Chapter 19
We break for camp after close to ten hours of riding through the jagged hills that surround Wrohelm like sharks’ teeth jutting from the earth.
This is the most temperate climate we are likely to face on our journey, and yet despite my furs, the cold seeps into my marrow.
Judging by the way Benny, Caz, and Kyor have also flocked around the fire, I’m not the only one.
Tomorrow, I will need to layer up even further.
Either that or ride with Ruben’s warmth, but something tells me Kyor won’t take kindly to that.
As Caz continues stoking the impressively large fire she built, Elska slinks towards us and flops down directly in front of the flames, hogging a good portion of the heat for herself.
‘Budge,’ Kyor instructs, his look flat. ‘You don’t need it. You’ve got all that fur.’
She shifts a token few inches and I struggle to suppress a grin. Kyor may be a prince, but to Elska, he’s just her bonded, and she’s not afraid to remind him of that fact.
While the rest of us rub our hands in front of the flames and try to ignore the rumblings in our bellies, the prince opens his travel bag and pulls out a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a couple of other paper-wrapped items.
‘Food!’ Benny says eagerly. ‘Kyor brought food.’ He grins wildly at the prince. ‘You know, I’ve always liked you.’
Kyor pauses midway through slicing off a chunk of bread. ‘You didn’t bring food with you?’ His tone is incredulous.
‘Of course we did,’ Ruben grunts back. ‘We’re not idiots.’
‘Then where is it?’
Caz grimaces. ‘We gave it all to the starving urchins. It seemed like a good idea at the time.’
‘It did not,’ Benny mutters.
‘We did it for the kids who starve every single day in the slums,’ Ruben joins in, his attention solely on Kyor. ‘You know … your subjects?’
Ruben’s eyes go distant, and I know he’s thinking of the slums. From the way his lip trembles, he’s thinking of his mother too – her loss still raw, still cutting.
Kyor ignores Ruben as if he hasn’t spoken and looks at his provisions.
It’s enough for one person for a good few days, but not enough for all of us for very long.
Still, he finishes cutting off the slice and then hands the bread and knife to Benny before proceeding to do the same with the rest of the items.
As a packet of ham reaches me, Elska gets up and stretches, but rather than repositioning herself in front of the flames, she stalks off into the trees.
‘Where’s she going?’ Caz asks.
‘To hunt,’ Kyor grunts. ‘Apparently, we’re going to need more food.’
When we’ve finished eating a good portion of Kyor’s supplies, Caz once again returns to her maps. While the rest of us are struggling with the cold, Kyor stands up and removes his shirt, which he folds neatly before placing it on the log he was sitting on.
‘What are you doing?’ I snap, fully aware that he’s staring at me because I’m having to use every bit of willpower I have not to stare back. How has he grown more physically perfect since I last saw him topless?
‘Get up,’ he instructs me with the same tone he used with Elska. And just like his wolf, I pay it very little attention.
‘You’re blocking the heat,’ I say instead.
Rather than responding, he turns around and kicks dirt into the fire. The flames stutter and cough, spitting and crackling as they try to stay alight.
‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ I spit. ‘We need that.’
‘What you need, sweetheart, is to train. So get up or I’ll put the fire out for real.’
My back teeth grind together at his stupid, petty action, but he’s not bluffing. If I don’t get up, he’ll put the entire fire out, and relighting it is just a hassle we don’t need.
Reluctantly, I drag myself onto my feet.
‘Did you bring a sword?’ he asks me.
I give him a flat look. ‘Obviously.’ Only a fool would take the Hirathean Path without adequately arming themselves.
‘Good,’ he grunts.
With a single swivel, he turns on the balls of his feet then moves over towards a tree where a couple of bags – including one big enough to hold several weapons – are propped up against the trunk.
While I know he’s expecting me to follow, I linger a moment, not because I’m planning to refuse again, but because there’s something about seeing the ripples of his muscles in the firelight.
The way the shadows of the now-muted flames dance across the carved contours of his shoulder blades and back.
It makes my entire body forget it’s meant to be walking.
‘We’ll use mine to train,’ he says, swinging back to face me, two swords swaying in his grasp.
With a reluctance that comes as much from moving away from the fire as it does from being close to Kyor, I finally amble across to join him.
‘You’re a fighter, Rose. A survivor,’ he says, handing me the sword. ‘But what you’ll have to face on this trip will make the other Rettlings look like pussycats. You need to be ready for anything.’
His voice is tight and I wish his obvious tension didn’t worry me, but it does. He knows better than any of us what we’re about to face. If he says I should train, then maybe – in this situation only – I should believe him.
He hands me one of the swords and his fingers brush against my knuckles. It’s the most minuscule of touches, and yet it sends my heart racing.
‘Sort out your footing,’ he commands, only to simultaneously strike at me.
I’ve not even recovered from how much I miss the feel of his skin against mine, let alone had a chance to think about my feet, and yet his blade is heading straight for me.
Instinctively, my hands swing upwards as I move my sword to meet his. The first clatter catches me by surprise, but it also brings me into the present. Reminds me what I’m meant to be doing.
At certain points, it feels as though I’ve been transported back to the early days of the Retterheld, to when Kyor and I would spar as Zelle offered tips and tricks to improve my technique.
‘Feet wider,’ Kyor snaps in a way that is remarkably similar to his old tutor, and I can’t help but wonder if he knows it. ‘Move your shoulders back. When you fight them, you need to keep your distance.’
‘You mean the Issen?’ I reply.
‘You can’t let their weapons touch you,’ he says in a manner that feels like he’s evading my question.
‘Because we’re okay if other enemies’ weapons touch us?’ I sass back.
But he doesn’t smile. ‘They poison their blades,’ he warns. ‘One nick, and you’re dead. So we’re practising a new style of fighting.’
Fear that I somehow subdued rises to the forefront of my mind, more potent than ever.
‘How can you fight someone who can kill you with one nick of their blade?’ I question, trying to hide the nervousness burgeoning within me.
‘Carefully,’ he grunts. ‘You only go in for a killing blow when you’re sure, and you never ever leave yourself open. You need to fight defensively until you’re ready to land that final strike. That’s what we’re going to focus on.’
We battle on as we did back in the training yard, and soon I’m entirely lost in the feel of the blade in my hands and the jar of blows reverberating up my arms.
I almost expect a sassy comment from Llinos. A less-than-subtle whisper about whatever is going on between him and me, but of course, it doesn’t come.
There is no pulling of punches with me. Kyor trains me like a warrior, just like he always has done. Like he knows, more than anyone else, what I’m capable of.
It’s one of the things I love so much about him, I think before remembering that’s a thought that needs to be spoken in the past tense now.
The cold of earlier is forgotten, and despite the freezing temperatures, sweat glides down his temples, beads on his forearms, and trickles along the thin line of hair that leads down from his belly button. I try to ignore it all.
Try not to think about other occasions when sweat slicked his body to shiny perfection. Try not to think where that line leads.
‘That’ll do,’ he says finally when I’m soaked to the bone. As I drop my sword and realise just how much my heart is pounding, Kyor turns to Ruben.
‘You. Come here,’ he barks.
Ruben’s jaw sets.
‘We can’t have weak links. Either you show me you can fight or …’
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
Ruben doesn’t need him to. He rises to his feet.
‘Have you ever fought before?’ Kyor asks as I hand Ruben my sword.
‘I lived in the slums. Of course I’ve fought before.’
‘Killed?’ Kyor presses.
Ruben slides his eyes to me for a beat before nodding.
There was a man once who harassed Kay and me, and he wound up dead. I always wondered whether Ruben was the one who ended him. I never asked, didn’t want it on my conscience, but now, in this moment, I find that I need to know.
‘Tella?’ I ask tentatively.
‘Yes.’ His eyes meet mine, but there’s no regret in them. He did what he had to.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper.
A lopsided smile curls his lips. ‘There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Rose. You know that.’
I do know that.
My skin heats a little. Ruben and I had an arrangement in the slums – friends with benefits and no feelings allowed.
Though if I’m honest with myself, I knew he’d never stick to that rule.
Right from the off he’d wanted more, even though he tried to pretend he didn’t.
I ignored it. Ignored the way he looked at me, the way he wanted so much more, because I didn’t feel the same.
Part of me wished I had. Wished I could be the partner he so desperately wanted me to be.
What I felt for Ruben was nothing like the fire I felt for Kyor. It wasn’t even a candle to a bonfire. Yet he killed for me.
‘Let’s see what you’ve got, then.’ Kyor’s voice breaks our moment as he swings at Ruben, only for Ruben to duck out of the way and drive his sword at Kyor with more force than I’d expected.
Ruben fights like someone who learned in alleys – fast, dirty, unpredictable. Kyor fights like someone who learned in war – precise, lethal, uncompromising. Their blades clash in jarring rhythms, steel ringing out across the clearing.
‘Your stance is atrocious,’ Kyor snaps.