I shift, finally uncrossing my arms, letting them fall loosely at my sides. “What was your first battle like?”
The question leaves my mouth before I fully decide to ask it. A habit I’m still trying to break.
Thane doesn’t react right away. He stands beside me, his hands still in his pockets, his posture straight but at ease. He isn’t wearing his armor, but he still feels like a weapon, sharp and tempered. Like something forged for war.
He exhales, slow, measured. “Bloody.”
I huff a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “I figured.”
A pause.
Then—“I was sixteen.” I glance at him, but his gaze remains fixed ahead, scanning the far tree line. “A border skirmish. A small force—nothing like the battles that came later. But it was my first real fight. I thought I was ready.” He pauses, his voice low, quiet against the backdrop of the crickets. “I wasn’t.”
I swallow. “What happened?”
Thane shifts slightly, the fireflies pulsing around us, weaving in and out of the long grass.
“I hesitated.” A muscle ticks in his jaw. “It got someone killed.”
The night air is warm, but a chill prickles across my skin. I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, the shadows shifting over his face, the flickering torchlight behind us casting his expression in sharp relief.
I hesitate, too—but for a different reason. Because for all hisstrength, for all his skill and power and authority—this wound never fully healed. Doubt never really leaves.
I know that now.
He turns his head to look at me, something carefully guarded in his eyes. “The weight of leading isn’t in the fighting. It’s in the decisions.” His voice is steady, but I can hear it now, the echo of something deeper. Heavier. “The ones you make. The ones you don’t.”
I breathe out slowly. “And how do you carry it?”
Thane holds my gaze for a long moment. Then—“You don’t.” His voice is quiet, almost too quiet. “Not alone.”
A pulse beats deep in my chest, something slow and twisting. I should look away, but can’t.
For a moment, we just stand there, our shoulders nearly brushing, the warmth of the night air wrapping around us, thick and heavy. I realize the tension hasn’t eased. It’s just . . . different. The space between us feels smaller than before.
Or maybe I am just more aware of it.
Thane watches me longer than he should. It wraps around me like the lingering heat of the day—slow, smoldering.
Do I step back? Does he?
We don’t move. We don’t speak. And maybe—just maybe—one of us should.
I wet my lips, inhaling slowly. “So, the Solstice is coming.”
A weak deflection, but I needed to say something to break whatever this is stretching between us.
Thane hums low in his throat. “It is.”
I shift my gaze, breaking the hold on us. “How does the outpost celebrate?”
His eyes linger on me for a breath longer before he looks toward the darkened walls of the fortress. “It depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“Where we are in the war.” His tone is even, but there’ssomething underneath it, something edged with memory. “If times are good, there are feasts, bonfires. Offerings to the gods.”
I tilt my head, intrigued. “And if times aren’t good?”
