“Look down,” Thia rasped, throat tight as the girl’s arm slid around it to prevent her from moving.
Oskaren did.
To where Thia had a knife poised under her ribs.
Oskaren raised a brow. “Good,” she said, and it sounded like she meant it.
Thia pressed back ever so slightly, not enough to draw blood, but enough to threaten it. Oskaren released her with a shove. Thia didn’t give her a moment to think. She whirled, striking with the knife in her hand. Oskaren blocked it easily. Thia threw a punch with her other hand. Oskaren caught her wrist.
And hooked her leg around Thia’s, sending her crashing to the dirt. Oskaren fell with her, arm wrapping around her head so it didn’t hit the ground. Thia landed with her back against the soil, cradled in the crook of Oskaren’s elbow, the girl’s weight pinning her down. She felt everywhere their bodies connected, chest, stomach, and thighs. There was a knife pressed gently against her throat, preventing her from doing the very stupid thing her mind wanted, which was to close the distance between the only place they didn’t yet touch.
Oskaren’s eyes flew wide and caught on Thia’s mouth. They darkened as Thia raised her chin the barest inch, wetting her lips.
“Ren,” Thia said softly, reaching a hand to the inside of the girl’s wrist. She applied the barest pressure, and Oskaren yielded, removing the knife from her neck. There was no world beyond the brown skin and short curtain of dark hair above her, no thoughts in Thia’s head as she lifted her head another inch. As Oskaren lowered hers and—
Oskaren shot to her feet. Her expression was wild, panicked—nauseous even. Without another word to Thia, she heaved a breath that made her shoulders sag and departed the clearing.
Thia struggled to her feet, brushing dirt off her hands.
Dess looked at her strangely. “You must have a death wish,” he commented.
Thia bent to collect her knife where she’d dropped it in the fall and marched over to her pack, ducking her head to hide her flush.
“Know what you’re doing there, lass?” Thran asked gently, so much so that Thia’s brows rose in surprise. He wore an all-too-knowing expression.
She swallowed. “I hope.”
Dess returned to hurling knives at the tree. He was much better than Thia, which was unsurprising, but while she was focused on her own technique, she hadn’t noticed just how good he really was. He was quite strong, his aim just as precise as Oskaren’s. The blade never missed.
“You can’t stop your heart from feeling what it does,” Thran commented softly, and Thia nearly died of embarrassment. There was no judgement on his face, however, just sympathy. “But you’ll lose it with that one.”
Thia inspected her bootlaces. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You do,” he said. “You’re Vanari.”
Now she did look at him. “I’m what?”
She braced herself for something cruel, some disgust at the way she loved. But there was only quiet acceptance on his face as he explained, “A child of Vanarus, the goddess who loved a mortal woman.”
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Um. Yes.”
He nodded like he’d expected that and gave her a fatherly pat on the knee that made her heart twinge. “Love—it’s an exchange,” he said, gently. “And Oskaren has got nothing to give you.”
Thia peered at the tree line, as if she could see through them to the girl beyond. “I think you’re wrong.”
Thran nodded as though that was possible, and she felt a flash of warmth toward him.
He released her knee and gathered his shoe brush, rubbing it along the sole of his boot again. “Whatever happens, you should be proud of what you’ve accomplished here.”
She scoffed, before she could stop herself. “Being unable to do anything for myself?”
“Fighting so hard for your home,” Thran said. “And there’s no shame in needing help.” She wondered if he truly believed that, when he was so obviously struggling and never asked for it himself. “If I had even the slightest chance of recovering what I’ve lost, I’d do the same.”
Thia shifted awkwardly, feeling a little too seen.
“But it’s more than that,” he said, before she could respond. “You’ve given Dess a chance at his memories. You’ve given me a chance at my honor. You care about someone the rest of us had long since given up on.” He cleared his throat, voice gruff. “Whether or not you are the Storm Crow, you are what the Storm Crow represents.”
“And what is that?” Thia asked quietly.
