Chapter 19
Vane was late again. She ground her teeth, irritated it was making her so anxious. She didn’t care about him—or at least, that was what she repeated in her head as she waited. But as soon as she heard footfalls crunching on the frost-covered grass, she whirled, eyes wide.
“You haven’t begun,” he said.
He sounded tired, and the circles under his eyes had darkened into deep shades of violet.
She shrugged, trying to brush off how worried she was. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“I thought we agreed yesterday we are not friends.”
“We’re not.”
He strode towards her. “Finish your strengthening circuit quickly. We’re going to go through the basics of hand to hand combat today, in case you ever get caught on the ground during battle.”
“I hardly think one day will help,” she muttered, lowering to the cold, hard ground.
“Perhaps not. Or maybe it will save your life.”
She put her hands behind her head and began to lift her torso. Her muscles burned, but she thought they had begun to finally get stronger.
“What’s with you and saving my life?” she said between puffs of air. “Like you said, we aren’t friends.”
Vane loomed over her. “Your words, not mine. But if you need the truth, King Johannas assigned me to you for a reason.”
She grunted, lowering into a pushup. “Because of my dragon and my—magic.”
“Amongst others, but yes.”
“Others?”
He nudged her with his booted foot and ordered, “Up. We’ll run our lap and then begin.”
She clenched her jaw at his cold demeanor. He was hiding something beneath it, but she had yet to see him crack today.
As they ran, she noticed his limp was already gone—or maybe he was just exceptionally good at hiding it. Despite how exhausted he appeared, he was still faster than her and hardly out of breath by the time they finished.
“Let’s go.” He waved his hand and began to jog over to the dragon field, ignoring the fact that she was still doubled over and breathing hard.
She caught up to him just in time to see him stroking Thessa’s scales again.
Confusion felt oddly cold as it washed over her.
Why, of all people, did Thessa let him touch her?
Vane had mentioned it would take a lot for Thessa to kill him.
Perhaps he had some previous connection to her.
There was no other explanation for the way she closed her eyes and chuffed softly as he patted the side of her enormous head.
“She’s…agreeable,” Soren commented as casually as she could manage.
Vane tilted his head, eyes still on the dragon. “Hm, I’d be careful if I were you. You don’t want to offend her honor.”
“She’s just oddly—” But before Soren could finish, Vane was in front of her, tripping her and catching her arm as she futilely tried to swing at him.
She yelped as they both plummeted back, the dagger that had been in his hair suddenly in his hand and at her throat as they fell to the ground. He caught the small of her back with his other hand, pulling her up just before she hit the hard ground.
The air knocked out of her, completely at his mercy, she blinked slowly at him. This felt…familiar, and it took a few seconds to remember why.
Last night, in the dream, the goddess and the man had been in a similar position.
“You don’t need to protect me, remember?” she muttered before thinking.
Vane went still, his muscles locking up around her. “What did you just say?”
His dagger was still at her throat, their faces inches apart. She tried to shove him away, but he held firm.
“Let me go!” she snarled, squirming in his hold.
His eyes flashed, and there it was—the first crack in his armor of the day. What she had said bothered him. She had an inkling as to why but was still pushing away the truth because it was simply impossible. He couldn’t be the same person as the man in the dreams.
“Make me,” he ordered, his voice rough with tension.
She wanted to scream. He knew very well he had her trapped, and there was no getting out of it through force.
But maybe there were other ways to escape. Perhaps she could even use this tension between them to her advantage.
One of her hands was pinned beneath her, the other on the hilt of his dagger, keeping it where it was.
She shifted her fingers, slowly caressing the rough skin of his calloused palm.
His breath caught, just barely, just enough for her to hear it.
But there was no way for him to hide the way his pupils spread, making his eyes nearly black.
His grip on the handle loosened, and she slowly guided it away from her neck, keeping her gaze locked on his. He still had her pinned to the ground, so she leaned in, brushing her lips against the shell of his ear and whispering, “If I stab you now, will I be punished or praised?”
A low sound, almost a groan, escaped him, and she took the opportunity, rolling and flipping their positions so she straddled him, the dagger that had loosened in his grip now held to his throat.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, both breathing heavily. Vane broke the silence first, his voice a phantom caress as he said, “Very good, Soren.”
She was trembling with an aching feeling she did not want to admit to. It made her voice waver as she demanded, “You goaded me, didn’t you?”
His lips lifted. “You won’t learn to fight in a few days, not well enough to stand against soldiers trained their whole lives. But I can teach you ways to cheat that system.”
She was still on top of him, but as she tried to move away, his broad hands caught the swell of her hips.
The distracting heat swelled, and she froze.
He did too, before rolling his jaw and releasing her.
Quickly, she moved off him, and they both sat a few feet away from each other, neither deigning to speak about what had just occurred.
Eventually, when she couldn’t take the silence anymore, she said, “So, what else?”
He didn’t look at her, not at first, his chest rising and falling in a slow breath. When he did finally meet her eyes, his expression was closed off, the mask firmly in place again.
“Let’s throw some daggers.”
Her brows lifted. “You mean…at people?”
His lips twitched, just barely. “No, Soren, at a target. I won’t ask you to kill, not today.”
He stood and tilted his head, a silent request for her to follow. She scrambled to her feet, trailing after him as he strode towards camp. Vane’s face was impassive as they wove through the tents, passing groups of soldiers training or taking breaks.
As they passed a group of three men eating around a low, burning fire, Soren heard one of them mutter, “Bet she’d spread her legs for me if I asked. Never fucked a Misean cunt before, but I wouldn’t be against trying.”
Just ahead of her, Vane stopped walking abruptly. He turned towards the soldier, and a shiver raced down her spine at the dark look on his face.
“Can we help you, Vane?” the soldier asked, his eyes darting to his companions.
Vane let out a low laugh, tilting his head at the man. “What makes you think you can speak to me like that? And more importantly, why do you think you can speak about her in the way you just did?”
The man paled. “I’m sorry about the lack of formality, sir, but the girl… Well, she’s Misean, isn’t she?”
Vane stepped forward, his smile humorless. Her heart beat rapidly in her throat, and she almost told him to stop, but a twisted part of her wanted to see exactly what he would do.
“She is worth an innumerable number of you spineless bastards,” Vane snarled. “And if you even think of fucking touching her, I will make sure it’s the last thought you have. Understand?”
The man shared a look with his companions but nodded, muttering, “Yes, sir.”
Vane turned, meeting her eyes, but as he did, one of the men muttered, “Fucking gods,” and Vane whirled.
His fist made contact with one of their noses, and Soren flinched as she heard the resounding crack.
Someone shouted, and there was a flash of silver.
Innate instincts had her magic rising to protect Vane, but before she could strike at any of the men, he had already snatched the dagger away, the blade now pressed to its owner’s throat.
“Trying to kill your superior?” Vane murmured. “And threatening one of the king’s most valuable riders? I might just have to report you to Commander Eton.”
“Please,” the man squeaked, a droplet of blood trailing down his neck.
Soren took a single step forward. “Vane.” Her voice sounded wrong, shallow and breathless. “We should continue training.”
His jaw tightened. “Perhaps.” He released the man and spat, “Fortunately for you, I have better things to do at the moment than dole out punishments. You’d better hope I forget about this before I meet with the commander again.”
And with that, he stalked away. She hurried after him, not wanting to hear what the men had to say next.
He didn’t speak to her, didn’t look at her until they were standing in another small field on the other side of camp. There were several targets riddled with divots and holes, a few soldiers sparring with each other just beyond.
Vane gathered a handful of throwing daggers and wordlessly handed one to her. She glanced sidelong at him. “Vane.”
“Throw.”
“Are we not going to talk about—”
“Throw the dagger, Soren.”
She eyed the small blade in her hand. “I don’t know how.”
His gloved left hand curled into a fist at his side, the other daggers grasped in his right. She caught his thumb sliding over his pointer finger, just as it had the other night in the tent.
“Try,” he said gruffly.
She took a deep breath and reared her hand back, the handle of the blade between her digits. Her eyes were on the target, but she heard Vane sigh and drop the other daggers. She stiffened as his hand pressed to her bicep, and he murmured, “Lower your arm a bit. You’re too tense.”
She obeyed, not trusting herself to speak. He moved to her hand next, adjusting her fingers on the handle.
“Keep your grip nice and loose as you release it.”
“Can I throw it now?”
She turned her head to find his lips tilted up in as much of a smile as he seemed capable of. “Go ahead.”
She cocked her hand back a bit more and let the blade loose. It flew through the air, caught a breeze, and hit the side of the target before ricocheting off onto the grass. She frowned and found Vane wearing a similar expression, his eyes far away.
“Apologies,” she muttered. “For not meeting your expectations. I did tell you I’ve never done this before.”
He cleared his throat. “I know. Let me show you.”
Leaning down, he plucked one of the other daggers out of the yellowing grass. Fluidly, he brought his arm back and released it. It spun through the air, landing in the direct center of the target. Gods, was he bad at anything?
She didn’t think she said it out loud, but he replied, “More things than you would think.”
“So humble too.”
He sighed heavily. “Try again.”
She did, again and again, until she finally hit one of the rings around the center, and the blade stuck to the wooden board. He cleared his throat. “Good, Soren.”
“It’s not moving. People will be.”
Vane nodded once before picking up a handle of blades, and then, in a stream of motion, he began to throw them at the target, one after another.
A muscle in his jaw flickered as she watched him line the daggers around the center of the target in a perfect ring.
She would have called him a showoff, but this didn’t seem to be about that.
He appeared to be funneling his anger right into the target board.
But why?
The questions surrounding him were endless. She had no idea who he was, why he looked so much like the man in her dreams and visions, why he seemed to have any amount of care for her.
By the time he lowered his arm, she had worked up the courage to say, “Why did you bother earlier, with the men by the fire?”
He went still, though he didn’t look at her. “You said we’re not friends.”
“I did.”
She wasn’t going to back away from her words now, especially not with so many secrets still between them.
“Then it doesn’t matter.”
“That’s not true.”
He narrowed his eyes as he finally looked at her. “They threatened you.”
“They’re not the first to do so, and they certainly won’t be the last,” she replied softly. “I still don’t understand why you cared enough to say anything.”
“Who else will?”
Now, it was her turn to narrow her eyes. “I don’t need your pity, Vane. I’ve gotten this far without it, and though it hasn’t been easy, I know how to take care of myself.”
“I know.” His voice was a fraction softer now. “And it’s not about pity.”
“Then what—”
“Evva!”
Vane shut his eyes briefly before turning to face the approaching commander. “Commander?”
Commander Eton squared his jaw. “You’re needed.”
“We’re in the middle of training.”
“And you can continue come morning. Go. King’s orders.”
Vane stiffened, his breath catching, just loud enough for her to hear it. He gritted his teeth and said, “Fine then.”
She wanted to say something to him, but she was not sure what. Goodbye? Good luck? She had no idea where he was going, or why he was on orders from King Johannas. In the end, she kept her mouth shut.
But just before he strode away, he caught her gaze, and she swore she heard him whisper, “Tomorrow, Soren,” though the commander didn’t appear to hear it. His fingers brushed her hand as he walked past her, back towards the camp.
The commander snorted softly, but all he said was, “Continue training for the rest of the night, Mise.”
She did not lower her gaze as she replied, “Yes, commander.”