CHAPTER 22
SO CLOSE
The hand that reaches first is the braver of the two.
– Lyran proverb
They woke early, the three moons still visible overhead, and readied the valmares in silence. They were going deeper into Fatàn today, and it was clearly putting Sebastian on edge. He kept scanning the forest beyond their camp, his hand drifting to his sword hilt.
Finally, Kara said something. “You’re pacing.”
“The villages mean more people,” he said shortly, adjusting his saddle strap again. “More eyes.”
They avoided the busier market streets where they could.
Sebastian led the way, directing her onto the quieter roads.
He talked far more than Kara expected, the conversation flowing easily.
He asked questions. Perhaps it helped him forget how much danger they were in – but he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say.
“What was training like in Hale? For healers?”
“Why do you want to know?” she asked, surprised.
“You talk about it like it was endless. What did they make you do?”
“Endless is about right,” she smiled. “Long nights in the infirmary – winter storms always filled the beds. And when you weren’t treating, you were buried in the library.
You can’t just tell your magic to heal something – you have to understand what’s wrong, down to the smallest part. Seven years of that.”
He gave a low hum. “Sounds relentless.”
“It was,” she admitted fondly.
I still miss it though.
“Don’t think I’d have had the patience for that.”
“Oh, please,” she shot back. “And Thorne training was what, exactly?”
“Organised cruelty,” he smirked.
She laughed, bright in the cold air. “I knew it. I can actually picture you – scrawny, awkward – being barked at by drillmasters.”
“Not far off,” he conceded. “Drills at sunrise, blades in our hands before we could even lift them, running until you dropped. Nothing you couldn’t get through if you kept moving.”
She stared. He made it sound simple, as if brutal years in Thorne were just something to be endured, not survived. But she saw the shadow in his eyes, the kind that didn’t come from drills alone. He was downplaying it. He always did.
“Though for the record, I was never scrawny,” he added dryly.
She grinned at that. But then a memory stirred and before she could think better of it, she said, “Before all this, when you were a Thorne Commander.”
“Yeah?”
“The raid on Willowmere this summer – you knew about it?”
Sebastian didn’t answer immediately. Eventually, he said, “I got the report on it.”
“There was a boy. Only about eighteen. He was killed.”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“I was there.”
He looked troubled. “I didn’t know that.”
“I tried to heal him. But it was too late.” Her hands tightened on the reins. “I still see him sometimes.”
Understanding crossed Sebastian’s expression. “I’m sorry for that. But from what I was told, they’d threatened the villagers.”
“He hadn’t drawn his dagger.”
“There are more ways to threaten someone, Kara,” he said, not unkindly. “In the field you have seconds to make a decision. Good people die if you get it wrong.”
She’d never thought about it like that. He wasn’t wrong. But she didn’t think she’d ever be able to make decisions like that.
“It sounds hard,” she said honestly.
“It is,” he admitted.
“Did you want to be a soldier?”
He looked surprised. “I didn’t have a choice. But... yes. I liked it.”
She nodded slowly. “The expectations on you must have been ridiculous. Your father’s only son.”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “Something like that.”
She had been raised with very little say in her own life – it appeared they had that in common.
Her eyes found Sebastian often as they rode, and she noticed more than once, to her great pleasure, that he’d already been looking at her.
To save a half day’s ride, they passed through the largest village they’d seen so far.
Ardentvale, a small sign read. It looked like a strange festival.
The narrow streets were draped in multi-coloured silks and Fatàn houses of volcanic stone lined the street in dark rows, their walls threaded with veins of obsidian which sparkled in the sunlight.
Kara slowed Whisper to take it all in. The scent of incense was strong in the air.
Stalls of crystal balls and glass chimes threw rainbows across the pavement.
A stallholder waved them over with a smile, and pushed a steaming cup of spiced tea into her hands despite her protests.
“For the journey, yes?” the woman said warmly, patting Kara’s hand. “You look tired, dear one.”
An older man at the neighbouring stall called out, “First time in Fatàn? You must try the braisetart!” He held up a wrapped golden pastry filled with dark berries, thrusting it towards Sebastian before they could decline.
“Thank you,” Kara managed. The warmth startled her; the friendliness seemed so at odds with their situation.
“Travellers?” The woman leaned forward. “Will you be staying the night? We have rooms–”
“No, just passing through with my wife,” Sebastian answered easily.
Kara nearly inhaled her tea.
“That – no, we’re not–” Kara started, but the woman was already waving them on with well-wishes.
They rode in silence for exactly three seconds. “Your what?” she hissed.
He gave her the faintest sideways smirk. “What? It sounded better than ‘accomplice’.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” she muttered.
“I just enjoy watching you try not to explode.” He laughed. The sound of it made her stomach somersault and a red-hot flush crept up her face.
Gods, that smile.
By afternoon, the tone had shifted. The next village brought no laughter.
Same black-stone houses, same market stalls – but the air was heavier, smiles tighter.
At a well, two men clad in dark cloaks were speaking in hushed tones, their voices carrying just enough for Kara to catch: “Thorne battalion passed through this morning – headed West.”
“May the Four have mercy.”
She looked over at Sebastian. His jaw was set, shoulders tense. His ice-blue eyes darted past her, checking every shadow, every doorway.
“Missed them,” he said at last.
“Or they missed us,” she replied.
They rode on warily. This was proof of what they’d feared. Thorne soldiers were involved now. And they were close. Watchful gazes had begun to follow them as they passed, sharp and lingering. It wasn’t the idle curiosity of strangers – they were paying attention.
“We’ll stick to the forest trail after this,” he said, breaking into a gallop.
Kara didn’t argue.
The day passed in tense watchfulness. Every traveller was a potential threat. Every snap of a branch had Sebastian’s hand darting to his sword. By late evening, even the valmares couldn’t go any further.
“Just until first light,” Sebastian said uneasily. He scanned the forest as they dismounted. “Then we keep moving.”
He settled against a large pine, as Kara threw out her bedroll by his side and sat, looking at him.
“Do you have a plan?” she asked.
“A plan for what?”
She raised her eyebrows. “For getting the Fire Shard. Thorne will have reinforced its protections by now.”
“I’ll figure it out,” he said confidently. “I’ve done okay so far.”
“So you’re making it up as you go along?”
“That’s usually how wars are won,” he said dryly.
“Or lost,” she countered.
He threw her a look. “So optimistic.” He gripped the strap of his satchel; the Shards clinking softly in response. “It was working pretty well until you showed up.”
He was smiling at her. Actually smiling. It took her a moment to process what he’d just said.
“We’re joking about this now?” she asked cautiously.
He shrugged. “Would you rather I brood?”
“Not sure I can tell the difference,” she muttered.
He laughed softly, and leant forward, elbows on his knees, his hand rubbing absentmindedly at his forearms. Kara had noticed him doing that a lot.
The place where so many of his scars had been.
She didn’t think he realised he was doing it.
Since they’d travelled beyond the lava flows, the air had gotten significantly cooler.
With a rush of bravery, or perhaps foolishness, she shifted closer to Sebastian so they were shoulder to shoulder, her back leaning against the pine trunk next to him.
He was warm beside her, his Hale cloak brushing against her arm.
She told herself it was only for comfort.
Liar.
Her head found his shoulder.
Sebastian stilled.
Please don’t move away.
He didn’t. Didn’t create that usual distance between them.
Instead he turned his head, and looked down at her.
There was that look again. The one that made her forget rational thought.
Neither of them moved. Time stretched. Minutes or hours, Kara couldn’t have said.
The atmosphere between them changed. His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Her heart leapt so hard it made her dizzy.
He was thinking about it. About kissing her.
She could see the want, the hesitation. Her pulse thundered.
She wanted him to.
She really wanted him to.
Definitely wouldn’t pull away this time–
But then he drew in a rough breath. “Go to sleep, Kara.”
Disappointment hit her first, alongside an awful prickle of rejection.
Stop it, Kara.
She should be content with him allowing her this close.
He was far more forgiving than she’d expected.
More than she deserved. She smiled to herself faintly and settled against him properly, finding with a rush of pleasure that her cheek fitted perfectly against his shoulder.
Comfortable. Safe. Her eyelids grew heavy as she matched her breathing to his.
She’d take it.
Just when she thought the moment had passed, she felt his fingers touch hers. Her skin tingled at the contact. He paused – as if he was debating, second-guessing.
Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t make him pull away.
Then his hand slid into hers.
Oh.
Their fingers interlaced, warm and deliberate. His breathing quickened.
Do I make him nervous?