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Chapter 17 ~ The Falcon

Rígan

“Nock!”

I breathed steadily as I placed an arrow against my bow.

“Draw!”

I pulled back the drawstring, lining up my shot and feeling for the shift in the wind, carrying with it the scent of horses.

My father—

I readjusted my grip on the bow. By the fucking Faith, I’d almost said something. Nothing damning, mind you, some little half-truth like the rest of them, but the moment those two words came free, some spell shattered and I remembered who I was talking to. What I stood to lose. Despite trying my hardest, I’d seamlessly slipped into a state of contentment, welcoming like an old, comforting shawl. I’d shoved it off as quickly as possible.

Damn Dàibhid and his comforting shawl of a personality. Damn how easy it was to just talk to—

“Loose!”

My arrow flew, hitting the target too far right of the center with a pathetic thud. I cursed my wandering mind, cursed Dàibhid’s beautiful fucking face even harder, and assessed how I’d fared compared to the others.

We stood in a line along one side of the training area, six targets facing us. áine was in a worse position than me, her arrow much too far to the left, almost grazing the edge of her target. Her hand twitched like she itched to grab a dagger. She could throw perfect arcs back-to-back with her weapon of choice, crowding the bullseye with blades. Arrows, on the other hand, did not appear to be her strong suit.

Lou and Maya had both achieved their first bullseyes on the previous shot, this time missing narrowly.

Gods, I wanted to talk to them about what was happening with me. How my thoughts kept wandering back to Dàibhid, and his kind smile and toned forearms and thoughtful soul and the way he made me feel safe—

Don’t you dare go there.

I couldn’t say a word to them, because that would require a backstory I couldn’t provide. Even if the thought of not telling them now made me just as uncomfortable as the thought of revealing everything.

I had told Bryn, of course. Whispered words lying on her bed when the others were asleep, both of us curled under the quilt she’d made me. It had helped, marginally, to refocus. To remind myself that being friendly and being friends were two different things, and I needed to be the former with Dàibhid.

I didn’t want to be friends with him, anyway.

Oh, really?

I ground my teeth.

Brí clapped, bringing my attention to the targets once more.

Bryn had landed her fifth bullseye out of seven.

My sister beamed as she surveyed her work. It was as I’d told Dàibhid—Bryn was a natural. She’d practiced here and there after I’d left, but not as rigorously as she had when I’d trained with her. Still, the movements had remained in her mind.

Her first day in the Bailanín training ring had just been the two of us, at her request. It gave us more time to catch up, she’d claimed. I knew that to be partly true; I also knew she didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of skilled fighters she was only just getting to know. Perhaps Maya most of all, who my sister still shot adorable little glances toward when my friend wasn’t looking. Perhaps Bryn was open to something, after all?

Bryn had been a proficient shot, and it took little to convince her to join group training after that first session. I still wasn’t comfortable with the thought of her putting her life on the line—and, worse for her, putting herself in a position where she might have to hurt others. But I wouldn’t try to stop her if she did choose to come on missions, provided she was physically ready, of course. She’d likely take on the role of lookout, what with that shot of hers. Less chance of encountering full-blown violence. Besides, I wouldn’t want to stop her; she hadn’t stopped me, after all.

“Again!” Brí called from the side, where she was helping áine as best she could.

Training had been decent among us, but it was clear that Maya, Lou, and I were the strongest element of the unit, if only because we were an established team. We knew how to communicate, knew how to play off each other. But the group as a whole was still finding its footing. Brí would get frustrated if too many of us tried to throw our input in at once, áine was evidently used to working alone and not riffing off others, and Bryn was still trying to figure out how she might fit in the first place. With more time, we’d get a handle on it. I hoped.

Once we’d exhausted our arrows, we paired off for some hand-to-hand sparring. Lou and I had taken turns helping Bryn learn basic movements. It was my turn to start today, and, after shucking off our arm bracers, I guided Bryn into position.

“I swear I’ll remember this someday,” she muttered, staring at her feet as I positioned them with my own. She’d started wearing trousers and loose shirts for training like the rest of us, forgoing her usual dresses for those few hours.

“I know,” I said. “It takes time.”

“Maybe I should have been doing this with you when we first started.”

I didn’t point out that she had. But it had been evident she hadn’t much enjoyed the concept of clashing swords with someone, and so she hadn’t put in the effort like I had.

“Don’t bother with that now. What’s your goal with this?”

“To have a good standing base?”

“No—I mean yes, with the feet, you’re right—but with this.” I motioned around us. “Why are you training?”

She bit her lip, considering. “To help me understand myself. By trying something new.”

“Alright, self-discovery. Good. That’s a different goal than what you had before—which was to keep my pushy ass company.” She chuckled. “But this is for you now. You want this. So you’ll remember it.”

She made a small adjustment to her upper body without my coaxing.

“See? Perfect.” I tossed her braid over her shoulder before taking up my own stance.

We sparred slower than the others, making sure Bryn saw what I was doing and learned how to mimic it. Her footing still lagged, but, more importantly, her confidence was growing with each passing day when she’d stand taller without compliments, laugh with Lou, take up space with the rest of us.

A confidence that seemed to entice Maya to give Bryn even more covert glances when she wasn’t looking. Except sometimes, they weren’t so covert.

Bryn darted her gaze toward Maya, checking to see if she was watching. She was. Bryn hastily refocused on me while Maya’s lips curved up ever so slightly.

I wouldn’t meddle. I wouldn’t.

We swapped partners halfway through sparring, Lou taking over with Bryn while I faced áine. She had me sweating in seconds, her right hooks coming sure and swift. And hard .

She landed a wicked punch to my gut and I jolted backward, air rushing from my lungs with a soft oof . Pain lanced my spine, and I coughed to get air back in. I put up a hand for a reprieve.

“You won’t get one in the field,” she said.

“I’m aware.” I pushed through the burn that accompanied each breath. “But we aren’t in the field, and that’s the third gut punch from you this round.”

She shrugged, taking the opportunity to grab water. I pinched my shirt and fanned it to cool down.

“What got you into this life, anyway?” I barely knew anything about her.

Her eyes narrowed into a scathing glower that would bring many to their knees. I held my ground.

When she realized I wasn’t backing away, her lips pinched in reassessment. Whatever she saw, it was enough to earn an answer.

“Revenge.”

“Fair enough.”

I downed some water, the cold liquid painting a river down my throat. I glanced sideways when a clattering resounded off the stones. Brí was trying to give Maya a directive like Maya was one of her soldiers. I held in my scoff. With any luck, Brí would drop that habit before we got sent out. We needed cooperation and compromise as a unit, not commands.

I motioned to the ring. “Another round?” I asked áine.

She relaxed infinitesimally at the dropped subject and led the way.

At the end of the session, shortly before lunch, Dàibhid came into the ring. I marked the sturdy boots, his leather vest. He was here to train. My brows crept up at his approach.

“You did tell me the invitation still stood,” he said.

“We finished for today.” The others were already heading inside.

“A shame.” The look he gave me was the same as when he’d first agreed to train with us. Something confident, even challenging. Hints of that look had emerged when we were children, but this . . .

This was suggestive.

My mouth went dry, my mind blank. Did he have any idea what that look could do?

From the way his mouth quirked, he did.

Interesting. That was usually my move. Perhaps he just felt confident today.

It looked good on him. Too good.

“You’re still here,” he said.

I swept my tongue through my mouth, trying to relieve the dryness. “I’m still here.”

“Care to train a little longer? Or are you afraid you’d lose?”

I offered him my own suggestive gaze. His faltered for a fraction of a second. “I seem to remember promising to give your ass a kicking, not the other way around.” I grabbed the nearest practice sword and sauntered past him. He watched me as I went, and I smiled to myself.

Caution , the on-edge part of me whispered.

I checked over my shoulder. He was still staring, suggestive gaze gone, admiration present. I did like being admired.

I might have needed to keep my guard up, but what had I thought about flirting? That it slips out, anyway? And toying with him was too much fun.

Fuck caution . Let’s see what I could get away with.

He grabbed a sword of his own and met me in the middle of the ring. I’d never seen him fight, but I’d heard from some of the royal guards that he was good. I just didn’t know how good.

He stepped into the first move, and off we went, parrying and slashing and dodging. His style was precise, adjusting to counter my moves as we attacked each other. I wanted to stop and simply watch him. He was graceful within his precision. Like he was playing music. But he came at me with a ferocity I hadn’t expected, providing no breathing room. We met clash for clash, feet scuffling across the stones and wooden blades beating a harsh rhythm. It was perhaps the most fun challenge I’d had in a while.

I pivoted, arm grazing his chest. We’d rarely been this close since he’d hired me. He grabbed my shoulder and pushed me away. The warmth of his touch lingered, and my traitorous body joined forces with my mind, anticipation burning through me in every possible way. I told myself to calm down, but my heart hammered anyway.

Not that the mere presence of him would distract me from winning. I’d fought attractive men before; this was nothing new. But perhaps I could use the mere presence of me to distract him . Like I’d inadvertently done with the dress a few weeks ago, when he’d made me the center of his attention. It had been nothing short of exhilarating.

Focus .

I wasn’t in the dress. Couldn’t distract him that way. So I plastered the smile I knew affected him back on.

He didn’t bite. In fact, he returned it with one of his own. The jerk.

I changed tactics, throwing more weight into my next move. That caught him off guard, sending his footing into disarray. He corrected himself, pivoting and ducking to slash my legs. I leapt, swinging down as I landed. He blocked it, pushing my arms out. I rolled to the ground, moving to avoid what would have been a painful blow on the field, shooting to my feet to meet his next jab.

Our moves became slower as we clashed, though still well-done and well-met. But then I thrust my sword toward his shoulder, and he grabbed my wrist as he blocked and pulled me close. The first thing I noticed was how out of breath I was.

The second was our position. We’d definitely never been that close before. Our chests heaved, continuously brushing against each other. His breath was hot on my face, and I again had the intense urge to run my hands through his hair. When his gaze darted to my mouth and my first instinct was to lean in and kiss him, I tried to break the mood.

“What, exactly, would you do now?” I meant for it to be a harsh sort of teasing. Instead, it came out breathy.

“That is a good question.” He lingered on my mouth a beat longer before dropping my wrist. I stepped back, instantly missing his warmth.

For fuck’s sake, Rígan.

I fell into a casual stance. “Good match.”

“Very,” he said, mimicking my posture but shooting me a genuine smile. I cursed it and the way it lit up his stunning eyes. “I knew there was a reason I hired you.”

That drew my own genuine smile out.

“Seriously,” he said, sobering. “You’re remarkable.”

Feeling this was about to head back into dangerous territory, but not wanting to dismiss the compliment that sent my stomach fluttering, I said, “That means a lot.”

More than it should have.

It really had been dangerous territory.

Seeing what I could get away with in the ring with Dàibhid had gone downhill, fast. I’d lost control of myself and the situation. He’d made me want him. There were now times I’d see him in the hall, or sitting down the table from me at dinner, and I’d remember the feel of him against me, and my body would decide it wanted him now . But that wasn’t the real problem.

The real problem was how I’d taken to thinking about him with his childhood nickname.

The first slip had been the evening right after that sparring match. I’d seen him, my body had responded, and I’d thought, We don’t need Fal .

I’d almost tripped over my own feet.

As kids, he’d taken to calling me Kit during our second Forest Ball together. I’d stuck my tongue out at him, but secretly, the name had only deepened my budding crush. I’d decided he needed a similarly appropriate animal moniker, and chose Falcon—they were smart, and free, and honestly cute. He blushed when I told him as much, and blushed deeper when I shortened the nickname to Fal.

Between my very physical reaction after our match—gods, the throbbing between my thighs had been infuriating —and the feeling of safety during our talk in the stables, the return to the nickname had practically been inevitable. I should have known better.

I really needed to get a grip on myself.

Beside me, Maya pointed to a painting in one of Bailanín’s halls of a young Dàibhid with his family. Fal had truly been adorable.

Shit . I pressed my nails into my palms to avoid screaming. Maya would certainly notice that.

Perhaps I should avoid him altogether. At least until after the next mission, where I’d get distance from him for some undetermined length of time and could clear my head. Set myself right. Remind myself that, beyond the job itself, I didn’t need F— Dàibhid. I didn’t need Dàibhid.

“He’s impressive in the ring,” Maya said, guiding me past the painting. “For someone who doesn’t like violence, he seems capable of dealing it.”

“Mhm.” Would avoiding him altogether be possible? It was no longer a question of taking alternate hallways or giving excuses to miss dinner; he was training with us daily now, emerging from his study more frequently. From the bags under his eyes and the distant expression after a long day, even just the piles of notes on his desk, he was having a hard time. I was glad he was getting out more, and didn’t want that to stop. For his own benefit. But I wondered how much of it was in hopes of sparring with me again.

Sparring with him one-on-one wasn’t a smart idea. That, I could avoid. Even if it felt like kicking a puppy.

I could manage a few more encounters before our next mission. So long as it was just a few. If there were months before I could get some distance between us, I would scream, and Bryn would have to make up an excuse for me, because I would be lost to my frustration. I could just see it—me on my knees with my hair in my fists. Lou and Maya asking Bryn what was happening with deep concern. Her fumbling for an excuse. Maybe telling them I was anguished over the events in a book.

“Who’s that, you think?” Maya asked.

I jolted to attention. “Who?”

She pointed to the far end of the hall. Dàibhid was with an unknown man, heading toward the war room. The man was criminally tall, light stubble coating his cheeks and neck, a smattering of scars painting his light brown skin. They spoke too quietly for us to hear, heads bent together. Brí joined them before they all disappeared around a corner.

“A soldier, by the looks of it,” I said. “He had the same pin as Brí on his cloak.”

“The soldier from Onyx, maybe?”

Gods, I hoped so. That would mean our next mission would come soon, which meant we could be out of here. Away from Dàibhid.

Light footsteps echoed behind us. “What are we looking at?” Bryn whispered.

“We think the soldier from Onyx is here,” I said.

“So we’ll find out where Dàibhid wants to send you soon.”

Maya leaned against the wall and took in Bryn, my sister’s pastel mint dress turning her into a character fit for a fairytale garden. Bryn timidly placed a strand of hair behind her ear as Maya shifted her attention back down the hall.

“I would assume so,” Maya said. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Bryn’s blush was immediate. “That, that’s sweet of you to say.” I was too caught up in what Bryn had said to note the interaction much. Send you next. Not us.

Bryn wrung her hands together, and I caught them. They were clammy between mine.

“You still have time to think it over,” I said. To back out of this , I implied. Bryn’s training might have been coming along—and I’d trust her skills as a lookout—but aiming an arrow at a living being, a human no less, was nothing compared to an inanimate target.

She pulled out of my grasp to grip my shoulder. Like she was comforting me . “I know.”

“You can wait until the very last second if you like.”

“That seems overly generous.”

“Rígan’s right,” Maya said. “No one will hold it against you if you say no at any point.”

Bryn blinked rapidly and actually held Maya’s eye contact. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“Of course. I—We want you to feel safe,” she said. I bit my lips at her correction. “Now, shall we place bets on where we’ll be sent?”

As long as it was away from here, I didn’t particularly care.