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A slow smile tugged at the corner of Hawthorne’s mouth.
That damn dimple…
‘Distracted you?’ Genuine amusement gleamed in his silver eyes, though they looked more grey when he wasn’t raging at her, like Malik’s. ‘I was teaching you,’ he argued. ‘Exactly what you’ve been harassing me to do since we stepped foot out of Thezmarr.’
Thea’s body flooded with warmth, but she refused to yield. ‘Is that how you mentor all the guild’s shieldbearers?’ she countered.
Hawthorne considered this, folding his arms over that impossibly broad chest of his. ‘I don’tmentoranyone.’
His gaze was firm, intense on hers, enough to make Thea want to squirm. She was the first one to break their eye contact, clearing her throat and turning back to the target.
‘You want to try again,’ came his voice, now further away.
‘You didn’t think I’d give up after one go, did you?’ she said, widening her stance as he’d shown her and nocking another arrow.
‘No…’ Hawthorne replied quietly. ‘I didn’t think that for a second.’
This time, he instructed her from a distance, and Thea warred between regret and gratitude.
His criticisms of her form were firm but not unkind, his rich voice not breaking her focus, but rather honing it as she fitted the next arrow to the bowstring. Soon, Thea lost herself in the rhythm of the target practice and though her hands and shoulders started to ache, she was more content than she could remember being in a long while. She loved the vibration of the string as she released the arrow; she loved the moment where all time suspended, just before the projectile hit its mark. Upon impact, the arrow seemed to sing and Thea felt deep in her bones that this was what she was born to do.
‘Not bad, Alchemist,’ Hawthorne said from afar. ‘Again.’
Her fate stone grew warm beneath her shirt and for the first time, she felt grateful. Grateful for the knowledge it had given her, grateful for the catalyst it had become in her life, urging her through the trials and tribulations to fulfil her dreams.
‘You’re a quick study.’ Hawthorne removed her arrows one by one from the tree, each closer to the target than the last.
‘I’ve watched enough practice,’ she heard herself say. ‘And Esyllt is loud when he gets a subject he’s passionate about. Archery is one of those, but…’
‘It’s different when you’re holding the weapon,’ Hawthorne finished for her.
‘Exactly,’ Thea nodded. ‘There’s only so much you can learn in theory before you need to be the one drawing the string back.’
‘My mentor used to say something to that effect,’ the Warsword said thoughtfully.
Thea desperately wanted to ask who exactly that mentor had been, where they were now. She wanted to know everything about the man who had shaped the warrior before her, but… Hawthorne’s gaze had grown distant and she sensed not to push.
‘It’s time we got moving.’ He shielded his eyes as he judged the height of the sun.
Despite the tightness in her chest, Thea didn’t argue. She was under no illusions as to what a gift the morning had been, so she nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said, as she handed the longbow back to him. ‘Thank you for teaching me.’
Hawthorne’s lips pressed together, as though he were about to say something but was stopping himself. Instead, he merely nodded and turned away.
Saying no more, she went to her mare and hauled herself up in the saddle. Dax, who had been sprawled in a patch of sun, leapt to his feet, eager to resume the long journey home.
Together, Thea and the Warsword started back towards Thezmarr, the mongrel at their heels.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In the blue tinted haze of the afternoon, it was Hawthorne who sought conversation as they rode across the plains.
‘How long have you been spying on the guild’s training sessions?’
Thea shrugged. ‘Since I could walk.’
‘Why? What’s so fascinating about early morning drills and Esyllt yelling at the hopeless cases?’
Thea grinned at this. ‘He yells at everyone.’
