Chapter 11 #2
Slowly, he began to clap and soon, the entire great hall was on its feet, applauding her.
At the king’s signal, fresh wine was brought in, as were new cupbearers for the royals.
Upon confirmation that the liquor was indeed safe to drink, King Artos raised his goblet to Thea, who found a cup pressed into her own hand.
‘To Althea Zoltaire,’ the king toasted.
Althea could not contain the grin that split across her face.
Never in her twenty-four years had she ever imagined hearing her name being echoed back to her in salute through royal halls.
Warmth radiated through her body, along with the hum of her racing heart.
She wished Wren and the others were here to see this.
Althea Nine Lives , she laughed silently, raising her own goblet to her lips.
No sooner had the delicious wine hit her tongue, a heavy hand grasped her shoulder, gentle but firm, its heat penetrating the thin fabric of her shirt.
‘Well, shieldbearer ,’ that familiar deep voice rumbled in the shell of her ear. ‘We need to get back to the fortress.’
‘Now?’ Thea turned to face the Warsword. ‘I thought you said we were staying in Hailford for the night?’
‘That was before.’
‘Before I became a shieldbearer of Thezmarr?’ Thea grinned.
A muscle twitched in Hawthorne’s jaw.
‘Wilder,’ King Artos greeted the Warsword. ‘Please, join us!’
But to Thea’s disbelief, Hawthorne was already shaking his head. ‘My thanks, Sire. But duty calls us back to Thezmarr.’
If the king was surprised, he did not show it. Instead, he raised his goblet again, this time to Hawthorne. ‘We are honoured to host you, even so briefly, Warsword. And I thank you for your role in my assassin’s capture.’
Hawthorne bowed and made for the doors.
‘Thank you, Your Majesties,’ Thea blurted, bowing low before chasing after the warrior.
When they were out in the foyer, Thea turned to Hawthorne. ‘I thought you said “if the king invites you to sit at his table, you sit at his table”?’
Hawthorne kept walking. ‘That’s true enough, for you . I, however, answer to no king.’
The sheer arrogance in that statement heated Thea’s blood in more ways than one. But she unclenched her fists at her sides, vowing that one day, she would be able to say the same.
And just for a second, she pictured herself wielding her own twin blades of Naarvian steel.
The royal stables were immaculate and ten times the size of Thezmarr’s. The building was alive with stableboys tending to the horses and servants polishing tack. It smelt of sweet hay, manure and leather.
‘You have ten minutes,’ Hawthorne told her. ‘Be ready.’
‘We’re to ride through the night?’
‘Does the dark scare you, Alchemist?’
Thea’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m a shieldbearer now. And no. Nothing scares me.’
‘Then you’re even more of a fool than I thought.’
‘I’m no fool.’
‘No?’ Hawthorne rounded on her. ‘I have never seen such reckless behaviour in all my life. Do you have any semblance of a brain in that thick skull of yours?’
‘I —’
‘That was a rhetorical question,’ he snapped, his mask of stone slipping. ‘You threw a knife at the King of Harenth. What would you have done if you’d been mistaken about the poison?’
‘But I wasn’t.’
‘You didn’t know that. I saw your face.’
‘I saved the king’s life tonight!’
‘You risked your own on a whim.’
‘I saved a ruler of the midrealms. Isn’t that your job?’ she yelled. ‘I protected one of the last remaining magic wielders to exist. Didn’t you feel how strong he is? Imagine if it was gone? Another royal wiped from this realm, their magic with him?’
Hawthorne baulked. ‘You felt it?’
Fury blinded Thea. ‘Of course I felt it. I know I’m just an alchemist to you, but I’m not a moron. Their magic came alive in that throne room! And as for my own life, why do you care?’
Hawthorne hesitated a moment before he started on her again. ‘By the gods, I don’t ,’ his deep voice grew louder, the flickering torchlight making his eyes molten silver. ‘There is nothing I want more than to be rid of you . You’re a danger to yourself and to others .’
That familiar current of anger surged in Thea’s veins. ‘So why are you here?’
‘Orders,’ he ground out. ‘You know that. You were placed under my protection. I didn’t ask for it. I certainly didn’t want this, but I am responsible for you. I hope to never be so again.’
‘On that, we agree,’ Thea retorted.
‘At last, some common ground.’ Fury laced every word, and the Warsword shook his head as he walked into the stables.
But Thea wasn’t done. She charged after him. ‘I presume you heard King Artos give me express permission to train and to bear arms. I want my dagger back.’
‘Gods, you must have a death wish,’ Hawthorne muttered in disbelief.
‘It’s mine,’ Thea argued. ‘I want it back.’
‘I want a hot bath and a naked beauty to feed me grapes,’ he snapped. ‘Alas, we don’t always get what we want.’
Thea didn’t think, she swung her fist.
Only to have it swallowed by his hand. In a blur of movement, faster than she could process, the Warsword spun her around, trapping both her hands behind her and shoving her to the wall. The stone was cold against her face, against her heaving breasts beneath the thin shirt.
Hawthorne didn’t release her. The pressure behind her increased as he pushed her harder into the wall, his chest now flush with her back, his voice hot in her ear.
‘You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that to hit me,’ he growled.
Thea couldn’t budge an inch, couldn’t so much as squirm. His strength was that formidable. He had moved her like she weighed little more than a feather, and held her in place as though he could do so with a single finger.
Resentment rolled off her in waves as at last he let her go and disappeared to tend to his stallion.
After years of training in secret, of spying on ungrateful recruits, of harbouring a weapon against the rules and dreaming of the moment when she could wield it, she finally had what she had always wanted. And now the moody bastard was robbing her of her victory.
‘Five minutes,’ he called out sharply from one of the stalls.
Grinding her teeth, Thea found her mare and saddled her in a hurry. She had no doubt that if she wasn’t ready in time, the surly warrior would gladly leave her behind, despite any supposed notion of responsibility.
The moon was high in the inky night when they departed the royal stables.
Thea could still hear the festivities carrying on within the castle, but an icy shiver washed over her as they passed through the gates.
Tonight, her actions had seen an innocent cupbearer die, and another man condemned to the Scarlet Tower.
And she’d thought nothing of it until the rhythmic steps of her horse had lulled her into a state of reflection.
Right now, she could be riding over the dungeons where that same man was in chains, awaiting a fate worse than death.
The cupbearer would have died anyway if he’d done his job in the first place , she told herself. As for the other… Well, he’d committed treason of the highest order. He deserved what he got. And yet still the sour taste lingered in her mouth.
Despite the angry words they'd exchanged, Thea twisted in her saddle and addressed the Warsword. ‘What do you know of the Scarlet Tower?’
Hawthorne kept his eyes straight ahead. ‘Enough.’
‘Which is?’
‘Enough to know that I, too, would have chosen death.’ He silenced her with a fierce look and Thea tensed.
Long gone was the glimpse of the man who’d given her his own shirt.
The warrior who rode beside her was harsh, unforgiving and brutal in his manner.
Once again she wondered what he had seen, and what he had done, in his years of service.
It surprised her to hear him speak again so soon.
‘The first lesson of being a warrior of Thezmarr,’ he told her, ‘is this: know that your actions have consequences . Some more than others. And you will carry those with you for the rest of your life. Do you understand me?’
The arrow stinging her cheek flashed in Thea’s mind.
As did the sight of Hawthorne twirling her dagger between his fingers in the Bloodwoods.
Then, it was Audra arguing her case to the Guild Master and her sister’s initial fear upon discovering her intentions to petition the king.
Then, a pair of trembling hands and the blue-lipped cupbearer, and finally, the treasonous noble…
She found herself wrenched into the present, where she now rode alongside a Warsword, on her way to live and train as a shieldbearer.
Her actions had set in motion every single one of those events.
‘I understand,’ she replied softly, hardly daring to wonder where they would take her next.
They rode in silence as they navigated the steep, cobblestoned descent from the palace and into the city proper.
By night, the streets of Hailford were brimming with debauchery and Thea found herself curious as to what she might find in some of the raucous taverns and silk-draped pleasure houses.
But they left the laughter and flickering candlelight behind and soon, the darkness beyond the capital swallowed them whole.
Thea didn’t know how long they’d been riding for, only that the moon was still high and the stars that littered the velvet night were infinite.
Her stomach gurgled in hunger. She’d scarcely managed two mouthfuls at the feast before the chaos had broken out.
And before that…? She had no idea. Her vision swam for a moment and she righted herself in the saddle, her movements sluggish, muscles weak.
It had been a long few days – emotional, too – so it was no wonder she was a little out of sorts, she told herself.
Despite the pangs of hunger in her gut, she decided none of it mattered.
However it had come to pass, she’d achieved her goal at Harenth.
She was returning to Thezmarr not as a poor excuse for an alchemist, but as a shieldbearer of the guild.
Althea Nine Lives was one step closer to becoming a legend.
It was this she thought of as her head dropped to her chest and she slipped from her saddle.