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‘You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that to hit me,’ he growled.

Thea couldn’t budge an inch, couldn’t so much as squirm. His strength wasthatformidable. He had moved her like she weighed little more than a feather, and held her in place as though he could do so with a single finger.

Resentment rolled off her in waves as at last he let her go and disappeared to tend to his stallion.

After years of training in secret, of spying on ungrateful recruits, of harbouring a weapon against the rules and dreaming of the moment when she could wield it, she finally had what she had always wanted. And now the moody bastard was robbing her of her victory.

‘Five minutes,’ he called out sharply from one of the stalls.

Grinding her teeth, Thea found her mare and saddled her in a hurry. She had no doubt that if she wasn’t ready in time, the surly warrior would gladly leave her behind, despite any supposed notion of responsibility.

The moon was high in the inky night when they departed the royal stables. Thea could still hear the festivities carrying on within the castle, but an icy shiver washed over her asthey passed through the gates. Tonight, her actions had seen an innocent cupbearer die, and another man condemned to the Scarlet Tower. And she’d thought nothing of it until the rhythmic steps of her horse had lulled her into a state of reflection. Right now, she could be riding over the dungeons where that same man was in chains, awaiting a fate worse than death.

The cupbearer would have died anyway if he’d done his job in the first place, she told herself.As for the other… Well, he’d committed treason of the highest order. He deserved what he got.And yet still the sour taste lingered in her mouth.

Despite the angry words they'd exchanged, Thea twisted in her saddle and addressed the Warsword. ‘What do you know of the Scarlet Tower?’

Hawthorne kept his eyes straight ahead. ‘Enough.’

‘Which is?’

‘Enough to know that I, too, would have chosen death.’ He silenced her with a fierce look and Thea tensed. Long gone was the glimpse of the man who’d given her his own shirt. The warrior who rode beside her was harsh, unforgiving and brutal in his manner. Once again she wondered what he had seen, and what he had done, in his years of service.

It surprised her to hear him speak again so soon.

‘The first lesson of being a warrior of Thezmarr,’ he told her, ‘is this:know that your actions have consequences. Some more than others. And you will carry those with you for the rest of your life. Do you understand me?’

The arrow stinging her cheek flashed in Thea’s mind. As did the sight of Hawthorne twirling her dagger between his fingers in the Bloodwoods. Then, it was Audra arguing her case to the Guild Master and her sister’s initial fear upon discovering her intentions to petition the king. Then, a pair of trembling hands and the blue-lipped cupbearer, and finally, the treasonousnoble… She found herself wrenched into the present, where she now rode alongside a Warsword, on her way to live and train as a shieldbearer. Her actions had set in motion every single one of those events.

‘I understand,’ she replied softly, hardly daring to wonder where they would take her next.

They rode in silence as they navigated the steep, cobblestoned descent from the palace and into the city proper. By night, the streets of Hailford were brimming with debauchery and Thea found herself curious as to what she might find in some of the raucous taverns and silk-draped pleasure houses. But they left the laughter and flickering candlelight behind and soon, the darkness beyond the capital swallowed them whole.

Thea didn’t know how long they’d been riding for, only that the moon was still high and the stars that littered the velvet night were infinite. Her stomach gurgled in hunger. She’d scarcely managed two mouthfuls at the feast before the chaos had broken out. And before that…? She had no idea. Her vision swam for a moment and she righted herself in the saddle, her movements sluggish, muscles weak.

It had been a long few days – emotional, too – so it was no wonder she was a little out of sorts, she told herself. Despite the pangs of hunger in her gut, she decided none of it mattered. However it had come to pass, she’d achieved her goal at Harenth. She was returning to Thezmarr not as a poor excuse for an alchemist, but as a shieldbearer of the guild.

Althea Nine Liveswas one step closer to becoming a legend.

It was this she thought of as her head dropped to her chest and she slipped from her saddle.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Thea woke to a hard wall of muscle at her back and a strong, but surprisingly gentle arm around her waist, fingers wrapping above the curve of her hip. Despite the chill of the night, solid heat enveloped her, reassuring and sturdy. Instinctively, she leaned into it, relishing the warmth, the contact and the subtle scent of rosewood soap and leather. The arm around her waist tightened and Thea went rigid.

Head throbbing, her eyes flew open, the stars above blurring together in one vibrant streak. Slowly, her vision sharpened and by the moonlight, she began to make sense of her surroundings and the fact that she now shared a saddle with a Warsword.

Still groggy, Thea raised a weak hand to her temple, but Hawthorne’s fingers wrapped around hers and brought her arm back down.

‘It’s only just stopped bleeding,’ he growled. ‘Don’t touch it.’ His words were hot on the nape of her neck. He was so close, too close – his body rocked against hers, and as she shifted, his arm grazed the underside of her breasts, sending a hazy pulse of desire through her. She fought the urge to lean into him and forced herself to take a breath. Clearly she’d hit her head hard. Why else would her legs be involuntarily parting? Why elsewould her fingers ache with the need to reach out and caress him?

‘What happened?’ she asked, keeping her voice steady and glancing across at her mare trekking beside them, the lead rope wrapped around the saddle horn in front of her.

Hawthorne pressed a canteen into her weak grip. ‘Drink this.’

Dazed, Thea obeyed, the cool water tasting divine on her swollen tongue.

‘You passed out.’ Hawthorne told her. ‘Hit the ground pretty hard by the sound of it.’