THIRTY-TWO #2
I might be here, but my head is still back in that courtyard.
I force myself to focus and close the distance, trying to knock Shea off-balance.
But I’m too fucking slow, and she sidesteps.
She presses forward, sending me into retreat.
I try to counter with a thrust to her shoulder, but she blocks the move like she expects it.
Bishop hates when I do that. The thought costs me.
Shea locks our blades and shoves hard enough that I stumble again—and wind up back in the mud.
“Three,” Taliesin says, his voice a bit quieter.
Heat floods my face as I push onto my feet, anger rising through me. The trouble is I want to aim it at the person who caused it. Not Shea. We keep sparring. I lose every point until finally Taliesin says, “I think that’s enough.”
“Still friends?” Shea asks as we hang the training swords up.
I rub the sore spot on my rear. “That depends on how big this bruise is.”
“We could hit the baths,” she suggests.
Even if I was comfortable, the offer only brings back too many memories.
Before I can tell her no, her gaze catches on something over my shoulder. “I think he wants to talk to you.”
I turn to find Taliesin leaning against the wall with his arms folded.
“I’ll catch up with you in a second,” I say. Shea nods, shooting me an encouraging smile before she leaves me to face my next beatdown.
I force myself to walk toward him, even though I know what he’s going to say.
“In a real fight, you’d be dead,” Taliesin says. “Many times over.”
It’s a reminder that I don’t need. “Thanks for the feedback.”
“You lost before you even stepped into the arena,” he says, ignoring my sarcasm.
I clench my fists, trying to distract myself from the pressure behind my ribs. “I thought the point was to train.”
“The point is to stay alive. You know what gets people killed?” He lets the silence stretch until I’m squirming. “Distraction. Thinking about something else—about someone else—instead of the opponent in front of you.”
“Or maybe Shea is just better than I am,” I say coolly.
“She is.” He nods. “But you weren’t fighting her today. You were fighting yourself.”
I want to protest that it was just an off day, but he’s right. My head wasn’t in the fight. “I understand.”
He leans in, voice dropping as conscripts walk by. “Do you? Because they’ve come for you on Marius land now. They’re tired of waiting to kill you. And next time, you won’t get multiple rounds. You won’t get a second chance. If you can’t be present in the fight, you won’t survive.”
The words land harder than any of Shea’s blows, because they’re true. But I’m not about to lose another round. Not after letting Shea kick my ass, and especially not after what happened with Bishop. “I was poisoned at a party,” I say. “I’m not sure a sword would have helped.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not everyone who wants you dead will be so civilized in their attempts.”
“I’m the one who nearly died,” I spit back, “and there was nothing civilized about it.”
But he doesn’t bother with sympathy. “Whatever this thing is with Bishop,” Taliesin says, disregarding how I bristle at the mention of his name, “you need to decide if it’s worth dying for.”
I stare at him, unable to muster a response. Maybe it was once, but Bishop is the one who gave up. Who resurrected the boundary between us. If Bishop wants distance, he can have it. I’m through hiding.
Taliesin pushes off the wall and straightens to his full height. “Keep the personal shit out of the fight. If you can’t, go dig a new grave next to your friend.”
When I finally find Shea near the entrance to the baths, Taliesin’s words are still echoing in my head:
Dig a new grave.
Fuck him.
Except … he’s not wrong, and I know it. If there’s a sword in my hand, I can’t let Bishop linger in my head. The trouble is that I don’t know how to get him out of there.
“That looks like it went well,” Shea says as I reach her.
“I think his lecture hurt worse than your ass-kicking,” I admit.
“It sounds like you need to go to the baths,” she prods, jerking her head toward the door. “It’ll help with the bruises. I know you’re self-conscious about the mark, but I promise to kill anyone who says something.”
The offer twists into a now-familiar discomfort. The thought of people seeing me, of going back into the place where Bishop told me …
I shake the thought away. I can’t keep hiding, and there’s only one way to stop.
“Sure,” I say.
Shea blinks in surprise before a grin bursts onto her face.
“Yeah, yeah. You win again,” I admit as she leads me inside.
“It’s probably not even busy today,” she says when we find the dressing room empty.
A faint hiss of steam drifts toward us through the archway that leads to the pools, followed by the faint echo of dozens of voices from the main chamber beyond.
“Or I could be wrong about that,” she says with a frown.
“I don’t mind.” It’s a lie, but maybe if I try hard enough, I’ll start believing it.
Shea continues on, then stops in her tracks.
“Let’s come back later,” she suggests, trying to steer me back outside.
“I’ll be fine,” I promise, tugging her toward the lockers. But I only make it one more step before I see why she’s stopped. Bishop is standing in the infirmary, speaking with Vessica. For a second, I consider turning around.
Then Taliesin’s voice rings through my head again.
You need to decide if it’s worth dying for.
Coward. I’m not the one running from this thing between us, and maybe Bishop needs to see that.
I square my shoulders before Shea can protest again and walk straight past the little office. Bishop looks up just as I pass the doorway, and our eyes meet for half a heartbeat.
I keep walking.
Let him watch.
Behind me, Shea mutters something under her breath and hurries to catch up. “Well done,” she says when she reaches me. “He looks like you ran him through.”
I flinch at the thought but quickly arrange my face into disinterest and shrug.
She studies me for a moment before she shucks off her training vest. Laughter and conversation float toward us, and suddenly I’m relieved there will be plenty of people to distract me inside. We strip quickly in the changing area, both of us moving faster than usual.
Steam curls around the doorway as we enter the bathing chamber. Every conversation falters almost immediately.
And I haven’t even dropped my towel yet.
“Let’s use this one,” Shea suggests, acting like she doesn’t notice that all eyes in the room are on me. It’s the pool closest to the door, which is probably why it’s empty.
I force a smile, trying to remember how to breathe with the sudden weight sitting on my chest. I can feel them watching, but I know they aren’t looking at me.
They’re staring at the raven-mark. I lift my chin as I descend the steps, refusing to let their curiosity chase me away.
Hiding the mark didn’t stop someone from poisoning me.
I’m through with living like they succeeded.
But when the water welcomes me with a rush of heat, I still sink under it to the neck.
At first, no one speaks. Then the whispering starts, low murmurs rippling through the room like the buzz of insects.
Shea slides into the water beside me. “You don’t have to do this,” she whispers. “We can leave.”
I stare straight ahead. “I’m fine.”
Apparently, that’s my word of the day.
“You don’t look fine.” She glances around us. “Do you want me to say something?”
“I’ve endured worse.” I shrug. Compared to what happened with Bishop, this is nothing. “And I can take care of myself.”
She nods like she understands.
Silence falls through the chamber again, and I draw a deep breath, preparing to tell everyone to fuck right off. But before I can stand up and let them all have a good look at the harbinger, a shadow falls across the pool. Glancing up, I freeze.
Bishop is standing a few steps away. His arms are folded over his chest, the expression on his face carved from ice as he scans the room, looking at every pool … except the one I’m in.
The whispering dies instantly.
“Oh shit,” Shea breathes.
Perfect.
Ignore me for weeks, but the second people start staring, he’s here to play savior.
Water slides down my skin as I rise from the bath. “I think I’m done after all.”
Shea looks between me and where he’s still glowering like a very handsome gargoyle. “Are you sure?”
“Stay.” Something tells me this is going to be ugly. “Enjoy your relaxation.”
One of us should be able to.
Understanding flickers across her face. “Okay.”
I don’t rush up the steps, and somehow the utter silence is worse than the whispering as everyone tries to make a point of not looking. I swipe my towel from the edge of the pool and wrap it around myself as I walk calmly back into the changing room, counting each second in my head.
I make it to thirty before he follows. For a second, we just stare at each other.
Then the anger hits.
“I don’t need you to protect me,” I snap.
His brows draw together. “Arden—”
“No,” I cut him off. “You don’t get to ignore me for weeks and then show up claiming I’m some huge burden. Stop acting like you’re in charge of my life.”
“I wanted you to feel safe.” He holds up his hands, backing away a step. “That’s the arrangement.”
I laugh harshly. “The arrangement was to train me to take care of myself, which is what I’ve been doing while you skulked around the country, forgetting I exist. I don’t want your protection anymore.”
But he shakes his head. “As long as you’re under my roof—”
“I’ll find another one,” I interrupt.
The words hang there, both of us knowing that’s easier said than done. But I can’t stay here if he’s going to make me feel like I’m nothing more than a mistake he made. One that he’s now stuck watching over.
Bishop goes completely still. “You don’t mean that.”