40. Chapter 40
40
Chapter 40
Bronwen
The wooden table between us felt wider than it ever had before. I traced the edge of my bowl with my spoon, dragging it through the untouched broth, while Adar chewed in silence. The clink of his knife against the ceramic plate filled the room, an unwanted reminder of how empty the house felt without Mama and Papa. The weight of their absence pressed heavily on us, filling the air with unspoken thoughts neither of us wanted to acknowledge.
Adar cleared his throat, the sound abrupt in the quiet room. He shifted in his chair, stretching his fingers before finally speaking. “Want to spar tomorrow?”
I glanced up at him. “Sure.”
The awkwardness remained, stretching between them like an invisible barrier neither knew how to cross. The fire crackled in the hearth, but the warmth it provided did little to melt the tension in the room.
I finally sighed, setting my fork down with a clatter. My fingers curled against the worn wood of the table, knuckles tightening. “You think I did it, don’t you?”
Adar didn’t look at me, but the muscle in his jaw tensed. “Did what?”
“The witches. The soldiers. Lowen’s disappearance. You accused me.”
His fingers curled around his knife, grip tightening. “I had to ask.”
“I didn’t do it.”
Silence fell again, heavier this time. The fire crackled, a log shifting in the hearth, but it did nothing to dispel the cold knot forming in my stomach. Adar exhaled through his nose, his fingers tapping idly against the handle of his knife, a restless movement that made my skin prickle. Adar brought his gaze to meet mine, as if he could will the answers out of me. I gripped the edge of the table, resisting the urge to look away, to shift under the weight of his suspicion.
I couldn’t let him see the truth beneath my denial.
Adar exhaled, rubbing his temple. “It wasn’t you?”
My pulse pounded in my ears. The words sat at the edge of my tongue, threatening to spill free. If I told him now, it would be over. No more secrets. No more carrying this alone. But then I saw the way he was watching me—waiting, measuring, looking for the moment I cracked. If I gave him one truth, he would start pulling at every other thread, and eventually, it would lead to August. I couldn’t let that happen.
I swallowed, my voice firm. “No.”
A beat passed. Then another.
Adar leaned back in his chair, nodding once. His fingers drummed against the table before stilling. “Okay.” But his eyes never left me, and I knew the conversation wasn’t truly over.
***
The morning air was crisp, a thin veil of snow clinging to the grass as I tightened the grip on my sword. Adar stood across from me in the clearing behind our house, rolling his shoulders as he stretched. The tension from last night still lingered between us, unspoken but present, but here—in the familiarity of sparring—it felt easier to ignore.
He lunged first, blade flashing in the morning light. The force of his strike jolted through my arms as I parried, steel grinding against steel in a sharp clang that sent vibrations up to my shoulders. I pivoted sharply, boots skidding slightly against the frost-laced grass as I dodged his next strike. My muscles coiled, and I thrust forward in a quick, precise motion—he barely deflected in time, our swords scraping together with a grating hiss. His brows lifted slightly, but he said nothing as we reset.
The dance continued, each movement growing sharper, more aggressive. The crisp morning air burned in my lungs, sweat slicking my grip despite the cold. My muscles screamed with exertion, but I ignored them, anticipation thrumming through me with every clash of our blades. I saw it in his eyes—the flicker of realization, the moment he understood I wasn’t the same fighter he’d faced before. His grip adjusted, his footing shifted, his movements becoming less practiced and more reactionary. I blocked his attacks with sharper precision, anticipating his movements before he made them. I pressed forward when I knew he expected me to falter. I twisted my wrist, knocking his blade aside with a forceful parry. The impact reverberated through me, but I pressed forward, forcing him off balance. He stumbled, catching himself just in time, his breath coming a fraction faster now. He let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
“You’ve gotten better,” he admitted, rolling his shoulders as he straightened. “A lot better.”
I fought to keep my face neutral, shrugging like it was nothing. “Papa sparred with me twice.”
Adar narrowed his eyes, gripping his sword hilt. “You don’t improve this much from two lessons.”
I hesitated. He was right. I knew he was right. But I couldn’t tell him the truth—not all of it, at least. So I offered him a different one. “I’ve been sparring with August.”
Adar stilled, his stance shifting, as if those words alone had altered the entire fight. His fingers flexed around his blade, suspicion creeping back into his gaze.
“August?” He repeated the name slowly, testing it. “I’ve never heard you mention him before. Where did you meet him?”
“Just someone I met in town.” The words came out too quickly, too rehearsed. I could tell from the way Adar’s expression tightened that he noticed.
Adar scoffed. “I’ve never seen him before. And I know most people in town. He must be new.”
I lifted my chin, gripping my sword tighter. “Oh, so now you know every single person in Joveryn? Should I start listing names and see if you remember them all?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, his grip on his sword tightening. “What family is he from? I doubt he’s from town if I’ve never seen him.”
“I don’t know,” I lied smoothly, forcing a casual shrug. “He doesn’t talk about them much. And I never asked.”
Adar’s frown deepened. “That’s suspicious.” He studied me for a long moment, as if he was trying to decide whether to press further or let it go.
“Or maybe he just doesn’t like talking about his past,” I countered, trying to keep my voice even. “Not everyone has a home like ours.”
Adar studied me, his lips pressing into a thin line. “How long have you been seeing him?”
I shrugged. “A while. We train, that’s all.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” His tone was edging toward something firmer now, more insistent. “You’ve been training with him for a while, and you never thought to mention it?”
I let out a slow breath, keeping my expression carefully neutral. “Do you really want to get into this?” I snapped, lowering my sword and stepping back. “Did you want me to write a letter? You’re never here, Adar. When exactly was I supposed to bring it up?”
“You’re right.” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it. “But I’m here now. And this time, I’m paying attention.”