Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A s dawn kissed the sky, Thea woke to find the Warsword waiting for her, bow and quiver in hand.
‘Today, I’ll teach you how to hunt,’ he said.
Thea didn’t ask him what had changed his mind, she simply leapt at the opportunity, knowing that another might never come along.
She drew no attention to the fact that the lesson would delay their return to Thezmarr, nor did she ask further questions.
Thea just listened, and listened gladly, the Warsword’s voice low and melodic as he described the finer details of hunting game by the arrow.
Dax remained, his ears forward, as though he were listening to every word as keenly as she was.
The light of day had revealed a small forest to the east, the morning was still early and a cool breeze rustled the thick green leaves of the trees.
Once more, Thea was reminded just how different the realms were inland compared to the darkening horizons beyond Thezmarr’s cliffs.
While the air was crisp on her skin, her nose tipped pink with the cold, it felt like it could have been the beginning of a spring day.
Though she knew autumn was upon them, a biting winter at its heels, it was nice to pretend for a moment.
When they reached the edge of the forest, Hawthorne carved a rough circle into the trunk of a tree and turned to her. ‘I want you to watch me first,’ he said. ‘Take note of the movements I described and watch how I implement each action.’
Thea nodded. It was a request she was only too happy to meet. It also helped that when he wasn’t shattering her dreams, Wilder Hawthorne was easy on the eyes.
She found herself fixated on him as his tattooed hand crept to his quiver, soundlessly drawing an arrow and nocking it to his longbow. His feet were planted apart and his whole body seemed to expand as he drew the bowstring back with his powerful arms.
He moved slowly, for her benefit, she knew, and still the sheer force of him had her mesmerised. She could feel the forged Warsword magic humming around him.
He released the arrow. It went flying towards the target he’d carved. Although he’d made no mark for the middle, that was exactly where it hit. Dead centre.
The soft thud of the arrow in the tree and the subtle vibrating sound of the drawstring were music to Thea’s ears.
The Warsword shot again, and again, in a succession of smooth and practiced motions. The almost gentle drift of his hand to the quiver, the drawing of another arrow, nocking it, aiming and releasing… It was a beautiful dance to Thea.
She and Dax watched as Hawthorne strode to the tree and wrenched the arrows one by one from its flesh.
She hadn’t realised how deeply they were embedded into the trunk until she saw the force with which he had to remove them.
Another arrow flashed in her mind then, the one that had nearly struck her between the eyes, the one he’d fired in supposed warning at her.
She said nothing of it though, not wanting to remind the Warsword, not when she was so close to getting her hands on a weapon.
When he reached her, he held the longbow out to her. ‘Let’s see what you can do, Alchemist.’ This time when he smiled, she appreciated the tug of his dimple fully. It made him look younger, less brutal for a moment.
Her fingers curled around the bow. It was bigger and heavier than she anticipated, though she supposed that was to be expected. She’d only seen it from a distance, or in the context of the warrior’s hulking frame, whereas she was much slighter. She didn’t care.
Thea planted her feet apart, just as Hawthorne had stood. There, she nocked her first arrow to the bow, her chest swelling as she did. She drew the string.
‘Hold it higher,’ came Hawthorne’s voice, closer than she had realised. A hand touched her elbow, lifting it gently. ‘There,’ he said. His breath was warm against her ear.
‘You need to give it more power than that,’ he told her. ‘Pull back.’
She did, trying to ignore the heat of his body so close to hers and the shock of that initial touch, almost familiar, yet still so new. But as fast as the touch had come, it was gone again and Thea quietly mourned its loss.
What’s wrong with me? she chastised herself. Here I am with a Warsword at my disposal for training and I’m thinking about batting my eyelashes? Has it been so long since I’ve —
‘More,’ he instructed, pulling her from her thoughts. ‘If I haven’t snapped it, you won’t.’
Her cheeks flushing now, Thea obliged.
‘Here.’ He stood behind her, his frame enveloping hers. He nudged her feet further apart with his and Thea spread her legs wider, face flaming as a pulse of desire coursed through her.
He placed his hand over hers on the bow, and his other over hers on the string. He made no mention of the scars that marred her skin, instead, gripping the bow in place, he drew her arm back, further, and further.
Good gods , she cursed, the hair on her nape rising. She was suddenly all too aware of the thundering of her own heart.
Focus , Thea, she told herself, returning her attention to her grip and her target in the distance, muscles trembling with the effort.
‘That’s it,’ he whispered. ‘ Now. ’
A shiver washed over her as his words tickled her neck and she released the arrow.
It soared through the air, the fletching but a blur as it shot towards her mark.
A soft thud sounded as it hit the tree. Not the targeted tree, but two over.
Thea swore.
The Warsword at her back laughed, the sound like music. ‘A touch wide there, Alchemist.’
Thea threw a hand up as she whirled around to face him. ‘You distracted me!’ she said without thinking.
A slow smile tugged at the corner of Hawthorne’s mouth.
That damn dimple…
‘Distracted you?’ Genuine amusement gleamed in his silver eyes, though they looked more grey when he wasn’t raging at her, like Malik’s. ‘I was teaching you,’ he argued. ‘Exactly what you’ve been harassing me to do since we stepped foot out of Thezmarr.’
Thea’s body flooded with warmth, but she refused to yield. ‘Is that how you mentor all the guild’s shieldbearers?’ she countered.
Hawthorne considered this, folding his arms over that impossibly broad chest of his. ‘I don’t mentor anyone.’
His gaze was firm, intense on hers, enough to make Thea want to squirm. She was the first one to break their eye contact, clearing her throat and turning back to the target.
‘You want to try again,’ came his voice, now further away.
‘You didn’t think I’d give up after one go, did you?’ she said, widening her stance as he’d shown her and nocking another arrow.
‘No…’ Hawthorne replied quietly. ‘I didn’t think that for a second.’
This time, he instructed her from a distance, and Thea warred between regret and gratitude.
His criticisms of her form were firm but not unkind, his rich voice not breaking her focus, but rather honing it as she fitted the next arrow to the bowstring.
Soon, Thea lost herself in the rhythm of the target practice and though her hands and shoulders started to ache, she was more content than she could remember being in a long while.
She loved the vibration of the string as she released the arrow; she loved the moment where all time suspended, just before the projectile hit its mark.
Upon impact, the arrow seemed to sing and Thea felt deep in her bones that this was what she was born to do.
‘Not bad, Alchemist,’ Hawthorne said from afar. ‘Again.’
Her fate stone grew warm beneath her shirt and for the first time, she felt grateful. Grateful for the knowledge it had given her, grateful for the catalyst it had become in her life, urging her through the trials and tribulations to fulfil her dreams.
‘You’re a quick study.’ Hawthorne removed her arrows one by one from the tree, each closer to the target than the last.
‘I’ve watched enough practice,’ she heard herself say. ‘And Esyllt is loud when he gets a subject he’s passionate about. Archery is one of those, but…’
‘It’s different when you’re holding the weapon,’ Hawthorne finished for her.
‘Exactly,’ Thea nodded. ‘There’s only so much you can learn in theory before you need to be the one drawing the string back.’
‘My mentor used to say something to that effect,’ the Warsword said thoughtfully.
Thea desperately wanted to ask who exactly that mentor had been, where they were now. She wanted to know everything about the man who had shaped the warrior before her, but… Hawthorne’s gaze had grown distant and she sensed not to push.
‘It’s time we got moving.’ He shielded his eyes as he judged the height of the sun.
Despite the tightness in her chest, Thea didn’t argue. She was under no illusions as to what a gift the morning had been, so she nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said, as she handed the longbow back to him. ‘Thank you for teaching me.’
Hawthorne’s lips pressed together, as though he were about to say something but was stopping himself. Instead, he merely nodded and turned away.
Saying no more, she went to her mare and hauled herself up in the saddle. Dax, who had been sprawled in a patch of sun, leapt to his feet, eager to resume the long journey home.
Together, Thea and the Warsword started back towards Thezmarr, the mongrel at their heels.