Page 34 of The Throne Seeker (Vallorian #1)

I nitially, Zareb resisted Rose’s request to spar, knowing she was exhausted and insisting she’d been through enough in the past twenty-four hours.

But with just one look from her, Zareb conceded, accepting he wouldn’t win the fight.

She knew Zareb craved their sparring time just as much as she did.

It was how they both released stress and frustration. In many ways, the two were much alike.

Relentless heat beat down from the sun that day, setting her shoulders on fire. The only saving grace was the west breeze blowing over the field, tasting like the salty sea itself. Above, the aspens’ leaves trickled like a gentle stream, catching the sun’s light like sparkles on the water.

“Where’s your sword?” Zareb asked when they reached the fields.

She focused on anything but his eyes. “It was taken.”

His head snapped to her, alarmed. “By who?”

“Tristan.” Her voice dripped with guilt. “When we were about to go retrieve the phoenix, I took my sword in case we had any trouble on the road, and he asked about it.”

Zareb’s body went rigid. “Does he know?—”

“No,” she replied, knowing what he would ask. “He doesn’t know it’s you, not yet anyway. But I’m afraid he won’t stop until he finds out.”

Zareb glanced back to the path they’d just left, scouring the forest’s edge, almost as if he expected someone to appear. After a brief pause, he nodded in acceptance, easing his tension somewhat. “We’ll have to be more careful. It won’t end well for either of us if anyone finds out.”

She gaped at him in surprise. “You mean you’re not going to tell me we should stop?”

Zareb’s eyes fell to the sword in his hands.

“We should stop. That much is certain.” His hands traced over the detailed brass scabbard.

“I admit, when we first started, I had many of the same thoughts Tristan must have—how dangerous this could be for you, if it was something you really needed. I almost told you I wanted to stop the training altogether.” His eyes met back with hers.

“But then I saw something change in you.”

Her eyes held his, wading in his dark pools as she waited for him to explain.

Zareb stepped closer, his dark, rich skin glistening in the sunlight.

“A light in your eyes I’d never seen shone through.

Each day, it grows brighter as you become stronger.

Your training has not only helped you fight physically, but it’s also helped you fight here—” he pointed to her head, “—and here.” He shifted his finger to point at her heart.

“That’s when I knew I was wrong to doubt you.

I promised myself I’d never tell you what you could or couldn’t do.

You are the only one who should decide that. ”

Her heart swelled uncontrollably in her chest, comforted by knowing someone else believed in her, that someone had taken the time to understand and to realize she needed this. That this was becoming a part of who she was. “You know, sometimes it feels like you are the only one who truly sees me.”

Zareb lifted an eyebrow. “You feel like Tristan doesn’t?”

She paused, contemplating the question as her eyes faltered. “I don’t know… I know he loves me.”

Zareb’s eyes roamed over her, like he could see her internal struggle. “May I say something without overstepping my place?”

She nodded, welcoming his thoughts.

He gazed deeply into her eyes, softly, gently, as if cradling her with his own.

“When a man is able to listen to a woman’s feelings without drawing a negative response, he offers her the most precious thing he can give,” Zareb explained.

“It makes her feel safe. Safe enough for her to share her needs and concerns. Safe enough to know that no matter what she says, he’ll listen in earnest. Even if it’s something he doesn’t want to hear, he won’t use a belittling tone or shrink her thoughts or opinions.

It doesn’t mean he can’t disagree, but he’ll never discount them.

If he’s successful in that, a woman will willingly give him her trust, her respect, her admiration…

and perhaps, if he is so lucky, even her heart. ”

She clung to each word as she absorbed them, letting it settle deep into her bones.

“So let me ask you this instead… is Tristan that man to you?” Zareb asked.

A lump formed in her throat as she struggled to give him an answer. But she was afraid to let herself doubt, even if only for a moment. Because if she did, the glass holding her together might shatter.

Zareb took her silence as answer enough. “You don’t have to answer me, Rose. But you deserve to answer it for yourself.”

Rose stared at Zareb in awe. For the first time, she wondered how he had so much wisdom for someone only in their thirties.

She was ashamed she’d not bothered to ask him more questions, to ask about his past—how he stayed so calm and collected, and what exactly was a warrior like himself doing here?

How had he been assigned to protect a small city girl who held no great importance when he should be in charge of a group of his own men?

“Where did you get all the strength and wisdom you carry?” she asked, speaking one of her questions out loud.

“I had a strong mother,” Zareb responded with pride. “Much like yours.”

“Had?” she questioned softly.

Zareb nodded solemnly. “Had. She died when I was young.”

“Is that why you never smile?”

Zareb’s eyes drifted to the horizon, telling her he wasn’t gazing at the landscape in Cathan but at a far-off place. “Partly, yes.”

“Will you tell me about her someday?”

Zareb’s eyes graced hers again with appreciation. “For you, Rosalie Versalles, perhaps I will… Someday.”

She gained a new curiosity about him. “Well, Zareb, you’ve given me something to look forward to.”

“What would that be?”

“The day I make you smile,” she answered with a broad smile of her own.

His eyes brightened at her words. “I look forward to that day.” Zareb peered down at the sword in his hands, gripping it tighter. “Uh.” He cleared his throat. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead—not from the heat. “I suppose it’s a good thing I got you this.” He extended the sword to her.

She was rendered speechless. She looked at him, then back to the sword, receiving it with reverent hands.

It was the most exquisite sword she had ever encountered, engraved with intricate swirls that glistened on the bronze hilt, along with a rose etched on each side.

The slender blade was honed to lethal perfection and was, to her pleasant surprise, lighter than the one she’d been training with before.

“It’s made of the finest steel Vallor can offer, straight from the Spine mountains of Semaria,” Zareb stated, his gaze fixed on the blade. “It’s lighter than most, but it keeps its integrity even still.”

“It’s perfect,” she breathed. She slid the sword back into its sheath, and without warning, she stepped into him, throwing her arms around his neck and closing the gap between them. “Thank you,” she whispered into his ear.

He was rigid, of course, every one of his overly large muscles tense from the sudden display of affection.

She was sure he’d only stand there awkwardly, but after a long moment, he slowly lifted his arms around her upper back, returning the gesture and squeezing her tightly into him. “You’re welcome,” he whispered back.

She let go, looking back down to the sword. “People will wonder where it came from,” she thought out loud, already thinking of multiple hiding places.

“I’ll keep it safe for you until the time is right and bring it for you to use during our training.” He strode over to his horse and drew his own sword. “Now let’s begin, or else we’ll be late for dinner, and your mother will have my head.”