9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
“ Y ou idiot. I told you to leave,” I seethe, marching right up to him. “What on the gods’ green earth would possess you to throw yourself at the troll like that?”
All at once, Asheros’s light-hearted expression goes cold, hard lines gripping his mouth, face, and shoulders.
Savell and Ronan blanch and glance at each other before backing away from me like I’m a wild beast. Kheldryn and Gryska exchange similar looks and then quickly busy themselves with the horses. Rubbing the back of his neck, Orim scans our surroundings and makes his way elsewhere.
“Why didn’t I leave?” Asheros echoes. “I think it’s more than obvious why I didn’t leave.”
“Because for some selfish reason you won’t name, you need me alive,” I spit. “Trust me, I know.”
“Selfish?” His voice brims with anger, amplifying the coldness of his stare. “You mean to tell me that saving your life is selfish?”
My scowl deepens. “It is when it’s motivated by selfishness.”
A dangerous darkness bleeds through his voice. “You don’t know what motivates me, Bladesinger.”
“Then tell me,” I demand, throwing out my arms. “Tell me why you kidnapped me. Tell me why I’m here.”
Shaking his head, he bares his teeth in what can only be described as a humorless, breathless laugh. “The better question is why didn’t you leave?”
I freeze. “What?”
“You heard me.” Staring into my eyes, he takes a step forward, closing the gap between us. “You had an opportunity to escape without anyone stopping you. We were all distracted by the troll. You could have left, but you didn’t. So I ask you, Bladesinger, why didn’t you leave?”
Clenching my jaw, I don’t back down. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
He cocks his head, sharpened amusement playing at his mouth. “Ah, but you just did.”
“No, I didn’t,” I counter. But the anxiety gathering at the bottom of my stomach says otherwise. Fear that he sees right through my bravado.
“I think,” he starts, bitterness sharpening with each word, “that you don’t want to go to Illnamoor. I think, that despite your prevailing sense of duty, you’re afraid of what awaits you there.”
My voice drops low with warning. “You should watch your tongue.”
But Asheros only pierces me with his stare, as if he could pin me in place with just one look. “What are you so afraid of?”
Dread clogs my lungs, rising into my throat. The realization that he sees right through me is enough to summon the very feeling I’m aiming to suppress.
The fear of my own weaknesses coming to light.
“Fear should have nothing to do with this,” I hiss through staggered, controlled breaths.
“So, you are afraid, then.”
“I’m not—” The words lodge in my throat. Staring at him with my brows knit together, I ball my hands into fists.
“Deny it,” he challenges, eyes alight like he knows he’s won this battle. “Tell me that I’m wrong.”
I can’t. And he knows it.
My frustration and shame bubble to the surface in a sickening tempest. A string of insults forms on my tongue, but I don’t unleash them.
Instead, I press my palms to his chest and shove.
Hard.
As if he immediately realizes his mistake, he says, “Bladesinger.”
But I storm off, leaving him at my back.
“Damn it all, Bladesinger.” Guilt rushes into his voice. “I—”
My steps quicken, and I break into a jog. Then a sprint.
I let the tears fall.
I know they’re pointless, because he’s right. I don’t want to go to Illnamoor. I am afraid of what awaits me there.
“Bladesinger,” Asheros calls from behind me. “Stop.”
But I don’t stop. I can’t. All it took was one straw, and the damn I’d so carefully built around my deepest emotions, has weakened, allowing the ugly things I don’t want to face to slip through. My defenses are crumbling, and right now, it doesn’t feel as if I can repair them.
Not before Asheros reaches me.
“Stop running,” Asheros shouts, voice thick with emotions I can’t name. “Please, Lymseia.”
Lymseia.
Not Bladesinger, not Captain, not even Lady Wynterliff, but my given name.
I slow to a stop. Taking deep, heavy breaths so that my shoulders visibly rise and fall with each one, I hang my head down and close my eyes. I make no move to wipe my face. My eyes are surely red and puffy, enough for him to know that I’ve been crying. So what’s the use in hiding it now?
I feel Asheros’s steps slow when he approaches, his palm cupping my elbow when he positions himself in front of me .
The gods must be teasing me, sending us in circles. Not even a week ago, he pursued me when I ran from his tent, trying to escape. So often, we find ourselves in similar situations, and time and time again I find myself in frustratingly close proximity to him. Only this time, he didn’t have to tackle me.
This time, I want him to catch me.
And I can’t help but wonder if it’s all by design.
Asheros stills. He doesn’t remove his palm from my elbow, and although I can stand perfectly fine on my own, I lean into it like I’m unsteady on my feet.
“What?” I ask, my voice hollow and lacking in strength.
“I—” he swallows. “I overstepped my bounds. For that, I’m sorry.”
That has me opening my eyes and tilting my face up to his for a moment, before I turn away. For some reason, I can’t look him in the eye. “You were right, though. I am afraid.” I let out a dry laugh. “Perhaps I’m not truly fearless.”
“Don’t,” he murmurs.
“Don’t, what?” I ask, keeping my gaze trained on the ground a few paces ahead. “Speak the truth?”
“Don’t use my words against yourself.” His voice is rough, as if there’s something below the surface that he’s wrestling with. “I never would have uttered them had I known you’d forge them into weapons.”
I turn to him, now. My wide eyes find his instantly, as if they were the only place in the realm that I could ever want to lose myself. It’s then that an unsettling truth settles into my very being, my soul, my existence.
Fear of my diplomatic position at Illnamoor, of my mother’s disapproval, isn’t what would have stopped me from leaving, even aside from my quest to learn Asheros’s plans. In his crystal blue eyes, that truth is ever so prevalent, even if I don’t want to admit to myself what it could mean.
“Being fearless isn’t the absence of fear, Bladesinger,” Asheros tells me, leaning closer. His voice softens, as does his expression. “It means you look fear in the eye and refuse to let it stop you.”
His tone is entwined with such conviction, that I find myself nodding slowly, as though I’m under his spell.
“You are fearless, Bladesinger.” He pauses, touching his lips together before parting them again. “Don’t ever let anyone make you think the opposite is true. Not even me.”
His words hang between us, a tether we can’t shed. Neither of us says anything for a long while. Straightening my posture, I lift my head and take a breath. “We should rejoin the others.”
Asheros’s stare lingers on me. Something in his demeanor gives me the sense that there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t have all the words yet. He makes no move to leave, and part of me wonders if he would rather stay here, alone with me, for just a bit longer.
If he does, he surely doesn’t act on it.
“Of course,” he agrees, swallowing whatever it is that waits on his tongue. “But first, give me your hand.”
“My hand?”
Gently, he takes my left hand, fingertips grazing along the underside of my wrist. He mutters something under his breath, and the troilite cuff snaps open. Lightly removing it from my wrist with his free hand, he tucks it into his pocket.
The moment the cuff leaves my skin, a weight lifts from my shoulders, my strength flowing freely once more.
Blinking slowly, I study my arm. Surely, he must know what he’s done. If I truly was trying to escape, then removing the cuff is no different than a jailer leaving the door of a cell unlocked.
“Why?” I ask, looking up at him.
“With the troll… I almost put you in danger because of this.” Eyes fixed on my wrist, he exhales. “I’ll never do that again.”
Something takes hold of my chest, a tightness woven around my ribcage.
“Now, we’re ready to rejoin the others.” Releasing me, he turns his palm skyward in a gesture that encourages me forward.
Glancing at him, I make my way back to where we left the others with more energy in my stride. It’s farther back than I thought—I must have run more than I realized.
The others exchange curious looks when we rejoin them.
Savell, with his hands on his hips, and Ronan, his arms crossed, stand some distance away from the horses, on the outskirts of the group. They eye me, in particular, as if they fully expected Asheros to drag me back, kicking and screaming. Savell’s stare falls to my bare wrist, and controlled surprise lifts his brows. Closer to the center, Orim merely flashes me a warm smile and dips his head to Asheros. Kheldryn and Gryska finish tending to the horses, glancing up at Asheros and I when we approach.
“Are we set to depart?” Asheros asks coolly, as if nothing happened between us.
“We’re ready when you are.” Kheldryn nods, patting her mare’s back.
“What about resting?” Ronan asks, holding back a yawn.
“After the troll incident,” Asheros says, rubbing his temple, “it’s in our best interest to continue on. Orim,” he calls, looking over his shoulder at the golden-haired male. “How much farther?”
“At this pace, about another day’s worth,” Orim answers.
Asheros pauses, pursing his lips. “Then we’ll rest when we reach our destination, unless we have good reason to delay our arrival.”
He turns to me with his hand outstretched. “Are you ready?”
Staring at his open palm, I hesitate, still coming to terms with our unspoken truce, and then I take his hand. It’s warm in mine. “I’m ready.”
Asheros dips his head to me in acknowledgement, the hint of a smile pulling at his lips instead of that wicked smirk. “ Good.”
He leads me to his horse and waits for me to get on. He doesn’t offer to help, nor does he automatically lift me up onto the horse’s back. He merely watches, looking for any sign indicating I might need assistance.
Of course, there are none. I’ve mounted a horse plenty of times. Still, his reaction is… different. Any other male would have assumed I required help or insisted upon it. Something about etiquette, or whatever.
Asheros mounts and adjusts the reins. The others position themselves atop their steeds, and once everyone is ready, Asheros ushers our horse forward. On the road, we ease into a steady pace. The others fall into formation behind us, two by two. Rather than ride in the center, we adhere to the road’s right side. Likely as a precaution, in the event we need to take cover in the woods.
The muffled sounds of voices behind us tell me that the others have begun talking amongst themselves, though Asheros and I remain silent. I debate keeping it that way, but my curiosity gets the better of me.
“You didn’t help me mount the horse,” I say.
Asheros glances at me, a pale brow raised. “Do you take issue with that?”
“No,” I add quickly. “I’m only mentioning it because you surprised me, is all.”
“The great Captain of the High King’s Guard surprised?” His voice lilts with amusement. “Perhaps we should have this moment recorded.”
“I haven’t forgotten my threat of punching you. There’s still time to make that a reality.”
He holds up his palms in surrender. “Please, save that for when I actually deserve it.”
I laugh. “That can be arranged.”
“In all seriousness, Bladesinger,” Asheros says, his shift in tone reflecting his words, “I didn’t want to force my help upon you. You clearly didn’t need it, and I thought it would have been insulting if I had.”
My expression softens. I turn my face to look back at him.
He thought of my feelings?
Warmth gathers in my stomach. Somehow, it makes my chest feel light, as if I’m near weightless.
He continues, crystalline stare finding mine, “But make no mistake, should you ever need my help, all you have to do is say the word.”
I tear my eyes from his, my gaze falling to my lap. “What if…” I know I’m treading into dangerous territory, where my weaknesses are vulnerable to attack, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “What if I don’t know how to ask for it?”
One of his hands releases the reins, and his thumb and forefinger find my chin. His touch is gentle, and soft, and I can’t help but want more of it now that I’ve had this small taste.
He tilts my face to his, his fingers on my chin ever so slight. “Even if you don’t know how to ask, you will have my help all the same.” A pause. “Always.”
I search his diamond irises for any hint of deception or insincerity.
But I find none.
If anything, his eyes seem to shine with conviction, like none I’ve seen before.
My mouth parts, but I don’t know what to say, so I nod and tell him the only thing that I can. “Thank you.”
“I’ve done nothing,” he replies quietly.
“I think you have.” More than he knows.
Now it’s his turn to nod, his lips pressed together as if he’s unsure of how to conduct himself. His hand falls from my chin to grip the reins once more. I correct my posture, adjusting my head and torso so my shoulders face forward.
Fatigue settles into my bones, the heaviness of it drowning any thoughts I might have. I don’t know how much longer we ride before my consciousness slips away from me entirely.
My eyes flutter open, and then close again. I stir, only partially aware I’m leaning against Asheros, who supports the full brunt of my weight. Though I’m in a murky state between sleep and wakefulness, I must grumble about it because his arms tighten around me to still my movements.
“Rest, Lymseia,” I hear him say.
Though they remain closed, I try to open my eyes.
His voice brushes my ear, tender, like a caress. “No harm will come to you so long as I’m here.”