Thessia didn’t spare him another glance.
She simply smirked. “Let’s go. We’ve got a world to set fire to.”
Auryn laughed—laughed—and that sound alone was enough to make Resh’s heart clench.
She looked up at him. “I’m going to go now. Please stop worrying so much. It makes lightning fall between your brows.”
Resh released her. “Remember what you promised,” he said. “No pushing.”
She nodded.
And as the two of them disappeared through the flap, talking already about balance drills and dagger forms, he was left standing there, the weight of her absence on his shoulders...
…and a growing, unfamiliar ache in his chest.
Not fear. Not anger.
Something worse.
Jealousy.
The day passed uneventfully, and after taking care of his duties and his men, Resh found himself straying to the edges of the training ring. A cold breeze stirred the parchment maps laid across a rock table erected at its perimeter, held down with smaller stones to keep them from flapping in the wind. Resh leaned over one of them, gauntlet off, blade in hand, methodically running a whetstone along its edge. Occasionally, he augmented the blade with mana, sharpening and perfecting it using glyphs.
Zarrek approached from the side, placing a hand on Resh’s shoulder. But he didn’t look at either the maps or Resh’s blade.
Instead, he looked across the camp, to where Auryn was laughing.
Thessia had her by the waist, adjusting her stance as Auryn balanced awkwardly on a single flat stone. A dagger was in her off-hand. She concentrated on her task, but that didn’t stop her from grinning whenever Thessia said something low in her ear.
Resh saw it all, too. Had been seeing it all day.
Thought his teeth might crack from how hard he was gritting them together.
Zarrek made a thoughtful noise.
“If you’re bored of sharpening, you could always find something else to do. Unless you’re enjoying the view.”
The rasp of the whetstone halted.
Resh didn’t respond. He scratched at the newest callous on his palm. Not because it physically bothered him, but because it had become some kind of nervous tic over the last week.
Zarrek tilted his head, his golden eyes much too delighted. “You’re not being subtle.”
“She’s still recovering. Thess isn’t respecting that.”
“Mm. Yes. That’s clearly why you’re watching.” Zarrek’s tone was dry enough to parch the air. “Not because your favorite dagger is being stolen right out of your belt.”
Resh glared at him. “She’s not mine.”
“Yeah, yeah—we’ve been over that part,” Zarrek agreed. “But she is choosing how and with whom she wants to be.” He raised a brow. “And right now, it isn’t you.”
Resh returned to sharpening but his strokes were uneven now. Too hard. A bit ragged.
Zarrek didn’t press. Just watched him for another moment, squeezed his shoulder—hard—then murmured as he turned to leave, “She still looks at you like you hung the stars. But if you don’t move soon, Resh…someone else will teach her how to shine.”
Resh stopped sharpening his blade, setting it aside.I’d hang them for her if she’d let me. Though it seems she’s quite content allowing Thessia to guide them to her instead.
He observed the two women without reservation now, watching Thessia hand Auryn a bow and some arrows. She’d been practicing earlier, too, and Resh had been surprised to note that she was a natural at archery. He watched her draw the bow and aim. Thrilled at the focused, calm expression on her face before she let the arrow fly.
