Chapter 15 #2
‘I understand,’ she said, waiting until he met her eyes again. ‘But… Well, if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.’
Hawthorne’s harsh face softened. ‘It has been a long while since I’ve had an offer like that.’
Those words splintered Thea’s heart. ‘Hawthorne…’
He took a measured breath. ‘Talemir was more than just a mentor to me,’ he told her.
‘Even long after I passed the Great Rite and became a Warsword. He was my family. Malik’s family, too.
And he taught me everything I know. He was the greatest Warsword the midrealms had ever seen…
’ Bitter admiration laced the warrior’s words and Thea noted how his hands gripped his reins tighter.
‘That’s what they say about you.’
‘Only because of him.’ Hawthorne replied.
‘But after that second conflict at Naarva, he left the guild for reasons I didn’t agree with, didn’t understand.
Still don’t. Malik was badly injured, still recovering.
Talemir was his closest friend, and he wasn’t there.
He didn’t come back, didn’t… Well, after everything we had been through together, after everything with Malik…
Talemir and I… We didn’t part on good terms.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Thea said, feeling the weight of his grief on her own chest. ‘Is he still alive?’
‘Somewhere out there, yes.’
Thea nodded. ‘Maybe one day you’ll meet again and mend the rift between you.’
‘Maybe.’ Hawthorne offered a sad smile. ‘Maybe.’
A few moments of silence passed between them. There was still so much Thea wanted to know about the man who rode beside her.
It was Hawthorne who broke the quiet. ‘Since you’ve so expertly wrangled my secrets from me, why don’t you tell me yours?’
‘You want to know my deepest, darkest desires do you, Warsword?’
There was a pause as his gaze intensified, became hooded. ‘One of many things I’m surprised to find myself wanting.’
Heat flooded between Thea’s legs and the rocking of the saddle against her did nothing to quell the sudden wave of arousal.
She cleared her throat and looked away, praying he hadn’t noticed the change in her. ‘You already know,’ she told him. ‘I want to fight for Thezmarr, I want to be a warrior, I want to be a Warsword one day.’
Hawthorne smiled.
‘What? You think it’s stupid?’
‘I thought we’d moved past that.’ He shook his head. ‘No, it’s just that you remind me of someone…’
The way he said it made Thea pause, an ugly feeling rearing its head deep within.
‘A woman?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was she beautiful?’ The words tumbled out of her before she could stop them and her cheeks immediately heated. Where had that come from?
But Hawthorne considered this. ‘Yes… She was – is – beautiful.’
Thea’s gut twisted.
‘Talemir married her,’ Hawthorne added, his dimple showing beneath his beard.
‘Married her?’ Thea blurted. ‘I thought Warswords don’t take wives?’
‘Talemir is no longer a Warsword.’ There was an edge to his voice. But then his gaze slid to hers and lingered. ‘You’re beautiful, you know.’ The words came quietly, cautiously.
Thea made a sound that was midway between a scoff and a snort. She had never been told that, not by anyone, bar Wren.‘You mean if I wore dresses and acted more like a girl?’
Hawthorne leaned over to draw her reins up short, bringing them both to a stop. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘You’re beautiful as you are. And I’d wager even more so with steel in your hand and the blood of your enemies splattered across your face.’
Her breath caught.
‘Althea.’ Her name sounded like a melody and he leaned across the gap between their horses, his gaze dropping to her lips, his voice low. ‘There is nothing more attractive than a woman who knows what she wants.’
Her body went taut.
Hawthorne hesitated, before pulling away. ‘Remember that.’
They cantered across the remaining fields and grasslands heading northwest to the fortress.
Thea could see the haze of the black mountains on the horizon and could almost smell the pine and rich sap of the Bloodwoods.
Thea glanced at the Warsword riding stoically beside her.
His dark hair was swept up into a messy bun at the back of his head, his gaze trained on the path before him.
Thea didn’t know if she was imagining it or not, but it seemed to her that the tension had returned to the set of his shoulders.
He’d been quiet for a while, even by his standards, and she found herself craving his conversation.
But the lines of Hawthorne’s face became harder, his back straighter, as though he were steeling himself, against what she didn’t know.
It was late afternoon when at last the Mourner’s Trail came into view. The sun was hidden behind the mountains and the air was cool; the forest tinged with the blue hue of impending dusk. As they rode onto the trail, Thea heard Hawthorne inhale sharply.
Thea opened her mouth to talk to him, but to say what she wasn’t sure. The ease, and whatever else there had been between them, had vanished.
Up ahead, Dax disappeared into the trees, and with him went any remaining inkling of the Warsword she’d glimpsed. He was cold and unflinching once more. Tension rolled off him, but Thea couldn’t make sense of it. Was it directed towards her? Towards the fortress?
Thea was sure she wouldn’t hear him speak again, but as the gates to Thezmarr appeared ahead, Hawthorne’s voice rumbled.
‘You're already years behind some of them. The next initiation test will be in three months, then not for another year, perhaps longer.’ He seemed to mull over his next choice of words. ‘You need to be ready.’
Thea squared her shoulders. ‘I will be,’ she said, her voice hard.
The gates opened for them, and the Warsword and shieldbearer rode through.