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Hawthorne smiled.
‘What? You think it’s stupid?’
‘I thought we’d moved past that.’ He shook his head. ‘No, it’s just that you remind me of someone…’
The way he said it made Thea pause, an ugly feeling rearing its head deep within.
‘A woman?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was she beautiful?’ The words tumbled out of her before she could stop them and her cheeks immediately heated. Where hadthatcome from?
But Hawthorne considered this. ‘Yes… She was –is– beautiful.’
Thea’s gut twisted.
‘Talemir married her,’ Hawthorne added, his dimple showing beneath his beard.
‘Married her?’ Thea blurted. ‘I thought Warswords don’t take wives?’
‘Talemir is no longer a Warsword.’ There was an edge to his voice. But then his gaze slid to hers and lingered. ‘You’re beautiful, you know.’ The words came quietly, cautiously.
Thea made a sound that was midway between a scoff and a snort. She had never been told that, not by anyone, bar Wren.‘You mean if I wore dresses and acted more like a girl?’
Hawthorne leaned over to draw her reins up short, bringing them both to a stop. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘You’re beautiful as you are. And I’d wager even more so with steel in your hand and the blood of your enemies splattered across your face.’
Her breath caught.
‘Althea.’ Her name sounded like a melody and he leaned across the gap between their horses, his gaze dropping to her lips, his voice low. ‘There is nothing more attractive than a woman who knows what she wants.’
Her body went taut.
Hawthorne hesitated, before pulling away. ‘Remember that.’
They cantered across the remaining fields and grasslands heading northwest to the fortress. Thea could see the haze of the black mountains on the horizon and could almost smell the pine and rich sap of the Bloodwoods. Thea glanced at the Warsword riding stoically beside her. His dark hair was swept up into a messy bun at the back of his head, his gaze trained on the path before him. Thea didn’t know if she was imagining it or not, but it seemed to her that the tension had returned to the set of his shoulders. He’d been quiet for a while, even by his standards, and she found herself craving his conversation.
But the lines of Hawthorne’s face became harder, his back straighter, as though he were steeling himself, against what she didn’t know.
It was late afternoon when at last the Mourner’s Trail came into view. The sun was hidden behind the mountains and the air was cool; the forest tinged with the blue hue of impending dusk. As they rode onto the trail, Thea heard Hawthorne inhale sharply.
Thea opened her mouth to talk to him, but to say what she wasn’t sure. The ease, and whatever else there had been between them, had vanished.
Up ahead, Dax disappeared into the trees, and with him went any remaining inkling of the Warsword she’d glimpsed. He was cold and unflinching once more. Tension rolled off him, but Thea couldn’t make sense of it. Was it directed towards her? Towards the fortress?
Thea was sure she wouldn’t hear him speak again, but as the gates to Thezmarr appeared ahead, Hawthorne’s voice rumbled.
‘You're already years behind some of them. The next initiation test will be in three months, then not for another year, perhaps longer.’ He seemed to mull over his next choice of words. ‘You need to be ready.’
Thea squared her shoulders. ‘I will be,’ she said, her voice hard.
The gates opened for them, and the Warsword and shieldbearer rode through.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Hawthorne led them past the stables and through the courtyard, past the southern end of the fortress.
‘Where are we going?’ Thea frowned, urging her mare to keep pace.
