22. Chapter 22 #2
Neve’s laughing face in happier times flashed through Isla’s mind, Blake and Oren, Leona, Luke, and their squalling babe.
No, she thought. She had made a conscious decision to help her people in the most effective way she knew how.
And with an illness resistant to all known treatments, Oren had been right — the best way to help the most people was to find a cure, or die trying.
“I made a choice,” she heard herself say, somewhat surprised by the steadiness of her voice. She met Vaelin’s eyes, where surprise shone through the guilt she found there. “I think I knew there was more. I understand why you didn’t tell me everything right away. You thought I’d be afraid.”
“A fool’s assumption,” he said, his voice still gravelly. “You are one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”
Her lips parted slightly as she felt a slight flush rise to her neck, but before she could voice a denial he spoke again.
“People associate bravery with dramatic acts — charging into battle, wielding a weapon amidst a battalion of soldiers,” he shook his head.
“It’s easier to be brave when you know you have the advantage, and you’re surrounded by strength on all sides.
It takes true bravery to move forward into the unknown, against untold odds, and alone. ”
“I’m not alone,” she said, looking down at the soft, leather gloves Vaelin had bought her. The back of her neck burned.
In her periphery he nodded, a rare smile curving his lips, his dimple on full display.
Isla leaned against a boulder in the small clearing they’d found, listening to the soothing sound of the river in the near distance.
This would be their last break before their final push to the mouth of the Pass.
They had ridden for hours, and the mountains loomed closer than ever now, dwarfing them in their shadow.
The horses grazed nearby, loosely tethered to a low-hanging branch.
Isla sighed, stretching her arms overhead.
Her shoulders were healing well — surprisingly well, if she was honest. She could tell partly because she was so damn itchy, and partly because she had checked them during their last break.
Vaelin had confirmed that the skin was still reddened beneath the dressings, but the blisters were nearly gone.
Perhaps the calendula had been a particularly strong strain, she mused.
The leather vest Vaelin had provided her with had worked wonders to prevent her harness from cutting into her flesh again.
Her gaze slid to where her sword now rested near her feet, the sunlight that filtered through the sparse pines glinting off its edge. Across from her, Vaelin sat, honing his own blade with the whetstone he carried.
“You didn’t train this morning,” she noted, after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
He shrugged. “I didn’t relish the idea of practicing in front of a village of gawking humans,” he paused, glancing up at her, “No offence.”
She felt her lips twitch. Having witnessed both the innkeeper and Carin’s reactions to him, she couldn’t really argue.
She watched him smooth the whetstone over the edge of his blade for another minute, considering. Then she sat up. “Let’s spar,” she said.
Vaelin looked up at her slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I thought you said you didn’t want to practice.”
Isla shrugged. “Maybe I changed my mind.”
He paused, and for a moment she thought he would deny her. But then he stood in one annoyingly graceful motion, pointing the tip of his blade to where hers sat beside her. “Alright, then.”
Isla scrambled to her feet with considerably less grace, kicking her satchel to the edge of the clearing where she wouldn’t trip over it.
Vaelin shifted into a wider stance, his blade at the ready.
Isla mimicked his posture, setting her feet and releasing a slow, steadying breath as she wrapped her hand around the grip of her own weapon. She nodded, and Vaelin struck.
Her arms tensed, muscles straining as she met him blow for blow, parrying his strikes.
He advanced, and she stepped back and to the side, inviting a slash she easily met with her own blade.
He countered with a quick adjustment — as quick as one could with a longsword — and Isla was forced to rebalance.
She aimed a blow at his left side before suddenly changing the angle with an upward cut.
He sidestepped, adjusting his parry easily.
The sound of clashing steel sang through the clearing and she felt her lips tip into a smile as sweat beaded on her forehead.
Memories of sparring with Oren rose in her mind’s eye.
This had always been her favourite part — the almost choreographed feel to the foot work and the rewarding burn as her muscles rose to the challenge.
Vaelin pressed her, striking three blows in rapid succession and she stumbled, nearly losing her grip on her sword. A hint of surprise crossed her face.
Vaelin stepped back, holding up a hand and letting his own sword drop to his side. Isla let her arms relax, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Is that it?" she asked, shaking out her hand, still buzzing with the contact from Vaelin’s last blow. “I thought you were supposed to be some fancy warrior.”
“You have decent technique,” he noted, ignoring her comment.
“I know,” she said, and his lips twitched. “You didn’t treat me like a beginner,” she added, pleased.
“I know better than to do that by now,” he responded, dryly.
She smirked. “Just ‘decent’?”
He shrugged.
“How —” she began, fumbling for the words, “How can I get better?”
His brows lifted and he fought to hide the surprise that flashed across his face, but she noted it nonetheless.
Tilting his head to the side, he walked a slow circle around her, as though appraising her.
“You’re too perfect, too… by the book,” he rotated his wrist, pointing the tip of his blade at her feet.
“What’s wrong with that?”
He chuckled from behind her, his voice drifting over her shoulder. “Do you think everyone you cross blades with will fight with honour? No… they’ll fight dirty, use the environment against you. Exploit your weaknesses.”
“Show me,” Isla said, tamping down on a curl of irritation.