Chapter 7 #2
Face flaming, Thea turned away, wrestling her clothes over her wet, tingling skin and muttering a string of curses to herself. She needed to pull herself together.
When she trudged back to camp, Hawthorne handed her a portion of roast hare.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
It was the best thing she’d ever tasted. The meat was rich and succulent, and she had to suppress the urge to moan in satisfaction as she bit into it.
She stole glances at the Warsword as she ate, unable to shake the feeling that sharing a meal before a campfire with him was something few experienced. His gaze slid to hers, sensing her attention.
‘What?’ he said.
‘What’s it like?’ Thea heard herself ask.
‘You’ll have to be more specific.’
‘Being a Warsword. Being the youngest Warsword in history? What’s it like?’
Hawthorne wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and took a long swig from his flask.
‘Full of adventure?’ Thea prompted. ‘Glory?’
He gave a dark laugh. ‘There’s a lot more adventure and glory when you’re not on escort duty.’
Thea drew a sharp breath, anger bubbling. ‘We have two more days’ ride ahead, and then another three on our return.’
‘I can count.’
‘So why not be civil? We could pass the time more easily.’
‘I’m not usually civil to thieves.’
‘What?’ But then Thea saw his hand move to her dagger. ‘I told you, that was a gift. The dying wish of a Warsword, in fact. And actually, I’d like it back.’
Hawthorne scoffed again. ‘Not a chance.’
‘What’s it to you?’ she snapped. ‘It’s no more yours than it is mine —’
‘I’ll hear no more about it,’ he cut her off. ‘It’s Naarvian steel, Alchemist. You know what that means. Besides, you’ve no right to a weapon.’
‘Yet.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Tell me then, why are you so desperate to be a shieldbearer?’
‘Not just a shieldbearer,’ Thea snapped. ‘I am far more ambitious than that.’
‘A Guardian of the midrealms, then.’
‘Try again. And no,’ she added. ‘Not a commander, not a master of weapons. Something more.’
After a pause, Hawthorne’s brows shot up. ‘You think you’ll make it through the Great Rite? You think…’
‘Why don’t you tell me what it is, and I’ll tell you if I’d pass.’
‘I wouldn’t tell you if Enovius himself had a blade to my heart.’
‘You despise me that much?’
‘The Great Rite is sacred, and known to only those who would dare undertake it and emerge victorious. It would betray my vows as a Warsword to tell you what it entails.’
‘I will emerge victorious,’ Thea replied. ‘Although they have not given me the same opportunities as others, I will face it and triumph. With the right mentor, I could —’
‘Mentors are overrated,’ Hawthorne cut in. ‘If you want someone to hold your hand through the trials of becoming a warrior of Thezmarr, then you’ll be disappointed. You’re better off staying an alchemist if a teacher is what you’re after.’ His voice was laced with bitterness.
Thea cracked her knuckles in frustration. ‘I don’t need someone holding my hand,’ she ground out. ‘All I ask for is the same guidance.’
‘A word of advice, Alchemist,’ he said, voice low. ‘If you want to achieve anything in these realms, do it yourself. Rely on no one.’
‘Is that what you did?’ she bit back.
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Go to sleep. We ride hard again tomorrow.’
‘Can’t wait,’ Thea muttered.
Anger still simmering, she went to her saddlebags and retrieved her bedroll, setting herself up a few feet away from the fire, silently cursing her resentful escort.
He might be one of the most powerful warriors in the realm , and his presence might stir a certain physical response… she allowed. But Hawthorne is also an arse .
Dawn came all too soon, and Thea felt as though a herd of cattle had trampled her as she staggered to her feet. Everything hurt.
Hawthorne’s sleeping mat was already rolled up and placed neatly by his saddlebag, but there was no sign of where he’d gone.
Good , Thea thought. She didn't feel like talking to him. If it was to be a Warsword to accompany her, why not the golden-haired one? He seemed friendlier. Perhaps he would have told her the story of how he’d fought off not one, but two cursed bears. That she would have liked to hear.
Bracing herself against the early morning chill, Thea eased into some stretches, whimpering at the pain lancing through muscles she didn’t even know existed. If she was ever going to train as a shieldbearer and graduate to a Thezmarrian warrior, she’d need to harden up.
As she ate an apple, she set about readying the horses for departure.
Splitting the core between the two beasts, they withstood her clumsily cinching their girths and securing their bridles.
Another lesson learnt from Evander. At least he had been good for something.
Now, she remembered their time together with sinking embarrassment.
Her eighteen-year-old self had thought the stable master’s apprentice handsome and knowledgeable, but in hindsight, he’d been nothing more than a narrow-minded prat.
She still carried a piece of hurt with her, not hurt that it had ended, but that her dreams somehow made her a pariah: unwanted, ugly and ridiculous —
‘You’re awake.’ Hawthorne was striding towards her, one of his swords unsheathed in his hand.
‘Observant of you,’ Thea replied before nodding to his gleaming blade. ‘A little early to be slaying monsters, isn’t it?’
‘I was training,’ he said, voice clipped. ‘A discipline you’re unfamiliar with.’
Thea finished attaching her saddlebags to her mare. ‘I train.’
‘Fumbling in the Bloodwoods while you spy on the shieldbearers is hardly training.’
Thea whirled around. ‘I don’t fumble, and how do you know about that?’
‘Not much goes on in the Bloodwoods that I don’t know about, Alchemist. Your pitiful excuse for a sparring session being the least of it.’
‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’
‘Not worth my time.’
‘But reporting me for my dagger was?’
The edge to his voice returned when he spoke again. ‘That was different. That dagger didn’t belong to you. You insult and risk all of Thezmarr by wielding it. Not to mention —’
‘Who else saw me in the Bloodwoods?’ Thea asked, changing tact.
‘No one.’
Realisation dawned. ‘Then it was you… You shot the arrow at me!’
Hawthorne mounted his horse in one effortless motion. ‘Figured you needed a warning.’
Thea gaped at him, outraged. ‘You could have killed me.’
‘Not with my aim,’ he said and started forward, his stallion’s tail swishing.
Thea scrambled to mount her mare, muscles protesting. ‘You’re unbelievable,’ she said to him when she caught up.
Hawthorne simply raised a brow at her. ‘You have no idea.’