Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
TWO MORE DAYS PASSED WITHOUT EVENT. RAIN HIT ON THE FIRST night, and Thia was more grateful than ever for their spelled cloaks.
Thran strung up a tarp that appeared to be made of some kind of leather, and they stayed as dry as could be expected.
Thia spent lunches and evenings training with Dess and Oskaren, practicing the same few tricks over and over until the latter was confident she could do them in her sleep.
“You’ll have one shot,” was Oskaren’s constant refrain.
Thia heard the implied Don’t fuck it up.
The girl avoided her otherwise, until Thia started to worry that she’d pushed her too far, that whatever was left of her had retreated deep inside herself where the pain of her feelings could no longer reach.
When the next night came, the fifth since Huckleton, and they still hadn’t hit Losrohiria, Thia also began to worry they were taking too long.
She tried not to resent Oskaren for costing them a day with her capture, but it was hard when she did nothing but alternate between barking orders and ignoring them.
On the sixth day, Thia had finally had enough.
Maybe it was that she had been slightly damp for over seventy-two hours.
Maybe it was that she was starting to feel insecure about her admission of affection, when all the other girl did was look blankly at her.
She even missed the usual smirk, because it least it had some semblance of feeling in it, even if it was pretend.
Or maybe it was that, deep down, she knew Oskaren’s retreat was her fault.
So when the girl barked what felt like the hundredth correction in their training session that evening, Thia snapped.
Oskaren had been running them through a knife-throwing drill.
They were an hour in, and Thia’s arm was exhausted, her dagger clattering against the target tree, falling harmlessly to the ground—as had every one of her previous throws—instead of sticking to the bark like it was supposed to.
Oskaren said, “Again,” in a flat voice, from a few yards away where she perched casually on a stone, and Thia whirled on her.
“Why don’t you get off your ass and show me,” she growled, wishing against all odds to get a rise out of her.
Dess, perplexed by the outburst, halted mid-throw. Thran, who was taking the opportunity to clean his boots of mud, glanced over as well.
Oskaren didn’t react. “I already showed you.”
“Well, I’m clearly not doing it right.”
“Clearly.”
There should have at least been a smirk with that comment. But Oskaren wasn’t even looking at her. Before her mind could catch up, Thia’s feet closed the distance, her hand taking Oskaren’s and dragging her to her feet before she realized what she’d done.
Where are you? Thia wanted to scream. Come back.
At least the girl allowed herself to be towed without protest.
Thia stopped in front of the target. “Show me again.”
Faster than Thia would have thought possible, the girl whipped a dagger from her belt and threw it into the tree where it landed, hilt-deep, with a thwack. “Happy?”
“How can I be?” she said, and from Oskaren’s frown Thia knew the girl understood exactly what she meant.
Instead of answering, she brushed past Thia and collected her knife from the tree. When she returned, her face was a mask of disinterest. “Again.”
Thia knew she was being selfish, when what she wanted caused Oskaren pain. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that they could win, that the curse would lose its hold, if only Oskaren would believe it.
If she couldn’t tempt her with goodness, maybe she could with a fight. So she did the only thing she could think of. She attacked.
Or at least she tried to. She should have known how fast the other girl was by her knife throw, by their first training session when she had bitten Thia.
But as she placed her hands on Oskaren’s chest, the girl knocked her wrists to the side and spun her around in one fluid movement that sent Thia sprawling.
She raised her chin, tailbone smarting, and was rewarded with a glare.
Good.
She tackled Oskaren’s legs. This time, the girl couldn’t stop her, and she also went down, though she managed to recover with an effortless roll back to her feet. Thia stood and faced her, shoulder aching slightly from impact with the girl’s knees.
“What are you doing?” Oskaren asked, still.
“Showing you what I’ve learned?” Thia offered.
“I didn’t teach you that.” There. The tiniest hint of a smirk.
“Maybe not,” Thia agreed. “But you did teach me this.” She launched herself at Oskaren.
As expected, the girl sidestepped, arms rising to pin Thia’s to her side, her chest to Thia’s back. “You were saying?” the girl said smugly.
“Look down,” Thia rasped, throat tight as the girl’s arm slid around it to prevent her from moving.
Oskaren did.
To where Thia had a knife poised under her ribs.
Oskaren raised a brow. “Good,” she said, and it sounded like she meant it.
Thia pressed back ever so slightly, not enough to draw blood, but enough to threaten it.
Oskaren released her with a shove. Thia didn’t give her a moment to think.
She whirled, striking with the knife in her hand.
Oskaren blocked it easily. Thia threw a punch with her other hand. Oskaren caught her wrist.
And hooked her leg around Thia’s, sending her crashing to the dirt.
Oskaren fell with her, arm wrapping around her head so it didn’t hit the ground.
Thia landed with her back against the soil, cradled in the crook of Oskaren’s elbow, the girl’s weight pinning her down.
She felt everywhere their bodies connected, chest, stomach, and thighs.
There was a knife pressed gently against her throat, preventing her from doing the very stupid thing her mind wanted, which was to close the distance between the only place they didn’t yet touch.
Oskaren’s eyes flew wide and caught on Thia’s mouth. They darkened as Thia raised her chin the barest inch, wetting her lips.
“Ren,” Thia said softly, reaching a hand to the inside of the girl’s wrist. She applied the barest pressure, and Oskaren yielded, removing the knife from her neck.
There was no world beyond the brown skin and short curtain of dark hair above her, no thoughts in Thia’s head as she lifted her head another inch. As Oskaren lowered hers and—
Oskaren shot to her feet. Her expression was wild, panicked—nauseous even. Without another word to Thia, she heaved a breath that made her shoulders sag and departed the clearing.
Thia struggled to her feet, brushing dirt off her hands.
Dess looked at her strangely. “You must have a death wish,” he commented.
Thia bent to collect her knife where she’d dropped it in the fall and marched over to her pack, ducking her head to hide her flush.
“Know what you’re doing there, lass?” Thran asked gently, so much so that Thia’s brows rose in surprise. He wore an all-too-knowing expression.
She swallowed. “I hope.”
Dess returned to hurling knives at the tree. He was much better than Thia, which was unsurprising, but while she was focused on her own technique, she hadn’t noticed just how good he really was. He was quite strong, his aim just as precise as Oskaren’s. The blade never missed.
“You can’t stop your heart from feeling what it does,” Thran commented softly, and Thia nearly died of embarrassment. There was no judgement on his face, however, just sympathy. “But you’ll lose it with that one.”
Thia inspected her bootlaces. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You do,” he said. “You’re Vanari.”
Now she did look at him. “I’m what?”
She braced herself for something cruel, some disgust at the way she loved. But there was only quiet acceptance on his face as he explained, “A child of Vanarus, the goddess who loved a mortal woman.”
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Um. Yes.”
He nodded like he’d expected that and gave her a fatherly pat on the knee that made her heart twinge. “Love—it’s an exchange,” he said, gently. “And Oskaren has got nothing to give you.”
Thia peered at the tree line, as if she could see through them to the girl beyond. “I think you’re wrong.”
Thran nodded as though that was possible, and she felt a flash of warmth toward him.
He released her knee and gathered his shoe brush, rubbing it along the sole of his boot again. “Whatever happens, you should be proud of what you’ve accomplished here.”
She scoffed, before she could stop herself. “Being unable to do anything for myself?”
“Fighting so hard for your home,” Thran said. “And there’s no shame in needing help.” She wondered if he truly believed that, when he was so obviously struggling and never asked for it himself. “If I had even the slightest chance of recovering what I’ve lost, I’d do the same.”
Thia shifted awkwardly, feeling a little too seen.
“But it’s more than that,” he said, before she could respond.
“You’ve given Dess a chance at his memories.
You’ve given me a chance at my honor. You care about someone the rest of us had long since given up on.
” He cleared his throat, voice gruff. “Whether or not you are the Storm Crow, you are what the Storm Crow represents.”
“And what is that?” Thia asked quietly.
“Hope.” Then he said nothing more, as if so many words had exhausted him. He exchanged the boot in his hands for the one on the ground and began working it as well.
It was freeing in a way. To hear that no matter which cards fate dealt her, no matter what role she ended up playing, she was still seen for the person she hoped she was.
She could go home, and at least one person would still think she was good, even if she couldn’t become what this world wanted of her.
She swallowed, throat burning. “Thanks,” she said, meaning it.
He set both boot and brush down, finished. “Just remember, little lass,” he said, a twinkle in his blue gaze letting her know his next words were in jest. “Hope can’t be killed.”
She wished that was true.