“Show me.”
I pull an arrow from my quiver. The woods are cooler. Darker. I’m keenly aware of his presence. It’s one thing to shoot by myself, with noone to witness my many misses—entirely different to know he could probably hit every single one of my targets blindfolded.
But I nock the arrow on the string, aim for something midrange, and take a slow breath. The arrow sails through one of the steel rings to embed itself in a leather square fifty feet away. I draw another and hit a tree farther down. But when I go for a third target, the arrow drifts to the ground well before reaching it.
I wince. “As you see.”
He shrugs. “That’s not you, that’s the bow. You’re trying to hit a seventy-five-yard target with a thirty-pound draw. Here.” He holds out his own.
I’ve shot his bow before, but now, after weeks of using my own, I realize how much heavier the wood is, how much more tension in the string. I nock an arrow and aim. The bow snapshard, and I’m doubly grateful for the bracer. I have to hop once to keep my balance.
Thwick. The arrow snaps right into the leather square.
Tycho whistles. “I know soldiers who can’t hit a target at that distance.”
“That can’t be true.”
“My word that it is. You should be entering the Royal Challenge.”
He’s the second person to suggest that, but it means a lot more to hear it from him. I hold out his bow and try not to blush. “Can you?”
I mean for it to be a genuine question, but it comes out like a dare. Tycho drawsfourarrows from his quiver, and before I can blink, he’s flipping them across his knuckles and firing them off the string in rapid succession. Each arrow drives into a separate tree beside the one I shot.Thwick. Thwick. Thwick. Thwick.
I blink and stare. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to shoot in front of him again—but a bigger part that wants to know how hedidthat.
He smiles at my reaction. “That’s just army training.”
“Do it again,” I say.
He does, but this time, he shows me how he pins the extra arrows in his palm, hooking them with his middle finger as he needs to flip them into place. After he shoots, he takes two more arrows. “Give me your hand.”
He folds my fingers around the wooden shafts, just above the fletching. His hands are warm against mine, and it puts us very close. I’m aware of his breathing, of the way the sunlight brings out the gold in his hair, of the bare edge of corded muscle just above his bracer. I find myself wanting to wind my fingers through his, to step just a bit closer, to hear his voice deepen.Show me. Teach me. Tell me. Anything. Everything.Every time I see him, my thoughts don’t want to process that he’s here, that this moment is happening, that he’s invited me to shoot arrows or share apple tarts or ride his horse.
And the instant I have the thought, I realize that this moment will end, just like the last one, and it’ll be weeks or months or years before it happens again.Ifit happens again.
“Jax.”
I glance up, and I realize that he’s said something I’ve missed completely. His eyes are such a dark brown, searching mine.
My chest is tight, and I can’t get a handle on my emotions. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know whathe’sdoing here. Just like last time, I can’t tell if this is charity or pity or if he still thinks I’m involved with whatever Alek is doing, but none of it matters. The last time he left, it was agonizing. That’s not his fault—but it’s not mine either.
I don’t want to do it again.
I grip the arrows and shove them into his chest. “I—I should really get back to the forge.” I seize my crutches and start walking.
“Jax!”
I ignore him. An icy breeze comes down from the mountain to whip through the trees, defying the spring sunlight. I’m not sure wheremy anger came from, but now I have nowhere to put it. An hour ago, I was flailing because they were leaving, and now I wish they’d never come. My crutches stab into the ground with each step. “Surely Lord Jacob is waiting for you,” I call.
“What just happened?”
Nothing. Everything. I don’t know. But much like the moment he healed my hand, this might feel like a kindness from his side, and itis, but from my end, it’ll just serve to show me everything I lack.
CHAPTER 26
JAX
The cool breeze wraps around me as I walk. I think I’ve left Tycho with a half dozen of my arrows, but I don’t care. I’ve reached the edge of the woods, and I cast a look down the lane. Callyn’s bakery has a dozen carriages and horses out front. I’ve never seen her place so busy, and this has been going on for weeks. At this rate, she’ll have her tax debt paid in no time.
