Chapter 30
THIRTY
THE SOLDIER CHASED HER, BOOTS HEAVY AS HE CLOSED THE DISTANCE. Thia sprinted as fast as she could, but it was no use. Hands wrapped around her, pulling her into an iron chest. She was wrestled to the ground, an elbow cutting off her airway.
Then suddenly, an arrow appeared in her attacker’s throat.
He let out a gurgling screech and collapsed onto her, his weight knocking the wind from her chest. The metallic reek of blood stung her nostrils; she coughed, trying to twist away as it spilled into her nose, her mouth, his body keeping her trapped.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, as she was drowning in blood—
She woke gasping, her clothes and hair drenched in sweat. She sat up, glaring into the darkness, trying to see something, anything that would tie her to reality. But it was too dark, the dense foliage of their hideaway blocking out the stars, and the night was like blood, heavy and suffocating and—
“Thia.” Someone appeared in front of her.
“Dess?” She reached out, trying to feel them. Her hands brushed a face, sweeping gently along smooth skin bisected with a raised line, a scar….
“No, it’s Oskaren.”
“Oh.” She let go.
“Thia,” Oskaren said again.
Thia began to shake, the image of the soldier’s bloody throat all she could see. She reached out again, needing something to hold onto. Her hands found a shirt, and she clutched it, desperately, telling herself that Oskaren was real and the soldier was not.
Except—that wasn’t the whole truth, and that was why she couldn’t get control of herself. The soldier had been real. She hadn’t drowned in his blood, but she had felt it on her face. She had watched him die. His death had been the cost of her life.
She forced shallow breaths into her lungs, unwilling to cry in front of Oskaren. In and out. In and out. She focused on the sound.
And when she felt less likely to combust into a puddle, she became aware that she was clutching Oskaren’s shoulders, her face pressed against the girl’s chest. She turned a deep shade of red, grateful the darkness hid it.
She cleared her throat and let go, settling back into her bedroll. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Bad dream.”
Rough hands brushed her cheek, the touch surprisingly gentle. “What happened?”
She blinked. Those were not the mocking words she was accustomed to. Those were—“Ren?” she asked. She wondered what had happened, what had triggered the shift, how long it would last.
Oskaren’s sharp cry of pain answered her question. She doubled over, gasping, her face landing in Thia’s lap.
Thia put a hand on the back of the girl’s head, fingers threading hesitantly in her dark hair. “Breathe,” she said softly. “You’re okay.”
Oskaren drew back. It was too dark to see, but Thia sensed she moved even farther away, which was confirmed when she spoke, voice distant. “Don’t—” she rasped. “Don’t call me that. I’m sorry.” Her breath came in gasps. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” Thia said gently. And she was surprised that she meant it.
It really wasn’t Oskaren’s fault, and no matter how much Oskaren pretended to not feel, no matter what Dess had said, Thia was coming to fear that the person she truly was might still be in there, screaming for release.
She stayed as still as she could, listening for the sounds of the other girl’s breath.
She could hear her panting and twitching in pain against the ground and wanted to go to her, but thought that might make it worse. Eventually Oskaren calmed.
Thia remained like that, awake and listening, long after Oskaren succumbed to sleep, lost in thought.
“I want to learn to fight,” Thia said.
It had been two days since Huckleton, two days of traveling through the same forest, of treading through creeks where they could and avoiding thick brush in an attempt to hide their trail in case the mayor’s soldiers were searching for them.
They were stopped for an afternoon rest, Oskaren having gone in search of food, Thran munching a bit of what they still had on a log a few yards away.
Dess was beside her, and at her comment, he raised a brow. “You don’t trust me to protect you?”
She could tell from the quirk about his mouth that he was joking, so she said, “Not if you’re dead,” and that shut him up with a clack of his jaw.
More seriously, she added, “I know I’m not going to become an expert overnight, but I’d rather know something, even if it’s just to have the slightest chance to defend myself if—”
“Relax,” Dess said, laughingly. “I’ll teach you.”
And so he did. He disappeared into trees momentarily, returning with two sticks, one of which he handed her. “This is called an arming sword, or a short sword,” he began, and Thia snorted.
“Actually, it’s a stick.”
“I can still skewer you with it.”
She raised her stick in surrender.
He amended, “If we had those swords over there”—he jutted his chin in the direction of their weapons—“we would be using a short sword. There are two basic movements: thrust and parry.” He demonstrated.
“Stab and don’t-get-stabbed,” Thia said, attempting to imitate him. The movement felt very unnatural, and the stick, light as it was, tugged uncomfortably at her wrists.
“Exactly,” Dess said. “Don’t clutch it quite so hard.”
She tried again, trying for a firm grip instead of hold-for-dear-life grip.
“Good,” Dess said. “Now we can do it from a variety of angles and positions, and that’s called a combo.” He took his stance again, knees bent, stick raised. Then he moved. “Thrust out, parry right, thrust down, parry left. Try it.”
She did. Without a mirror, she couldn’t see how it looked, but she’d never been an athlete, and that was abundantly clear in the rhythm of her movements. Or lack of rhythm. She nearly pitched herself over on the thrust down.
Dess smirked. “Maybe don’t swing so hard. Try to just get used to the movement first.”
She made a second attempt, feeling a bit like she was twirling a magic wand, not imitating a sword fight.
She could tell Dess was trying not to laugh at her, and she bopped him gently with her stick. “Asshole.”
He grabbed the end of it before she could repeat the attack and turned to Thran. “Any pointers?”
Thran’s eyes widened, perhaps because Dess had never voluntarily included him before. He tossed a genuine smile. But he said, “Don’t ask me. I know the basics, but surely not more than you.”
It was at that moment that Oskaren returned from hunting. Thia felt her gaze like hot coals as she settled on the other end of the log to Thran. The smile she gave wasn’t kind.
Dess shifted awkwardly, perhaps as uneasy as Thia under Oskaren’s watchful eye. “Shall we go again?” he asked. When Thia didn’t move, he nodded encouragingly. “Just the same combination as before.”
Thia took a deep breath, trying to put Oskaren out of her mind. She raised her stick—
And bopped herself in the nose.
She braced herself for laughter.
It didn’t come. Dess cracked a smile, but their observers were silent. Thia turned; Oskaren was indeed watching. But the other girl only raised an eyebrow as if to say, Are you going to do it or what?
Surprised, relieved, confused, Thia took up her position. Dess demonstrated again, and Thia ran through the movement a second time. She tried not to worry about speed or strength, and just focused on moving her body in the unfamiliar way. It felt better.
“Good!” Dess said brightly. “Try it faster now.”
That was definitely not good. She was back to wand twirling.
This time Oskaren did comment. “Useless,” she said, and Thia winced.
Dess, who looked like he might have agreed, was now furiously on Thia’s side. “I thought it was good,” he said, even though she’d caught him biting his lip to keep from cracking up while she was mid-movement.
Oskaren stood. “I was talking about you.”
Dess’s lips parted in surprise. He recovered, crossing his arms with a glare. “Why did we bother saving her again?”
She ignored the jab, addressing Thia. “You shouldn’t be learning from him. He twists his hips before every move. You can tell exactly where he’s going to strike before he does.” She gave him a once-over. “I told you to work on that.”
Angered on Dess’s behalf, Thia stepped in front of him. “Considering I can’t even manage a strike without an opponent, I’ll take my chances.”
Oskaren strode toward them, unsheathing the knife from her belt. “You’re right. You’re never going to become an expert in time to face Xercae.”
She stopped in front of Thia, glowering down from her impossible height. Thia swallowed. “Thanks for the encouragement.”
“There’s no point in teaching your body to thrust down, at least not right now,” the other girl said, glancing at Dess before settling on Thia’s face again. “You’re never going to meet an opponent shorter than you.” She wrapped her hand around Thia’s.
Thia froze. Oskaren eased her fingers open, touch light, and took the stick from her. Then she tossed it to the ground and slid the knife hilt into Thia’s palm.
“What you need are a few life-saving tricks. If you don’t get home…well, maybe you can learn properly then. Or you’ll be dead.”
Thia didn’t think it was a threat, just a statement of fact.
She told herself she was trembling from fear and not the other girl’s invasion of her personal space.
She wet her lips and could have sworn Oskaren tracked the movement.
“Is this you helping?” she asked, mortified when it came out as a near squeak.
Oskaren smirked. “I believe the words you want are thank you.”
“Funny, I didn’t hear a thank you when we broke you out of prison.”