Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
T hea stared at the Warsword, realising too late that Audra had already cantered off back in the direction of the fortress.
‘Why you?’ She tried to keep the rising anger from her voice.
Of all the escorts she might have had, she was stuck with the one who had opposed her the loudest?
The one who had stolen her dagger and tried to have her kicked out of Thezmarr?
To her frustration, she noticed that when he wasn’t scowling, the lines of his face softened and there was no denying that he was handsome.
But her appreciation was fleeting because his scowl returned with a vengeance. ‘The Guild Master likes to remind me of my place from time to time.’
Thea’s brow furrowed. ‘What does that mean?’
But Hawthorne pinned her with a glare and turned his horse towards the rolling hillside, not deigning to respond.
‘Why aren’t we taking the Wesford Road?’ Thea squeezed her mare’s sides with her heels and followed, clenching and unclenching her teeth.
‘Because, Alchemist , there are faster ways to Harenth and I, for one, don’t want to waste more time than necessary on this tedious escort.’
‘My name is Thea ,’ she bit out before she could think the better of it.
‘Like I said,’ the Warsword eyed her warily. ‘I don’t want to waste time.’
But before Thea even had a moment to process his disdain, he was off.
Cursing him, Thea followed.
The sun rose high above the midrealms as they rode hard through the outer lands of Harenth, leaving the moody skies of Thezmarr far behind.
Despite the surly company, Thea drank in the sights like a parched vagabond.
The dipping hills and valleys were carpeted in luscious, long grasses, a different world from the jagged edge upon which the fortress sat.
For a time, they followed one of the many rushing rivers that carved through the verdant lands, heading east, and Thea realised with a start that this was the furthest from the fortress she’d ever travelled. She wished Wren was here to see it.
The hilts of the Warsword’s twin blades glinted in the sun and she found herself staring at his broad, armoured shoulders with heated resentment, his harsh words from the council room echoing in her mind.
What had she ever done to him? His refusal to speak made her all the more aggravated, stewing in the silence.
That he was ever-so-slightly attractive only made matters worse.
A tapered back of defined muscles or not, the man himself was a barbarian.
By late afternoon, they still hadn’t stopped to rest, and Thea’s entire lower body was throbbing.
Her back ached, her tailbone felt bruised, and her inner thighs were burning.
Not that she’d complain. Not in a million years.
Though, she was concerned she might not be able to walk when she eventually did dismount…
Her stomach gurgled; she hadn’t eaten anything all day except a chunk of bread she’d swiped from the kitchens on her way to meet Audra.
It wasn’t until the sun dipped behind the hills that Hawthorne brought them to a halt by the edge of a river.
‘We’ll camp here for tonight,’ he said, the first words he had spoken in hours, jumping down from his stallion in one graceful motion.
‘Right,’ Thea replied, her voice croaky from disuse. She waited until his back was turned before she attempted to slide from her saddle. When her boots hit the ground, her legs buckled and suddenly she was falling.
Large, warm hands encircled her waist, drawing her upright and steadying her. Heat radiated from Hawthorne, his fingers brushing her hips, his towering body only inches from her own.
Thea’s pulse quickened, and a thrill stirred beneath her skin, as did her awareness of every point at which they touched, at which they might touch.
Hawthorne peered down at her, his gaze firm and intense, as though assessing her.
Flushing, Thea drew back, praying that her legs would cooperate. ‘Thank you.’
The Warsword’s hands fell away from her in an instant and he shouldered a quiver of arrows and a bow, turning towards the nearby woods. ‘I’ll hunt,’ he told her. ‘You rub the horses down and start a fire.’
‘So in other words, women’s work.’ The remark flew out of her mouth before she could think.
To her surprise, a fleeting glint of amusement shone in Hawthorne’s eyes and he held out his bow to her. ‘By all means, you catch the dinner.’
Thea’s cheeks reddened.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Hawthorne scoffed.
Thea took a bold step towards him. ‘Show me how.’
‘I’m not here to be your teacher or hold your hand. Tend to the horses. Start the fire.’ He stalked off into the woods.
Thea swore.
‘I heard that,’ his reply sounded from the trees.
Thea inhaled the crisp air, allowing herself two minutes to let her anger subside, along with her curses about the insufferable man before she set about her tasks.
She ignored her screaming muscles as she removed the heavy saddles and tack from the horses and rubbed them down.
Hawthorne’s stallion was enormous and she had to stand on a boulder to reach certain parts of his back.
The beast was gentler than she expected, even nuzzling her shoulder as she led him and her mare to the river to drink their fill.
Thea watched, longing to throw herself into the water and scrub her sticky body clean.
She could feel the grime of the day’s ride caked onto her skin, and she knew she smelt like horse and sweat.
But there was work to be done and she refused to rest until Hawthorne did.
If he didn’t believe she had what it took to be a warrior of Thezmarr, she’d damn well show him.
She left the horses to graze in a nearby clearing and started gathering kindling for the fire.
Part of her still couldn’t believe where she was, let alone who rode with her.
And then there was her destination to consider, the Heart of Harenth - King Artos’ palace, where she would petition to join the shieldbearers.
Thea searched for the best spot to build their fire, settling on a position near the edge of the woods, but close enough to the river.
She took rocks from the riverbank and created a rim around the base layer of sticks she’d collected, and placed the kindling on top before scouring the ground for stones to light it with.
The last of the daylight was fading and with the right rocks in hand, Thea crouched by her handiwork and hit them together.
Her whole body ached and she wanted nothing more than to lie down in the dirt and sleep, but her persistence was rewarded with sparks shooting down into the kindling.
She blew air into the lit embers and, finally, it caught alight.
She stoked the fire, feeding it larger logs, ensuring it would continue to burn.
‘Who taught you how to make a fire?’ came Hawthorne’s voice as he strode into view, his bow and quivers over his shoulder, two dead hares hanging from his hand.
‘You thought I couldn’t?’
‘Why would an alchemist know how to camp in the wilderness?’
‘So you were setting me up to fail?’
Hawthorne shrugged. ‘Who taught you?’
‘None of your business.’
Evander had taught her, but Thea would have sooner walked barefoot on the hot coals than tell the Warsword as much. She watched as he skinned the hares and speared them on two long sticks, balancing them over the flames. Soon, the aroma of roasting game had Thea’s mouth watering.
‘I’m going to wash,’ Hawthorne announced, lighting a torch and leaving her to rotate the meat.
Soon, Thea heard splashes from the riverbank, warmth flooding her at the thought of seeing those broad shoulders stripped bare, at imagining the formidable Warsword without his armour. She licked her lips, her chest tightening. Nearby, the Hand of Death was undressed and dripping wet.
Her traitorous eyes glanced towards the river, where she saw a flash of tattooed skin beneath the moonlight. Even from afar, she could see that every inch of him was corded with hard muscle —
Idiot , she berated herself, forcing her attention back to the meal and turning the roasting hares with more vigour than necessary.
Whatever physical reaction she was having to the Warsword was just that: physical , and she was more than capable of separating her mind from the rest. There was a certain beauty to his brutality and that was all, she told herself.
Though her reasoning didn’t stop her imagining that powerful body carving through the water, nor did it stop her recalling the imprint of his hands on her waist.
Hawthorne returned to the camp, the ends of his hair dripping as he swept it up and tied it back in a knot. ‘The meat will keep a little longer on the fire if you want to freshen up.’
Thea nodded, hoping he didn’t notice her flushed cheeks. She took the torch he offered and fled, utterly mortified by her own thoughts.
The water was icy and Thea bit back a yelp as she dipped her bare foot in.
But there was nothing for it, she was filthy and she doubted she’d be able to sleep smelling as bad as she did.
She made quick work of peeling off her pants and shirt, already regretting that she’d have to put them back on over clean skin.
She only had two changes of clothes and she needed to be presentable for the king’s feast in a few days’ time.
Naked, she waded in the shallows, shivering as she rubbed away the dust and sweat from the road. She wished she had thought to bring a bar of soap, but water would have to do for now.
The hair on her nape stood up, goosebumps rushing over her skin.
She glanced back to camp, where she could see the flicker of the campfire.
Hawthorne was there, staring into the flames.
But almost immediately, he seemed to sense her eyes on him and his head snapped up, his attention locking onto her across the distance.