Page 23 of The Ballad of the Last Dragon

Chapter Twenty-Three

“ A iming should be instinctive, not exact. You won’t have time to line up every shot for precision.” Cadoc paces behind me, remarking on my form and offering adjustments. Day three back on the road, and I have to admit, it’s been wildly more enjoyable than I ever expected.

“Did you know the earliest bow was of elven make?” Maybe I can distract Cadoc long enough he abandons our lesson. My neck and shoulders ache, and a cramp is working its way into my palm. It is true that bows are an elven design, not that anyone remembers such history.

“Shoot now. History lesson later.”

Rats.

Neith still trains me in endurance and sword fighting each evening, and in the morning, while Jaromir packs up camp, Cadoc teaches me to shoot with a recurve.

This was Jaromir’s idea to keep me out of close quarter combat and capitalize on my ‘impressive aim with rocks.’

He whittled the bow I wield, claiming it was a project for idle hands early in the journey when he took watch.

We have two more villages to sing of Aeron’s deeds and spread his name, before we venture off the roads to find our dragon.

Once our adventure is complete, I suppose I’ll have to head back to Hollowden, for nothing else than to bid farewell to Kingsley and Brigitta. I promised I would, but perhaps he knew not to expect me. That I was destined for fame and glory and everything that seemed so important not so long ago.

I’ll finally be what I always wanted. A bard who wrote the epic tale of a great hero. I could probably gain access to any concert hall, sing in any tavern, and earn the respected title I’ve always deserved.

But why does this ring so hollow?

“How’s your arm? You sore yet?” Cadoc stares at me expectantly.

I give a theatrical roll of my eyes so he doesn’t suspect I was lost in thought. “I’m always sore.”

“Good.” He grins. “Shoot again.”

I grit my teeth and nock another arrow. I’ve been informed the pull weight of my bow is embarrassingly low. Cadoc’s words, not mine. But I have to start somewhere. “Honestly, wouldn’t it be safer if I just throw rocks? I seem to have success with that.”

“What do you think, Jaromir?”

Jaromir finishes loading the last saddlebag and comes to stand behind me. Every nerve in my body responds to his proximity. After our night at the inn, there aren’t enough stolen moments in each day or night to sate my hunger for him.

Cadoc seems to have passed the role of instructor on to Jaromir, stepping away to examine his pack.

“How does the bow feel?” Jaromir is all calculated scrutiny, his perusal far too clinical for my taste.

“Awkward.”

He hums to himself. “Noted. But I admit”—he leans close, whispering in my ear—“you look stunning armed with a weapon.”

My shot goes wide, and my arrow launches between the trees, lost forever. I glare at him. “That was your fault. Cadoc won’t be happy.”

He pulls me in for a kiss. “I’ll fletch him a new one.”

The clear night is a blanket of stars, and when my belly is stuffed with spit-roasted quail and fried apples, I lean back and sigh. I never realized how easy it is to starve in the city and thrive in the forest.

“Cadoc, my friend, you have a gift.” I pat my full stomach. “Do you know how much coin people spend on meals like this?”

He grins, flashing his dimples and appearing utterly pleased with himself.

Neith smiles, too, gently kicking his foot. “Does Tomas know what a credit you’d be to the tavern?”

Cadoc kicks her back harder, biting his lip to hide how his grin widens at her comment.

Across the fire, Jaromir is whittling something small enough he keeps hiding it from view. No matter how many times I crane my neck to catch a glimpse, he snatches it away and tucks it in his arm.

“What’s he got over there?” I nod my head in Jaromir’s direction, aiming my question at Cadoc.

He leans up to get a better look, and Jaromir once again, tucks his secret project away. “Maybe he’s making you a wood carving of his prick so he might get some sleep.”

I toss a leftover quail bone in his direction. “What a grievous insult! It’s far too small for that.”

Neith chokes on her wine.

“Maybe it’s a decorative piece to adorn the tavern when you and Tomas inherit the place,” I say.

“Maybe,” Jaromir cuts in, “it’s my private business until I say otherwise.”

“If you wanted it secret, why would you work on it where we can all see?” Cadoc leans back, lacing his hands behind his head.

“Because then he has th’perfect excuse t’glare at us for asking,” Neith says with a laugh.

“I need the firelight.” Jaromir frowns down at whatever is in his hand.

I lean over to grab my lute, plucking a soft melody. Neith and Cadoc reminisce about old jobs completed. The gentle sound of fire crackling, the scrapes of Jaromir’s whittling, the hushed tones of conversation punctuated by bursts of laughter, and the tune to my song blend and weave to create the atmosphere of the night.

When Neith and Cadoc retire, leaving Jaromir to take first watch, I tuck my lute away and scoot closer to his side. Wordlessly, he lifts his arm to pull me to him, and I breathe in his familiar scent. Already the urge to shove him down and climb atop him is mounting, but we’ve decided it’s best to wait until Cadoc’s watch. Responsible, even. Jaromir doesn’t wish to be distracted . Especially after the arachnida debacle.

“Would you be terribly distracted if you kept watch while I was free to do what I wish?” It’s an innocent question.

Maybe not so innocent from the way he stares at me. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” I say, casually slipping out of his hold to kneel in front of him, walking my fingers across his thighs. “Would it be too much of a distraction if I used my hand? My mouth?”

His hand closes over mine, halting my reach.

“Don’t tempt me.” His voice is a warning, and I want nothing more than to see how far that warning extends until he breaks. He releases me, clearing his throat. “I have something for you.”

“Is it more buttercups?” After he gave me my flower by the riverbank, they kept appearing in odd places, tucked behind my lute strings, carefully arranged outside my tent. And each time, I’d find Jaromir refusing to meet my eye.

I even suspect him of slipping them into my satchel those times I couldn’t remember picking them.

Jaromir grins, shaking his head. “Not this time. It’s, ugh, more of a present.”

A present? I love presents. Not that I have much experience with receiving them. I jump back to my seat by his side.

“For me? Oh, Jaromir, you shouldn't have!” I stretch my eager hand out, wiggling my fingers in excitement.

He gives me a strange look, almost one of uncertainty, before placing something solid in my waiting palm. I close my fingers around it, bringing it to my face for closer inspection, while Jaromir watches me with a careful readiness as if I'm about to bolt.

It's a wooden handle with two arms reaching up and a leather strap with a stretching band attached to each limb.

He carved me a slingshot.

My very own slingshot.

It's utterly perfect.

I run my fingers over the delicate craftsmanship, sucking in a breath at each deliberate groove and marking. He carved a few music notes and a phrase I have to squint to read. The familiar letter shapes of a forgotten human language peers up at me.

Vis leaenae.

I’m eight summers old, writing my alphabets in the dirt. My da is laughing when I spell out a word that would earn me a swat from my mama. The same alphabets I practiced on the dust-covered deck on the boat to Targgein as I cried myself to sleep. A swell of emotion fills my chest, tightens my throat, and I cough out a watery laugh.

Strength of a lioness.

It’s a ridiculous thing to carve into a slingshot handle, but somehow, it fits.

“You don't have to use it,” he says, scowling at the ground.

“But I want to.” I reach for him, lifting his chin to meet my eye. “Thank you.”

He clears his throat, plucking the slingshot out of my grasp to turn it over in his hands. “It’s a fine weapon. Don’t laugh, I mean it.”

I smother my laughter and wait for him to continue.

“It’s a shepherd’s sling, and I can forge you lead sling-bullets, or you can use acorns or rocks, as you are known to do.” He hands it back to me. “Just don’t hit any of us with it, and you’ll be set.”

I quit fighting my losing battle against my smile and throw my arms around his neck. “I love it! It’s perfect.”

When I pull away, he settles his arm around my shoulder, kissing the top of my head. “I’m glad you like it. But if you prefer the bow—”

“I hate the bow.”

Jaromir laughs. “I thought you might. This is just as helpful in a fight, you know.” He studies me intently. “A well-placed shot or two can turn the tide in any battle.”

I nuzzle into his neck. “Well, consider your flank guarded.”

He rests his chin against the top of my head. “You watch my back, I watch yours.”

“Deal.”

“Good,” he says, “and tomorrow we work on your close quarter combat.”

I tilt my head to examine his expression, only to find his serious resolve. “What? Neith has that covered.”

“Neith is a skilled fighter, and her training methods are suitable.”

I laugh and steal a quick kiss. “There’s a ‘but’ coming, isn’t there? That sounded nearly complimentary.”

“But”—Jaromir smiles against my mouth—“I would feel more comfortable if I could train you, too.”

I want to tease him. I want to threaten to tattle on him to Neith and laugh when she makes him run endurance drills. But something about the quiet contemplation in his eyes gives me pause. So, instead I ask, “Why?”

He bundles me closer to his chest. “Because, if something ever happened, and I wasn’t there, I want to ensure you come back to me.”

Oh.

I lay my head back down against his chest, breathing in his scent.

I can’t find anything funny about that answer.

“Tell me again, what are my advantages?” Jaromir faces me, his dark hair tied back in a knot and his stance relaxed.

After I’d agreed to let him train me in hand-to-hand combat, he had insisted we begin first thing in the morning. But his mornings start so much earlier than mine.

He watches me with a severe expression, the one that’s all cold stoicism. As if we hadn’t spent the night before tangled in each other’s arms, gasping against each other’s skin.

“You’re larger, stronger, and the aggressing party—so your intent is aimed on control and overpowering.”

He nods once. “And your advantages?”

“My lady bits can be used for distraction.”

He tuts a disapproving noise, his frown deepening. Guess we’re not in the mood for jests.

“I’m smaller, faster, and my aim is escape,” I amend.

“How is your objective an advantage?”

“So long as I can get far enough away from you, you’re no longer a threat. You’re reliant on incapacitating me, I just need to evade you. If that fails, I go for the easiest kill.”

Warmth and approval glimmers in stare. “Good.”

I’m not even ashamed of the ripple of pleasure that runs down my spine at his praise.

So far, we’ve spent our time practicing basic holds and defensive maneuvers, repeating attacks and evasions with slow precision so I master the techniques. Jaromir has proven to be a most patient instructor, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy playing at escaping his grasp.

“This time, we won’t go at half speed,” Jaromir says, stalking toward me. “And I won’t go easy on you.”

I’m practically vibrating with excitement. “All right, have at me, then.”

He lunges, his massive hands gripping my throat and applying just enough pressure to make me panic. His earlier instructions float through my memory, and I tuck my chin to keep his grip from tightening against my air supply. Grabbing his wrists, I yank him toward me—slamming my knee into his stomach.

Jaromir grunts against the blow, smiling. “Good, but you haven’t taken me out yet.”

I bring my elbow across his face, before driving my palm into his nose. He releases, stepping back with a cough. I hesitate, waiting to see if he’s all right—a mistake. He’s already advancing.

I take off running, leaping over roots and fallen logs. His strides aren’t far behind me, and his every exhale is harsh but measured. For a moment, I’m transported to when I would run through the forest as a child, all unchecked energy and bursts of speed. I revel in how strong my body is after a month and a half on the road and eating three nourishing meals a day. The wind I create with my speed tousles my hair and pricks my eyes. My path is winding, ever changing and impossible to predict—whatever it takes to throw him off my trail.

A memory returns, unbidden. Something curls in my stomach and a trembling dread steals the strength of my limbs. Suddenly, I’m nine summers old, playing with Mama’s sister—my ahntan Elothwyn. She’s braided my hair into a crown and adorned it with bluebells. She hears something—something that makes her grasp my wrist and yank me off the moss-covered stone I’d been using as a throne. ‘ Want to play chase? Run as fast as you can. Don’t stop until you cross the river.’

Heart pounding in my chest, a familiar panic starts to grip my throat.

‘Faster, stóirín. Don’t let me catch you.’

Pain stabs through my ribs, and my eyes blur. I push my pace harder, weaving around trees and avoiding rolling my ankle.

This isn’t real. This is meant to prepare me. I trust Jaromir. And yet, a shaky fear spreads through my body as I propel my legs harder. Leaves and bracken soften my footfalls, but I’m running so hard, each step vibrates through my thighs.

His labored breathing comes faster. He’s gaining on me.

I don’t dare look behind me. Never look back. Keep your head forward. Aim for safety.

I pass a large tree, and for a millisecond, I debate climbing it. I doubt he’s as strong a climber, the man is huge. But I’d be trapped with no way down and at his mercy.

My deliberation costs me.

Jaromir’s large body crashes into me, dragging me down to the forest floor and somehow absorbing the fall. He straddles me, his thick thighs on either side of my legs, and his hands wind around my throat again.

My muscles tense. I can’t fight my way free. He’s stronger, and I’m flailing on the ground, pressed into the dirt. Every nerve fires, buzzing beneath my skin. It’s too loud. It’s too quiet. My pulse is deafening in my ears.

What do I do? How do I escape?

He has me.

He has me.

Jaromir’s instructions float back to the surface. I push every thought away, save for the memory of his spoken word again and again as we practiced the movements.

I grab his arm with both hands—one at his wrist, the other at his elbow—locking him in tight to my body. Bracing my foot beside his leg, I roll, tumbling his body beneath me. I yank the dagger from my boot—the one Neith gave me for safekeeping—and press it against his throat.

Jaromir stares up at me, eyes widening and a soft smile claiming his mouth. “I yield.”

My hand is shaking, everything is shaking, when I roll off him to sit on the ground. I sheath the small blade, and drag a hand through my hair, trying to catch my breath.

Jaromir keeps a safe distance between us, but he leans toward me. “Are you all right?”

I don’t know how to answer that question. It’s difficult to assess how I am right now. But rather than respond in vague riddles, I give him the easiest answer.

“Of course,” I say between heavy breaths. “Just need to do more endurance training with Neith.”

He nods, accepting my lie. Well, it isn’t quite a lie, I do need to work on my running stamina. But we both know this playacting scenario has left me rattled.

The memory of ahntan Elothwyn flutters against the edge of my mind. I don’t want to think about that day. I’ve spent years burying it and there’s no sense in dredging it up now.

“In fact,” I continue, “I’d say we both could use a little work. I know I have much room for improvement, but at least I have a good excuse. I’m too busy changing the world with my brilliant songs and epic ballads. You , on the other hand, should have had no trouble catching me. It’s almost as if you wanted me to evade you, which makes for a terrible attacker. My word, you should invest in schooling for nefarious intent, because you are utterly abysmal at catching your prey.”

He watches me with that damnably probing stare, seeing every crack and flaw in the rapid spewing of my nonsense. Finally, he nods. “You’re faster than you think, which sets me at ease.”

That’s right… this whole venture was meant to arm me with more skills should I need to call on them.

Because he’s afraid for me.

I don’t know why, but for some reason, that helps me tuck away my fear. Almost as if I’m sharing the burden of it all.

Jaromir tugs me against his chest, wrapping me in the safety of his arms.