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“And what would you have me break?”
“Anything you wanted,” she said. “Within reason.”
“And if I wanted to spar with you?”
“I might even let you win.”
“All right,” he said, with the merest hint of a smirk. “Let’s do it.”
They went down to one of the training halls, Hawthorn barking at everyone else to remove themselves immediately. Miriam, who was training a couple of squires, looked sharply at Juliana as she left, as if checking for permission.
Juliana nodded. It was fine.
She strode over towards the racks of weapons. “What do you fancy?”
Hawthorn shrugged off his doublet and hung it up with the rest of the equipment. He made no move to pull on any protective gear. “You and I both know I’m no swordsman.”
“Then—”
He summoned a fireball into his hand and hurled it towards her, missing only by inches. “Come on,” he said, eyes blazing.“Fight.”
Juliana darted away from another attack, drawing her sword to cut through his onslaught. “You aren’t supposed to use magic when fighting mortals—”
Hawthorn’s eyes blazed, his face stung with that old, twisted smile, the one he used in front of his friends when he used to torment her.
“Then stop me.”
Juliana swerved, slashing through his flames, using them as cover to dive towards him and tackle him to the ground. “If I stop you, I’ll hurt you,” she said, the hilt of her sword hovering over his palms, threatening to crush them.
He let out another plume of fire, the heat searing against her hand. She staggered back, dropping her sword, stifling a cry.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, ducking a wild swing.
He’d never attacked her like this before, even when they were children. His acts were tricks, sly and insidious. The occasional shove in the mud, a whisperedyou belong there.
There was no anger. Not like this. Not like she was the enemy to be vanquished.
She kicked his stomach. “Stop,” she said. “I didn’t kill your father.”
“No,I did,” he hissed. “I did, with the curse and my ineptitude.I didby running away.”
“You’realivebecause you ran away.”
More fire burned beside her face. “Stop trying to make me into something I’m not.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that. When had she ever tried to do that? “Then what are you?”
He flung another fireball, and hesitated. “A coward,” he hissed, as if the words pained him. Perhaps they did—or the awful, biting truth of them. He bit his lip, as if more words were threatening to tumble out.
“Hawthorn—” The word sounded wrong on her tongue.
She dodged another move and caught him round the middle, tackling him to the floor and pinning his hands behind his back.
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
“Maybe I want to be hurt!”
The force of his words slackened her grip, allowing him the needed second to overpower her. He gripped her wrists, pinning her to the floor.
