CHAPTER 11 #3
“No,” I said, eliciting a raised brow from him.
This was one thing I had experience with.
Mother had barred me from swordplay with Bale before I was six, and though she frowned when he brought me to the targets, she didn’t intervene.
According to her logic, I would never find opportunity to hold a bow outside our home, but swords were common.
Especially in town where officers were abundant, she feared the easy access presented too great a temptation for me.
So I settled for archery, counting it as a win to do something only allowed to boys.
Though now, I was a year out of practice, with how long Bale had been gone.
I held the bow in my left hand and tested the string.
It was slightly larger than what I was used to, despite being the smallest on the rack.
I drew in a deep, slow breath. Plucking an arrow from the nearby quiver, I planted my feet and pulled back the drawstring.
With my target in sight, I took three deep breaths.
On the final exhale, when all the air had left my lungs, I paused for only a moment, long enough to relax my right hand. The arrow flew.
With a soft thunk, it embedded into the target. It wasn’t a perfect center hit, but it landed. I turned to Wep, grinning, and bowed. Behind me, my ranng clapped, cheering my name.
Wep had a hand to his chin, eyes on the target. His short beard had been trimmed down to little more than scruff since I’d seen him that morning. I hated admitting it suited him even better. “You’ve had training.”
“Only from my brother.” My heart panged at the admission, but Bale would be proud to see me like this.
“Good. I can work with this. Nock another, but don’t release.”
I did as instructed, back straight and arms spread. Wep moved to my front, repositioning my arms and hands, and showing me the lines I should be creating with my body.
“Your structure should give you support without wearing you out.” He stepped around to my back, using his own feet to reposition mine.
“Can I touch you?” he asked.
What did he think he’d been doing? “Yes.”
His hands smoothed over my spine from neck to base.
“Good,” he muttered. Then, they swept down my sides.
He adjusted my ribcage slightly, then my hips.
Finally, he reached around and ran his hands over my stomach.
“Tighter,” he whispered, his breath tickling my ear.
I didn’t need that advice—my whole body had already tightened at the contact.
“Your core is your stability. Everything builds from there.” He was so close to me that he was practically enveloping me. His scent lingered in the air—eucalyptus and mint and something just a little bit earthy. I could barely focus on keeping the string taut.
He stepped back and appraised his work. “You sure you need the glasses?” he asked.
“I can take them off, but I can’t be held responsible for whatever gets hit.”
He nodded. “Release.”
I relaxed, and the arrow flew true. My ranng exploded into hoots and hollers as it hit the target’s center, but I barely noticed. My eyes were on Wep, drinking in his approval.
He nodded once, a small smile twisting the side of his mouth and reaching his silver eyes. I had never seen anything more beautiful.
I was well and truly fucked.
“TRAINING, LESSONS, meals, repeat. The life these Riht all think is so great is going to bore me to death.” I flopped into what had become my chair at the small table in our cramped room and threw my arms over my eyes.
Even my latest session with Dane, which covered maps of several regions around Drakh, wasn’t enough to keep my sense of boredom at bay.
I ignored the way my gut clenched at yet more information I should be detailing in my journal to send back with Gerta.
Information that could prove crucial when it was time to extract me.
Gerta tutted around as she rearranged this and that in our tiny space, a habit she’d developed to have things as best prepared as possible while we awaited my father’s reply.
It had been weeks since I’d sent that letter, but I hadn’t remained idle.
I’d continued to write home with one half-baked idea after the next of other ways to return the journal to him without losing Gerta.
My last letter to Merria included a suggestion to send it back with a trunk of my Inraen clothes.
That plan was as weak as it was risky. The clothes were useless here, but there was no need for them at home—certainly not reason enough for an entire journey across the White Sea.
My next plan involved secreting the journal within a selection of Rihtish goods, then begging Dane’s aid in sending it to Cavendaffe as a gift for my beloved sister.
The common issue with both plans, of course, was how I’d manage to hide the journal well enough to pass inspection.
If he would have killed me for failing the Sun Trial, what might Dane do to me if I were discovered?
The trouble was, aside from my abysmal skills at planning and deception, my time was so filled with lessons and activities that I barely had time to think.
Since our first visit, I had returned to the tea bar with Helene a couple of times for more earth-shattering concoctions, each drunk in absolute silence.
I had stayed after training a few times to spar with Lispen—the short woman with cropped golden blond hair and a habit of kicking everyone’s ass—when I was feeling particularly masochistic.
And almost every day, I had private lessons that included strength-building with Wep.
He had begun exercising alongside me in our evening sessions, and it was doing things to me that I didn’t care to admit.
Those left me in the worst mood, and not just from muscle aches.
If I were being honest with myself, his sessions weren’t all bad.
My lip quirked up at the memory of the prior night.
Wep had me doing some ungodly balancing on a ball I swear was filled with sand.
It was barely wide enough to stand on with two feet side by side, let alone balance.
Of course, I fell a hundred times, cursed Wep up and down with every Mayoran slur I could think of—and a few extra in Inraen to boot—all while he stood there stoic and bored.
Then, by the mercy of the Nine Martyrs, I finally found my balance and kept it.
It was the first time I’d seen him break and flash an actual, full smile.
The only praise he offered was, Took you long enough.
Still, the monotony of the daily activities chafed.
“This existence is pointless. Every bit as pointless as the one I had at home.”
“Missing your needlework then, milady?” Gerta asked.
“No,” I scowled. I hated needlework. What I craved was purpose.
I wanted to feel like my life, my work, and my talents weren’t just pointless nonsense.
Yes, I could train my body and mind with Rihtish practices, but the Creator and I both knew I would never use them.
If I stayed here, that would be one thing, but eventually, I would return to Inra, and all that I had learned here would be lost.
“Or maybe you’d rather be back in there with Wep, eh?”
What. The. Fuck.
Whipping around, I shot Gerta the sternest look I could muster. “Excuse me?”
She laughed. “Oh, shall I pretend not to notice what a handsome young lad he is, then?” She chuckled. “As you will.”
“You’ve lost your flaming mind.” I did not find that cold and merciless man attractive.
Of course, I had eyes. Objectively, he had a body chiseled by the Creator himself.
The muscle definition on that man was downright unseemly, and his tanned skin only served to highlight it.
Seeing him sleeveless—fuck. Even the scars down his right arm did nothing to detract from how perfectly honed every inch of him was. Quite the opposite.
The problem wasn’t his body. It was his face.
Oh, he was handsome enough, with intense, steel-blue eyes, a strong jaw covered in just the right amount of scruff, and lips that were too inviting for their own good.
But, he kept that beautiful fucking mouth in a constant scowl.
That overall air of sourness was further pronounced by permanently drawn brows, making the whole package off-putting.
I’d only seen him do anything resembling a smile twice.
The best part about him was his coppery, shoulder-length hair when it fell in his face, covering that constant bad mood. Except most days, he tied it up in a knot. I’d only really seen it down for the seconds it took him to re-tie it.
“Perhaps I have lost it, but my eyes don’t lie. I’ve seen how you look at him.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, for the love of the Nine Martyrs!”
“Fine, you don’t like him, but you can’t ignore the man’s body. Even I can appreciate it.”
A vision of his hard lines on top of me flashed uninvited through my mind.
He had suggested sparring a few nights ago, he swept my legs out and pinned me to the floor with frightening ease.
A flush of heat spread from the top of my head down to my chest. I needed to get laid, yet neither of my supposed betrotheds were around to help. “Fat lot of good that does anyone.”
“Mmm. Imagine what Dane would think if he saw you mooning after Wep.”
“I’m not mooning.” I crossed my arms. “I do not moon.”
“Of course not.”
“And don’t forget I’m betrothed.”
“On my honor, I could never.”
“Can we please get back to the matter at hand? Fire and ash, you’re a gossip. What will you do when you’re back home and don’t have me to sew rumors about?”
Gerta froze.
I cringed. Blatant fear flashed across Gerta’s eyes. My stomach dropped, and I sobered at the reminder of how soon she could be leaving me. “I’m sorry. I’m just sick of being useless,” I muttered.
“Then talk to Wep. Maybe training doesn’t have to be daily. We could ask Kahvrah—”