Page 32 of Unkindness of Crimson Ravens (The Crimson Duet #1)

Renascence

R oxanne made her way across the room, getting comfortable on my bed as though it was her own. “What happened?” She drank straight from the bottle before offering it to me.

“Nothing,” I said dismissively. “I want to be alone.”

“Do you, though?” She raised a brow, crooking her head. She shoved the bottle into my hands, ushering me to drink.

I glared at her, though I could not find it in me to order her out. “No.” I snatched the bottle out of Roxanne’s hand; the smell hit my nostrils. My eyes watered as I moved the bottle close to my lips. “I do not.” I choked on the moonshine.

Roxanne snorted at my reaction. “Never thought I would be drinking with a royal herself.” She chuckled when she met my glare. “I know we are not friends, but Florence—” Roxanne sighed. “She would want me to be here when she cannot.”

I took another big sip, coughing, though not from the drink this time. “I am fine,” I mumbled. “I can take care of myself.”

“I hear you scream sometimes.” Roxanne adjusted a pillow under her back. “We all do,” her emotionless voice hit straight into my chest. “We don't have to talk; I prefer drinking anyway,” she shrugged.

I swallowed the burning liquid, my eyes searched Roxanne’s for any sign of mockery. “I don’t need your pity,” I spat out. I had no reason to be angry with Roxanne, yet I was all the same. “And I don’t need a sitter.”

Roxanne's gaze fell onto her lap when she whispered, “Maybe I don’t want to be alone either.”

My brows furrowed so slightly at her confession. I opened my mouth to reply, yet the words abandoned me.

I took a long sip of moonshine before handing the bottle to Roxanne.

The wind whistled through my room, bringing me out of the oblivion as my eyes fluttered open. The cold brushed over my uncovered skin; goosebumps traveled down my body. A long forgotten calmness swept through me.

Frowning, I wondered if perhaps I was still asleep when an unfamiliar serenity enveloped me whole.

I pulled the blankets higher when my gaze fell upon a small piece of paper lying atop the pillow next to me.

My brows furrowed as my hand stretched out to the rough parchment: a beautiful drawing of a woman with a gray cat in her hands. In the corner in a neat handwriting it read, You snore. R.

A grin spread across my face as my fingers brushed over the paper. After a whole bottle of moonshine split between the two of us, I couldn’t recall the moment I had fallen asleep.

An impatient knock on the door made me drop the drawing. “Come in,” my hoarse voice traveled through the room as I attempted to fix the dress I had fallen asleep in.

A few more loud thuds vibrated on the wood.

“Come in!” I said louder, clearing my throat; the knocks continued with new power.

A groan escaped me as I climbed out of the bed, making my way towards the door with the serenade of loud thuds. “Caleb?” I swung the door open.

The man frowned, scanning my appearance. “Get dressed,” he said. “We are going to train.”

My brows flew high. “Perhaps we could start tomorrow?” I suggested, attempting to close the door.

“Ask Roxanne for the proper attire.” Caleb’s boot stopped the door from closing. “The dress won’t do,” he simply said, walking away. “I will be waiting for you in the training hall,” Caleb called over his shoulder.

Perhaps I was still asleep.

My gaze fell upon Florence peacefully sleeping on the bed by the window when Roxanne opened the door. “Caleb said you can give me something to wear,” I told her. “He wants me to train with him.”

Florence’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Her soft features had brightened since the night I saw her last. A sigh of relief filled my lungs.

“You can take these,” Roxanne offered me a pair of trousers and a tunic, looking me up and down. “They should fit.”

I glanced at the wardrobe she took her clothes out of. “I thought this was Florence’s room.”

“We like to share our rooms,” Roxanne shrugged. “Tell Caleb I won’t train tonight.” She offered as she disappeared into the bathing chambers.

I studied my new attire in the mirror. Roxanne’s black trousers fit as though they were made specially for me. A small excited smile appeared on my face when I moved my legs, surprised how comfortable the trousers felt.

A woman cannot wear such outrageous clothing. A small laugh escaped my lips as though I was a naughty child that got away with mischief.

I attached a scabbard to my waist; my eyes couldn’t get enough of the clothes I was gifted. Despite the fact I was yet to know how to wield it, I for sure looked as though I wouldn’t need protection from anyone. Odd feelings of confidence filled me.

My confidence abandoned me when Caleb ordered me around the training hall for the next few nights.

“You have to stay calm.” He swung his wooden stick against mine. “Your emotions are your greatest enemy.” Not a trace of sweat on his skin.

Caleb looked as though this was no more than a warm up no matter the amount of hours we’d spent training; my skin was covered in sweat the moment my hands wrapped around the hilt of my wooden weapon. My heavy breathing echoed through the room as I dodged his blows.

“Have you fought on wooden sticks before?” Caleb asked.

“When I was five,” I rolled my eyes, blocking his next attack.

“Whoever let you hold a real weapon so early made a real mistake.” His stick almost touched my fingers.

“I know how to hold a weapon.” I seethed through clenched teeth.

“Hold it?” Caleb’s brows flew high. “Maybe. Fight with it?” He chuckled; his stick flew mere inches from my face. “I am surprised you haven’t injured yourself with it before.” His eyes narrowed. “Have you?”

“Once,” I admitted quietly.

“Only once?” He laughed, almost knocking the weapon out of my hand. “Focus!”

“Stop distracting me with your chatter.” My grip around the hilt tightened.

“If something as simple as chatter can distract you, you will lose the moment your opponent takes out their weapon.” He laughed at my attempt to attack. “You have the skill of a ten year old. Who taught you this hideous technique?”

Blood rushed in my veins, my jaw clenched. I ignored his question as his stick landed on the back of my palm finally knocking the weapon out of my grasp.

I glanced at my reddened skin, picking up the stick. My hand wrapped around the hilt as I charged towards him. “Are you here to teach or insult me?” I seethed.

“Whatever gets the job done.” Caleb snorted, shortening the distance between us: forcing me against the wall. “You seem to prefer the latter.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I spat out.

“We have been at it for hours and yet you only showed signs of strength when I angered you,” Caleb retorted. “Though it also makes you distracted.” His stick landed on my ribs. The air escaped my lungs. “Anger is good, but only when it’s controlled.”

“I loathe you,” I said at last, swinging my weapon in his direction again with more power.

“Good,” he nodded. “Now try to actually hit my stick and not the air.”

A groan escaped me as I almost smashed the stick out of his hand.

“Better.” Caleb lowered his weapon, charging toward the door. “We are done for tonight,” he said as the door closed behind him.

Catching my breath, I slid down the wall. Cold stone floor calmed my heating flesh. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the sleeve of my tunic when my gaze fell on the polished red bow.

My wobbly legs carried me towards the weapon; my fingers felt the smooth wood.

My hand wrapped around the grip. I’d never shot a bow before, but Brian had loved it. He often showed off his skill to me and Sandra.

I nocked an arrow, aiming it toward the hay target. The arrow swung to the side a few times before I managed to let it fly free.

The arrow bounced off the wall, barely missing the window, in a sharp ring.

A bright laugh echoed behind me. “Were you aiming for the window?” Francis walked towards my fallen weapon.

I narrowed my eyes, aiming another arrow at him.

Francis chuckled at my threat as he picked up the arrow from the floor. “Please don’t hit the window when you shoot at me.”

Fighting the smile that threatened to appear on my face, I rolled my eyes. The last time we talked was during our ride home after the meeting. An odd feeling of longing accompanied me the last couple of days.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I leaned against the wall.

“Tough practice?” Francis’ brows rose as he put the missing arrow back into its quiver.

A peculiar timidity filled the air. “Not at all.” I met his playful eyes when he leaned against the wall beside me. Jasmine spun my head drunk.

“Sure it was.” A grin spread across his face. “Caleb was the one to tutor me as well. I know his style of teaching very well.” His gaze bored into mine; suddenly the room narrowed down. “No need to lie, Princess.”

I swallowed a lump in my throat that grew bigger with every passing moment. “He makes me want to strangle him.” I smiled, sliding down the wall in an attempt to escape Francis’ penetrating gaze: escape the bewildering emotions he brought out of me.

Francis laughed, taking a seat next to me on the floor. “I would offer you my help, but I'm afraid swords are not my expertise.” His shoulder brushed over mine. My breathing hilted.

“What is your expertise?” I raised a brow at him, ignoring my foolish reaction.

“Daggers,” Francis shrugged. “Though I am pretty good at everything, naturally.”

“Of course you are.” I rolled my eyes.

“You don’t believe me?” Francis crooked his head, a slow grin made its way onto his face. “May I?” He pointed at the bow in my hand.

“Please.” I handed him the weapon; his hand brushed against mine.

He sent me a quick smile as he got to his feet. Grabbing the arrow I’d nearly broken the window with, Francis graciously placed it across the bow. His hands held the weapon firmly, yet gently all the same, as he pulled on the bowstring. My eyes were unable to escape this prison.

The arrow landed straight in the middle of the target on the opposite side of this gigantic room. My brows shot up.

“Believe me now?” Francis tilted his head, placing the weapon where it belonged—far from my hands.

I shook my head. “Why don’t you carry a bow with you, if you are this good?”

“Daggers are more practical.” Francis took his abandoned place beside me. My body froze at the proximity. “And they are easier to hide: gives some sort of advantage. I can give you a lesson,” he said, a trace of hope sang in his voice.

I swallowed a lump in my throat at the idea. “I’ve had enough lessons for one night,” I shook my head; my eyes studied the stone floor, avoiding his gaze.

“Perhaps tomorrow?” Francis persisted.

“I think I will pass.” I offered him a small smile. Though the words burned my tongue, for a strange feeling of disappointment at my reply washed over me.

“Come now, Princess,” Francis leaned into me. “I thought we were friends. What's the matter?”

I should keep my distance, I wanted to say.

“I won’t be as mean as Caleb, I promise,” he didn’t give up. “I will even give you a dagger of your own.”

“Bargaining again?” I smiled.

Francis shrugged, “What do you say?”

“Perhaps tomorrow.” The words flew out of my mouth as I lost the battle with my sanity.

A grin spread across Francis’ face. “Can’t wait.”

Two voices carried from Florence's room as I made my way up the stairs, my legs froze in place. I pushed on the ajar door.

Dark curls, pink lips. “Florence?” My voice broke when the woman sitting on the bed had faced me.

My feet carried me towards Florence as I embraced her in the tightest hug I’d ever given anyone. “How are you feeling?” I searched her eyes for any sign of pain.

“Better.” She bestowed me with the sunshine smile I’d thought I’d never see her wear again.

My hands squeezed her tighter until she squeaked. “Sorry!” I retreated; my eyes fell onto her wrapped wound.

Florence chuckled. “If only I knew all I had to do was almost die to get a hug out of you.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, but the smile on my face refused to leave. “I was so worried,” I whispered.

“I’m all right,” she nodded, her hands found mine.

“Caleb said you must stay in bed for the rest of the night.” Roxanne gestured for Florence to lay back down. “Let me bring you something to drink.” She smiled, departing from the room.

“What happened while I was gone?” Florence rasped; her eyes met mine.

“Not much,” I shrugged. “The Barrens agreed to help.”

“So I heard,” she smiled. “And how are you?”

My brows knitted together, realizing the truth. “I’m good.”