C H A P T E R T W E NT Y- FO U R
s the days passed and Thea started down the road to recovery, she found herself in Wren’s healingA lesson. It was one of the few areas that the guild continued classes in well after the students came of age and specialised in their own fields.
Wren explained that this was because there were always new techniques, new treatments being discovered all the time and that Thezmarr, particularly its alchemists, needed to be at the forefront of these advancements for the sake of its warriors.
So when Farissa ran them through the ingredients for various tinctures and remedies, Thea took out a quill and parchments and made notes. She ignored the ripple of shock across the room and wrote in a hurried scrawl, only pausing to ask Wren about particular spellings.
When Farissa finished demonstrating how to strip Elvan Bark in a way that preserved its healing properties, Thea raised her hand.
Farissa did a double take. ‘What is it, Althea?’
‘I have a request,’ Thea said boldly. ‘Oh?’ ‘I wondered if you might teach us about battlefield healing. You know… the sort of things one might need to know should they need to treat a wound under pressure or with limited supplies. The sort of things that might save a life in the heart of a skirmish.’ The whole room went tense and Ida flashed Thea a worried look from the next table over. While Farissa had said that there was always a place in their ranks for Thea, it was another thing to disrupt her lesson and make requests with her own agenda. There was no official war in the midrealms and no conflict that would see the alchemists of Thezmarr caught in the middle of a fray, and yet… Farissa smiled slowly. ‘I thought you’d never ask, Althea.’ She pressed her fingers together and started to pace, her brow furrowed as she considered her next words carefully. After a few moments, she looked up, her eyes bright and eager. ‘Battlefield healing is an art like no other…’ she began.
For the first time in her twenty-four years, Thea listened to her sister. As much as it destroyed her not to train and spar with the other shieldbearers, she knew her body was not ready. Her abdomen was still tender, her stab wound threatened to tear open with any sudden movements and she was still experiencing fatigue and shortness of breath. Though she desperately wanted to get back to her drills and was increasingly anxious about losing the strength and endurance she’d worked so hard to gain,
she knew that to push too soon would see her straight to the infirmary. Instead, she resumed her old alchemy shifts with a renewed enthusiasm, all the while the Hand of Death’s words echoed in her mind. ‘If you’re going to be a warrior of Thezmarr… You need to learn more than fighting, Alchemist… Every discipline this fortress offers has a vital part to play. You should respect them all. You should master them all. There is more to this guild than blades and fists.’ She took these words to heart, and shared them with anyone who would listen, mainly Kipp and Cal when she sat with them during the midday meal. Kipp was back on his feet sooner than expected.
He was restricted to light duties for the meantime and that meant he was all too eager to hear what she’d learned throughout her days, insisting that every aspect of the battlefield, even the clean-up and tending to the wounded could be used in strategy planning.
Thea returned to the shieldbearer dormitories, Dax was there waiting at the foot of her bed on her first night back and ever since. She split her evenings between the library with Malik and the evening meal with her friends and her sister.
As her strength slowly returned, Thea went down to the training arena to watch the combat drills and classes. There, she sat on the outskirts with her crumpled piece of parchment, taking notes on different techniques. She watched the Warswords with an unrelenting intensity, drinking in everything they did, even the sadist Vernich.
Nothing more powerful than knowledge and the ability to wield it… It wasn’t long until Seb spotted her. He strode towards her, swinging his practice sword arrogantly. ‘Scribbling away like some school boy won’t make you a warrior.’ ‘Nor will sticking your big nose in other people’s business,’ Thea snapped as she finished her note on the best stance for shield walls. ‘It’s my business when they allow a stray into Thezmarrian ranks. You’re —’ Thea sighed, irritated. ‘Do I threaten you so much, Barlowe? That you have to stop your own training, your own progress, just to try and belittle me?’ ‘You? Threaten me?’ he barked a nasty laugh. ‘Yes,’ Thea said simply, trying to peer past him to watch Torj take on one of the older shieldbearers, dual wielding a pair of longswords. ‘You’re in my way,’ she said sharply when Seb insisted on blocking her view. ‘I beat you,’ he blurted. ‘Why didn’t you leave?’ ‘I belong here as much as you,’ she replied. ‘And you didn’t beat me. Far from it. I withstood two unhindered blows and an underhanded stabbing from you and still I stood, still you couldn’t keep me down. I am more warrior than you’ll ever be.’ Nearby, some of the shieldbearers paused to listen. But their expressions were no longer those of amusement, but of impatience. They too, it seemed, were fed up with Seb’s antics.
Heat flushed his cheeks. ‘What do you hope to gain? You’ll never be one of us.’ ‘Wrong, Barlowe. You’re wrong. I already am one of you. And I promise you this. When we face each other again, I’ll have you on the ground. And unlike me, you won’t get back up.’ ‘Bullshit, you —’ ‘Shut up, Seb,’ Lachin called loudly from a few feet away. ‘What did you say?’ ‘I said shut up. You’re boring us all to tears with your whinging.’ At Lachin’s words, Seb took a step back from Thea, suddenly speechless. His expression soured,
and with a final, narrow-eyed glare in her direction, he stalked off.
Thea gave Lachin a nod of thanks. The older shieldbearer merely shrugged and continued his sparring.
Thea trained her gaze on the heart of the arena, where Hawthorne had appeared. As usual, he wore all black, his sleeves rolled up above the elbow, revealing the corded muscle and inked skin there. Like Torj, he gripped two longswords and paced the training ground, every movement thrumming with power and strength.
Thea’s whole body responded, tense and tingling. She hadn’t seen him since he’d tended to her wound in that cramped broom closet, since he’d saved her life and delivered her to Wren. She’d thought about him though, Furies had she thought about him... and that conflicted expression on his face as Wren had shut him out. Thea had replayed every moment they’d had together in her mind, each time the fire within her burning hotter. The only thing that dampened that fire was the fact that he hadn’t sought her out… Hadn’t checked on her afterwards. And she didn’t know what that meant, or how she should feel. She told herself she should feel nothing but gratitude, but a deeper, darker part of her craved something more from him.
Now, Hawthorne faced his fellow Warsword, challenge gleaming in those silver eyes.
Quill and parchment forgotten, Thea watched, utterly transfixed by the deadly dance unfolding before her. Hawthorne took a long step to the outside of the ring with his leading foot, creating momentum with his hips as he brought his blades down on Torj. The golden-haired warrior took the attack on his own blades, but buckled beneath the impact of Hawthorne’s blow. ‘It takes great strength to fight in such a way,’ a voice sounded from behind Thea.
She twisted to find none other than Audra the librarian at her back. Thea had seen her in passing or from a distance in the Great Hall, but she hadn’t spoken to her warden since that day they’d ridden the Mourner’s Trail together.
But Audra wasn’t looking at her. The older woman was still staring at the duelling Warswords. ‘It takes great strength to fight in such a way,’ she repeated, sounding distant. ‘But sometimes it takes more strength to know when to sit out.’ The bench shifted beneath Thea as Audra took up a place beside her. ‘You will come back stronger for it, Althea, I promise you that.’ Together, they watched the legends of Thezmarr train.
Later that evening, confident in her progressing recovery, Thea decided that she’d already waited far too long to run a particular errand, and so after the evening meal, she went to Wren’s rooms and, in her absence, helped herself to her sister’s mirror and comb. For once, Thea left her bronze tresses unbound and spent a good while untangling the ragged ends. She studied her reflection, grimacing at the sharp lines of her face, wishing there was something else she could do to make herself more… feminine.
The door swung open and Wren didn’t look remotely surprised to see her. ‘Glad you’ve made yourself comfortable —’ She cut herself off, pausing as she gave Thea the once-over. ‘You look
nice…’
‘Do I?’
Wren nodded. ‘Suspiciously so.’
‘Thanks… I think?’ Wren laughed. ‘Dare I ask?’
‘Probably best you don’t.’ ‘You’re still taking the tonic I make?’ Wren asked, suddenly serious. ‘The one to prevent —’ ‘Gods.’ Thea flushed. ‘Yes. I am.’ ‘Then say no more, sister. But one moment.’ Wren reached out and fiddled with her hair, arranging it so that it cascaded down her shoulders in a more elegant wave. ‘There.’ ‘Thanks.’ Wren shooed her to the door. ‘As you were.’ Thea wandered the corridors of the commanders’ residences, a large clean shirt and cloak tucked
under her arm.
It was Esyllt who found her. ‘What are you doing loitering around here?’ His signature bark was only a few degrees quieter indoors. ‘I’m trying to find Warsword Hawthorne,’ she replied with more confidence than she felt. She hadn’t thought how it might look with her returning a warrior’s clothing… ‘Hawthorne doesn’t live in the fortress,’ Esyllt told her, his brow furrowed. ‘What’d you want with him?’ Thea squirmed inwardly, wishing she’d thought things through. ‘I have some of his belongings he loaned me from our journey to Harenth,’ she said. ‘I was hoping to return them.’ Esyllt made a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat. ‘Well, he’s not here. He’s got a cabin on the western foot of the mountains.’ ‘Right. Can I leave these things with you then, Sir?’ Esyllt’s arms folded over his chest and he gave her a hard look. ‘I’m no delivery boy, Althea.
You’ve got a task, do it yourself.’ ‘Yes, Sir. I just… I wasn’t sure if it would be… appropriate?’ ‘Appropriate?’ the weapons master scoffed. ‘That ship has sailed. What’s less appropriate?
Returning a Warsword’s belongings in a less than timely fashion, or holding onto them for weeks?’ Thea gaped at him. ‘I’d run, not walk, if I was you,’ he prompted. ‘Where —’ ‘Do I look like a map? Figure it out yourself.’ And with that, the tetchy weapons master strode in the opposite direction and into a private residence, slamming the door behind him. ‘Gods,’ Thea muttered, shaking her head and peering down at the clothes she still held. She went back to the Great Hall where some of her cohort still lingered and she asked around. ‘Surely someone here has been there? On an errand? To deliver a message?’ ‘Nope,’ Lachin mumbled around a spoonful of custard, slurping loudly. ‘He’s private. Doesn’t want the likes of us around him at the best of times, let alone after hours, eh?’ Thea ground her teeth. ‘That doesn’t exactly help me.’ ‘I can’t know what I don’t know.’ Lachin shrugged, before his spoon stopped midway to his mouth and he stared at her, brow furrowed. ‘You look different.’ Thea gestured to her hair casually. ‘No braid.’ ‘Right…’ Lachin said, seemingly still perplexed, before he remembered himself. He gave another
shrug. ‘It’s a good different.’ Thea rolled her eyes. ‘Gee, thanks.’ Just as she was about to give up and retire to the dormitories, she half-collided with Torj in front of Three Furies.
‘What are you up to?’ he asked, leaning against the monument.
Thea looked around for the Guild Master, knowing he wouldn’t stand for a show of such disrespect, but he was nowhere in sight and Torj was looking down at her expectantly. ‘I’m trying to find Warsword Hawthorne, I need to return some things to him.’ ‘Is that so?’ Amusement gleamed in Torj’s eyes. ‘Yes,’ Thea replied, trying not to sound frustrated. ‘No one will tell me where his cabin is.’ ‘I can tell you that,’ he informed her smoothly.
Thea blinked. ‘I’d appreciate it,’ she managed. ‘Well, he certainly won’t,’ Torj said with a laugh, but he leaned in and told her the way.
At last, with Torj’s instructions memorised, Thea buttoned up her cloak and lit a torch. Bracing herself against the wind, she went to find the Warsword’s cabin.
Taking the hidden trail beyond the training arena, Thea navigated the spindly forest. It was different to the Bloodwoods south of the fortress, many of the trees were already bare for the upcoming winter. In the near distance, the mountains loomed beneath the glowing orb of the moon and soon, she heard the roaring of the falls.
She must have walked through the dark for over half an hour, repeating the directions she’d been given in her head before she saw the soft glow of candlelight up ahead filtering through small, square windows. Tendrils of smoke coiled into the crisp night air from the chimney, drifting dreamily up into the sky as she approached.
Suddenly nervous, Thea stood on the small porch, raising a fist to the door and knocked loudly.
She waited, straining to hear any noise from within the cabin.
It was silent.
She knocked again. Her stomach was churning. What if she woke him? What if there was someone in there with him? Or what if he wasn’t in? Could she leave his clothes on the front step? She stepped back, trying to decide what to do — The door flew inward; the frame filled by a huge figure.
Wilder Hawthorne gripped a white towel slung low around his hips, and in the other hand brandished a dagger.
Her dagger, Thea realised, before all the thoughts emptied out of her head.
He was naked, save for the towel, and he was dripping wet.
Water sluiced down his body, following the carved paths of his broad chest, down the ridges of his abdomen, a ragged scar there, and lower, to the V-shaped grooves that disappeared beneath the fabric of his towel. Droplets clung to the dark dusting of hair across his torso and Thea couldn’t look away. His body… Well, it had been made by the gods, honed by — ‘What are you doing here?’ he growled, lowering the weapon.
Thea’s mouth had gone dry. She had to clear her throat before she found her words. ‘I came to return your things – your cloak and your shirt. Do you always answer the door like this?’ ‘Do you always show up to places uninvited?’ He made a disgruntled noise. ‘How’d you find this
cabin?’ ‘Torj told me how to get here.’ ‘Of course he did,’ Hawthorne scoffed, still holding the towel that hung dangerously low. He didn’t exactly invite her in, but he stepped back and left the door ajar, so she entered.
As her shock subsided, she studied the tattoo that she’d glimpsed before, the pattern that trailed from his left hand all the way up his arm and shoulder, and down the same side of his powerfully built back. Upon closer inspection, she saw it was an extensive artwork of black whorls and a language
she didn’t recognise – except for one section. A line of text that ran parallel to his spine: it was the same text engraved on the blade of her dagger, the dagger now in his possession. It took all of Thea’s willpower not to close the gap between them and run her fingers down the words. ‘What does it mean?’ Her cheeks flamed as she spoke. ‘The text on your back, I mean. It’s the
same as the inscription on my dagger.’ ‘Still insisting it’s your dagger…’ ‘It is.’ Thea waited, watching as Hawthorne faced her again, still in his gods-damned towel, twirling the aforementioned dagger between his fingers. He looked from the steel to her, considering – always considering. ‘It means: Glory in death, immortality in legend. It’s written in the ancient tongue of the Furies – the original Warswords.’ Thea forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat. ‘Are you going to get dressed?’ The corner of Hawthorne’s mouth tugged upward, showing a hint of that dimple she knew lay beneath his beard. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Am I making you uncomfortable?’
‘It’s…’ ‘Distracting?’ he finished for her. ‘Yes,’ she said, unamused, only just realising that she’d balled up his freshly laundered cloak and shirt in her hands. She dropped them onto a bench that lined the wall, heat flooding her body. She had to look away from him. She glanced around the inside of the cabin. It was not at all what she expected. Unlike the Warsword himself, it was warm and welcoming. A small fire crackled in the hearth and an array of potted plants were positioned all over the room, adding a pop of colour. A table and chairs were shoved up against the wall beneath one of the windows, and two tattered armchairs sat before the fire. ‘Don’t even think about making yourself at home,’ came that deep, rumbling voice.
Thea nearly jumped.
He re-entered the room still barefoot but wearing loose-fitting pants, an unbuttoned shirt hanging over his chiselled body as he surveyed her. ‘You seem to have healed well enough,’ he commented. ‘Thanks to my sister,’ Thea replied. ‘And to you,’ she said earnestly. ‘I’m not sure what would have happened to me if you hadn’t helped that day.’ ‘You would have died in a broom closet.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ ‘Let’s see it then.’ Thea baulked, her skin suddenly tingling. ‘See what?’
‘Your wound. How it’s healed.’ ‘It’s fine. My sister —’ ‘Show me.’ It was not a request. Command laced his voice and Thea knew from experience that the Warsword was used to getting his way.
For that fact alone she wanted to be the one to deny him. ‘No,’ she said.
He was a blur of movement and suddenly she was pinned to the wall; her cloak pushed aside and her shirt untucked and lifted, revealing the bare skin of her side beneath, and the fresh, pink scar that marred it. ‘Don’t you usually offer your guests a drink before you rip their clothes off?’ she muttered, trying to ignore the heat of his body so close to hers. ‘Not usually, no.’
But she heard the whistle of air between his teeth as his fingers grazed the newly healed wound. ‘He should have been flayed for this.’ Goosebumps rushed across Thea’s skin at the contact, and she could have sworn invisible lightning crackled between them. ‘He’ll get what’s coming to him,’ Thea vowed.
Hawthorne’s fingers lingered on the scar, sending a forceful current racing through her. ‘You’re going to have to be stronger and faster than this when that day comes.’ Gods, he was close. Thea would only have to lift her head and lean in for his lips to be on hers.
Her traitorous body nearly did exactly that as she inhaled that intoxicating rosewood scent, as she felt the heat from his freshly bathed body radiate onto her. ‘I will be,’ Thea promised, her voice hoarse, her hand reaching for the hem of her shirt to drag it down.
Hawthorne seemed to hesitate, his hand suspended by her hip, as though he wanted to — He stepped back, and the warmth between their bodies snuffed out. ‘You’re becoming a constant thorn in my side, Alchemist.’ Momentarily stunned, Thea tucked her shirt back in a tad too vigorously. ‘I may be a thorn in your side, but you know well enough by now I’m not an alchemist.’ He moved to the far corner where a small kitchen was tucked away. A goblet sat on the side and he picked it up, taking several long swigs before returning his gaze to her.
Thea stood rigid where he’d left her against the wall, her skin still singing with the echo of his touch. She flexed her fingers at her sides to try and rid herself of the strange sensation. But it remained; she could still feel the imprint of his fingertips on her scar.
He was watching her, his expression unreadable.
Thea folded her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling exposed. ‘You hit Vernich,’ she said, studying Hawthorne just as intently as he studied her. ‘Several times,’ he replied, that dark expression still revealing nothing.
‘Why?’
‘He’s a bastard.’
‘Is that all?’
A loaded silence followed. ‘Is that all?’ Thea repeated. ‘He deserved it,’ Hawthorne said at last. ‘For what he did to your friend, to you.’ Thea forced herself to remain still, though her instincts screamed at her to fidget beneath his scrutiny, or go to him – she didn’t know which was more powerful. She sifted through her mind for something to say, but nothing came and she silently cursed him for tangling her thoughts so thoroughly.
That was when her gaze landed on the table beneath the window, and the chain of flowers lying atop. Her breath caught in her throat again. It was the one she’d made on their journey back from Harenth. The one she’d thrown at him… He’d kept it.
Thea gathered her courage as the tension became too much to bear. ‘What is this? This thing between us?’ she asked at last. All she wanted to do was cross the room and lay her hands, her body,
her mouth on him.
‘There is nothing between us,’ he said. ‘Liar.’ That muscle twitched in his jaw but he didn’t deny it as he closed the gap between them. ‘I find you endlessly infuriating,’ he ground out. ‘And yet…’
‘Yet?’ ‘And yet I can’t seem to stay away.’ He stood before her once more, mere inches away. ‘So don’t,’ she said boldly. It was the second time she’d taken the risk for him, the second time she’d told him what she wanted. Heart hammering, she reached for him, daring to dip her fingertips between the open folds of his shirt, trailing them across the muscular expanse of his chest, his skin
blazing hot beneath her touch.
He didn’t move. ‘Hawthorne?’ her voice trembled, the longing to press her mouth to his, her body to his, was overwhelming.
His hands came up, and she braced herself for that first touch, the touch that would be her undoing.
His fingers brushed a stray strand from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. ‘You changed your hair…’ The whisper of a caress trailed down her tresses, where he twined the ends around his hand and drew her to him. His lips, softer than she imagined, grazed hers, hot and restrained, with the promise of something much deeper, much more intense.
At that alone, Thea nearly moaned, every nerve in her body was alight, every desire she’d ever felt was flooding to the surface. Furies, she wanted him. She wanted to finish what they’d started the moment she’d woken pressed against him in the fields.
And then, his mouth closed over hers in earnest, and he kissed her fiercely.
Thea’s lips parted, and his tongue brushed hers, his hand closing around the nape of her neck, drawing her close.
He groaned, the carnal sound vibrating and unfurling the coil of desire within her as she kissed him back, matching his intensity.
It robbed her of breath, and told her that every kiss she’d experienced before had been a lie, a shadow of what it was meant to be. She could only imagine what that said about everything else.
Heart pounding, Thea kissed him harder, losing herself in him, her hands sliding down his torso,
revelling in the power there.
His fingers closed around her wrists.
And he withdrew them from his body. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said roughly. ‘We can’t. You shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t have —' It was as though a bucket of icy water had been tipped over Thea’s head. She pulled back sharply, her stomach hardening, spots flashing in her vision. Twice now, she had made the move, twice now, he’d spurned her. What ever happened to there’s nothing more attractive than a woman who knows what she wants? ‘What twisted game are you playing?’ she demanded. ‘No game.’ His words were pained. ‘I have seen what something like this does to people. And you… You’ve fought so hard to get where you are, I can’t be the reason that’s taken away. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have let this happen.’ Thea flinched. ‘No, you shouldn’t have, if that’s how you feel.’ ‘It… It is.’ ‘Then I’ll go,’ she heard herself say. Face aflame, she snatched up her cloak, wrapping it tightly around her and made for the door, taking the torch she’d brought with her. ‘Thea…’ Her name was a pleading whisper behind her. But it was too late. She was done.
Without another word, she left the warmth of the cabin and hurried away into the dark, trying not to
choke on her own embarrassment.
But when Thea slipped into bed and Dax settled himself dutifully at her feet, she couldn’t sleep.
Her body felt too alive, too aware of the sheets against her skin and the low voice that not only now echoed in her mind, but vibrated through her bones. She sighed heavily, trying to push thoughts of the half-naked Warsword, his rippling muscles and heated touch from her head.
Try as she might, there was no erasing his fevered kisses, or the throbbing between her legs.
And so Thea stared up at the ceiling until the watery hours of the early morning before she rose to resume her training.
