Page 18 of Twenty-One Arrow Salute

“Fuck, no.” I sagged, my eyes glued to my mare’s hooves, which captivated me all the sudden. “I messed up.”

Achiah’s snort sounded like an imitation of Fhěn’s. “Well, if I don’t look bowled over by shock, that’s because I ain’t.”

“Ouch. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it.” I grunted, opting for a shift in the conversation. “Who are you taking to the Fete tomorrow night?”

“Rūe.”

My head snapped up. “What?”

“What? We both had no partners. Besides, I like ’em big.” Something resembling a blush crept up her neck.

“That’s not…I mean, I thought…” I swallowed, trying to put my thoughts in order. “Wait. Didn’t Rūe ask Hernan?”

“He did.” She shrugged. “He told me. But the redhead turned him down flat saying he planned on asking you. Which, to be fair, struck me as odd. I figured ages ago you’d be taking him.”

“He turned Rūe down?” I repeated. “He wanted to ask me?” A vein in my neck throbbed with tension. “Son of a bitch. What a tit. Dumb as shit motherfucker.”

“Who? Rūe or Seinnés?” She blinked.

“Me, of course!” I jumped off my perch. My knees creaked upon landing, and I nearly went down face-first as my numb limbs protested against the sudden demand to bear weight. Fhěn tossed her head when my sudden acrobatics interrupted her meal, her brown eyes filled with reproach. Sucking air through my teeth, I rubbed my legs to restore the circulation, then patted her neck a few times.

“Oh, Verhan.” Achiah’s face turned a combination of amusement and piteous curiosity. “What silly fix have you got yourself in now?”

I made a vague hand gesture. “I need to speak with Hernan. Right away.”

“That’s all very well, but you can’t. The Honour Guards are already in town for the night rehearsal. They’re having one at dawn, too.”

“Fuck and crap.” I swiped my palm over my heated cheeks, racking my brain in search of a solution. “Achiah, do me a favour, will you? I need you to give him a letter tomorrow morning. Straight after you get there? Please. It can’t wait till the afternoon.”

Her nose wrinkled in a what-a-moron expression. She leapt down and fetched her lantern. “You’ve got half an hour. I’m dead on my feet. After the Fete, I’ll sleep for a month straight.” As if in a bid to prove her point, another monstrous yawn showed off the inside of her larynx—tonsils and all. “Come to my room any later and I’ll head-butt you.”

It took some thinking to recall the last time I’d had any need for writing utensils. In the end, I remembered scribbling drill commands for Hernan, so I knew they hid somewhere underneath the impressive clutter on my desk. Swearing, I sifted through a heap of spare quivers, arrowheads, leather gloves and a pair of broken stirrups. Upon identifying a corked inkwell, a quill and some shabby-looking parchment by the light of a single candle, I gave a triumphant whoop.

Encouraged by this small victory, I sat down, clearing a scrap of space to compose my letter, pausing only to massage my temples. I resorted to scribbling a few simple lines, praying they would prove persuasive.

Dear Hernan,

I’m so sorry about the way I treated you last time we spoke. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean any of what I said. None of it is true. I went off like a jealous idiot. That’s because, well, I was jealous. And I’m an idiot. Believe me, I deeply regret it. It won’t ever happen again. If you let me, I’ll make it up to you. Anything it takes.

You’re sweet and courageous. I want to be your friend. And more. I can’t stop thinking of you. I miss talking to you. I want to kiss you again—you and no other.

I’ve meant to ask you this for a long time: will you do me the honour of going to the Archers’ Fete with me? Wear this pin at the parade tomorrow if your answer is yes.

Good luck. I know you’ll do great.

Yours if you’ll have me,

Verhan

Having read the note twice through, I cringed at its infantile tone, embarrassed by my large, incompetent handwriting. It may not have quite met the definition of epistolary excellence, but since time was of the essence, it would have to do. I slipped my fingers inside the inner pocket of my uniform and fished out a small object: a bow-and-arrow brooch given to me by my grandfather on the day I won my first archery tournament. Snatching the victory right from under Ervyn’s heavily hungover nose—the idiot should’ve known better than to get shit-faced the night before—had gained me the status of Black Mountain hero for a week. The stunning piece of old jewellery, lovingly rendered from silver by a skilled craftsman, likely a soldier himself, glimmered in my hand. I must’ve lost whatever was left of my mind because I kissed the pin before wrapping it in the parchment, folding the whole lot into an awkward package. A hiss escaped me when I burnt my fingers fixing a wax seal to the front fold.

Running to the neighbouring pavilion took no time at all. Winded, I knocked at Achiah’s door.

Dressed in a blue nightshirt, her long dark hair loose and feet bare, she looked almost approachable. Nothing like her usual hard-arse self who never missed a chance to tear us a new one during drill time.

I passed her the bundle. “Here. Give it to him first thing in the morning.”

“I will.”

“It’s very important he gets it before the celebrations begin.”

She rolled her eyes. “Keep your braid on, loverboy. I said he’ll get it. Now scamper away and let me sleep.”

“Thank you, Achiah,” I whispered, losing countenance and feeling a little foolish.

She shook her head, but her lips curved into a smile. “Don’t fret, it’ll work out fine. Nice to see you care about someone at long last. Try and rest, all right? I need you sharp tomorrow; it’s going to be a long day.”

I nodded, even though I doubted I would sleep that night at all.