Page 18

eight

IS IT YOUR FIRST TIME?

I direct my attention back to the city of Hornwood and my heart withers. Dark smoke shrouds the night sky. In the distance the home of the family collapses followed by the town buildings. One by one, they fall away to heaps of ash.

I couldn’t save them.

A swarm of rage and despair drowns me. I can’t ground myself, not when everything around me is fire.

I grab the rebel’s sword and stand at the edge of the flames. Ice spreads through my chest, like some disease waiting to consume me.

I’ll fucking kill them.

My body shakes with fury. I turn away from the flames, blocking out every thought. I can’t let myself think about it. If I let it in—if I allow myself to feel—the anguish will consume me.

I put one foot in front of the other, walking until I’m not sure how long it’s been and I collapse near a river. As I lie on thecold hard earth, screams echoing inside my skull, I retreat to memories of Cole to stay afloat.

Three summers ago.

The sun starts to creep above the canopy of trees. My gaze floats over to my father’s cross, and I wonder if he would approve of Cole. The river behind my father’s and brother’s crosses rushes with the runoff of melted snow from Dragon’s Back Ridge. A thick layer of heat settles over the forest, and I pull at my collar sticking to my skin. I fan myself with a hand, unable to distinguish whether it’s as hot as I think it is or if my nerves are getting the best of me.

A familiar thud of approaching footsteps catches my attention. As I turn to look over my shoulder toward the sound, the dappled sunlight catches the burnished flame of Cole’s hair. His broad shoulders sway with a silent confidence. I can’t help but admire the way his clothes cling to the curves and angles of his concealed brawn and power. I flick my attention to something else before he catches me staring.

Two birds fly by between us, somersaulting in the air as they dance and disappear off into the trees. As Cole approaches, I cock my head to the side, wondering what he holds in his hands.

He flashes me a smile, presenting me with a bow. “Surprise.”

I gape in utter shock and realization. The string, which was once snapped in half, is whole once more. Even the wood gleams from a fresh polish, free from the gouges that had once scarred the wood.

It’s my mother’s bow.

Gratitude swells within me, and my voice comes out strained through the knot tightening my throat. “I...don’t know what to say. How did you—”

“Don’t worry about how.” His smile warms his eyes.

Repairing it must have cost a significant amount of coin. Guilt surfaces, and as I open my mouth to refuse such a generous gift, he interrupts me.

“We can start practicing today.”

“Today?”

“Today,” he confirms.

I look down at the bow in my hands, suddenly doubting every ambition I’ve had. I always wanted to be an archer like my mother. If I could be half the archer she was, I could give us a better life. But the snapped bow—broken long before I was born—was always a problem. Now freed from that limitation…what if I’m not good enough?

“Do you…not like it?” Cole asks gently, noting my hesitation.

“No, no. It’s not that. I just…” My voice drops to a whisper, “I don’t really know where to start.”

“Is it your first time?”

I nod, and he opens his hands, silently asking for the bow. He demonstrates for me, patiently narrating each step before handing the bow back to me to replicate.

I squeeze my hands around the bow, praying I can keep my grip steady between my sweaty fingers. As I pull the string back and narrow my eyes at a spot across the river, the bow wobbles in my trembling hands.

Cole glides in behind me and corrects my elbow with a soft touch. His arms surround me, his face dangerously close to mine and his body brushing against me. Wrapping his hand over the top of mine, he aims the bow higher. A blush creeps to my cheeks. He clears his throat and steps away. I try not to let my shoulders sag at the sudden departure.

“That looks great! Now all you need is an arrow. Here, let’s have you aim at”— Cole points to a tree stump across the river and hands me an arrow—“that trunk over there.”