic, her dinner turning to lead in her stomach, cold suddenly washing over her despite the glow of the fire.
Her dagger was missing.
And she knew exactly where she had left it.