“You’ve improved, Miss Claire!” Bren exclaimed with a wide smile.
“You’re not just letting me win, are you?” Claire eyed him suspiciously.
They’d been practicing for the better part of the afternoon in a clearing in the trees. After the incident at the river a couple days ago, she felt like she had to distance herself from the elf even more. Was it too much to ask to just row the boat across the river? Not to mention his strange behavior at the Haven…
In the meantime, she’d been hounding Bren and Aeron to practice with her or to tell her stories, anything to keep her occupied. Her mind had been a little uneasy after the centaur encounter. Was a town being ravaged out there at this very moment? She was tired of innocent people being killed. And she was tired of not being able to do a thing about it.
“Well, I may be going a little easy, but your skills have definitely improved.” Bren leaned back against a tree and put his wooden sword down. “Why don’t we take a break? We’ve been practicing rather much lately. Is everything alright, Miss Claire?”
Claire played with the braid hanging over her shoulder, her practice blade gripped tightly in her right hand. She averted her eyes to the ground. He couldn’t know why she was really upset. Claire DuBonte’s hometown had never been attacked by savages, her mother never vanished, and she wasn’t a prisoner.
“I’m fine, General.” She looked up at him and forced a smile. She was getting good at that lately. “I was just a little shaken by the centaurs the other night, is all.”
Bren walked to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her tight against him. “I’m glad you’re alright, Miss Claire.” He kissed her softly on the forehead.
Claire buried her face into the fabric of his shirt. She wanted to tell him. Tell him everything. He would understand if she explained it all, right? Although, she would have trouble explaining the mark on her hand, but that could wait until later. Bren leaned his cheek on her head and began to stroke her hair, down to the back of her neck.
“Do not be alarmed, Miss Claire, but it appears that we’re not alone anymore,” he whispered, his mouth just above her ear.
She froze against him. Was it that damn elf again?
With a sudden move, Bren pushed her to the side before she could say anything. Claire stumbled to the ground and the practice blade flew from her grip. She turned over just in time to see two men leap from the trees brandishing short swords. Their clothes were ragged and handkerchiefs covered half their faces.
“Do not worry, Miss Claire, it appears to be just a couple of thieves.” Bren drew his real weapon and the men charged at him.
A gasp escaped her throat. What should she do? Before she could think about it, she was up on her feet with her dagger drawn. Two men against one just didn’t seem fair. The clang of metal soon filled the small clearing as Bren fended off the attackers. Claire watched for a few seconds, waiting for an opening. An opening for what? Was she really going to attack one of these men? It wasn’t practice anymore.
Wild fear trembled through her muscles as her hand gripped the hilt tight. Her knees were bent, ready to pounce.
“Hey!” she shouted, unable to think of anything clever at the moment.
One of the men turned to her, his green eyes glaring. He pointed his blade at her and took a step forward.
“Claire, run!” Bren shouted while he defended from an attack with his sword.
Her feet stayed solid on the ground. No, she couldn’t just leave him. Now was a chance to prove her strength. She ran away from her mother; she wasn’t going to do the same with him.
The man took another step toward her. “I wouldn’t do that.” His eyes glinted with amusement above the faded blue cloth that covered the lower half of his face.
Claire pointed her blade at him, her other hand hovering in the air. He took another step forward, into range, so she swung her dagger at him but was blocked by his sword; the shock of the hit reverberated up her arm. The man parried and she jumped back; he swung his sword and she leaped back just out of range. Getting agitated, he rushed at her, slashing horizontally. Claire blocked at the last moment, using her other hand to help stabilize the dagger.
The man reached out with his free hand and snatched her right wrist, then dropped his blade to grab the other. His hands began to squeeze as he pulled her toward him; Claire dug her feet into the ground as she struggled to pull herself free, but he was too strong. He bent her right wrist back until she released her hold on her weapon. She cried out as the pain spiked up her arm.
“Aren’t you a feisty little one?” The man’s face hovered inches from her, slightly amused.
“Let go of me,” she demanded.
“I don’t think that would be a good move on my part.”
Claire dug her left foot back into the ground and kneed him in the groin with the right, putting as much force into it as she could. The man released her and hunched over, covering his precious parts with his hands. Mother taught her that one. She grabbed her dagger off the ground and held it up in front of her again. It hadn’t done her much good so far, but it was always good to have a blade between her and the attacker.
“I’ll get you for that!” The man’s voice sounded strained and his face was redder than a fine glass of merlot.
Well, now that she’d gotten his attention, it was time to run. She backed up a couple steps before she spun around and dashed through the trees. Bren could handle one of them at least, although she wasn’t sure she could. Maybe she should have thought that through beforehand.
The sound of footsteps quickly grew closer from behind. She knew she wouldn’t be able to outrun him. Her breathing grew heavy, already tired from practicing with Bren earlier. She glanced around for something she could use, but trees were only so useful in a chase.
Her head was suddenly jerked back as the man grabbed a hold of her braid. Claire whirled around and swung her blade at his hand. He dropped her hair and jumped back, his hands held up in front of him, fingers splayed wide. It seemed he’d forgotten to grab his sword before pursuing her.
She swung her dagger at him again while she took a step forward to push the man back. What to do now? Although she wanted him hurt, the thought of stabbing the man gave her the chills. But, if she didn’t do anything, he was sure to. Wasn’t this why she’d been training to fight? The only difference was he was a man and not a centaur. Why couldn’t he just run away in fear? Perhaps she really wasn’t intimidating enough.
“What’s the matter? Not afraid, are ya’? You’re the one with the weapon,” the man challenged.
“Shut up!” she shouted. She took a step back as he took one forward, and then another. And another. She was quickly losing the upper hand in this situation, and he knew it.
Claire hesitated for too long and he took the chance to rush at her. She raised her dagger to swing at him, but it was too late. He grabbed her wrist and kicked out. His foot landed hard in her stomach, knocking the breath out of her. He wrestled the blade from her grip and threw it aside before he launched at her again and tackled her to the ground, pinning her shoulders down with his hands. Her head hit the ground hard, blurring her vision. She reached up with her hands and began to claw at his face, pulling down the handkerchief to reveal scruffy cheeks and a mean smirk on his lips. Her feet kicked at the ground as she tried to get leverage to knee or kick him.
The man grabbed her arms, took both her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head to the ground. His other hand wrapped around her throat and began to squeeze as he lowered his face close to hers.
“If you promise to play nice, I’ll let you live,” he said in a low growling voice.
“Not man enough to get a girl the traditional way?” she managed to squeeze out.
Her breath struggled down her throat as his hand squeezed tighter, his fingers digging into her skin. His eyes narrowed, not too happy about the question of his manhood. She could have cooperated, but she was too stubborn for that. A
nd for that she would pay dearly. She could feel the strength start to leave her body; her struggles became weaker and weaker until they had almost stopped. Her head felt lighter, and his face started to blur as black spots danced across her vision.
Tears started to trickle down her cheeks. This was it. Would she die here today? So quickly, so suddenly. If only she were stronger she could have stopped him. Could have saved herself. Could have done something. At least she’d managed to get the man away from Bren, although her plan wasn’t really working out in her favor. It was too late for regrets now, however.
The man glanced over her head then and his brow furrowed. His hand on her throat loosened slightly as a blue glow illuminated his face and his eyes went wide, the anger quickly turning to shock.
The man suddenly cried out then and jerked back up onto his knees, his hands releasing her from their forceful grip. Claire gasped violently, coughing at the sudden rush of fresh air. Her body trembled as she raised herself up on her hands and began to crawl backwards.
An arrow stuck out from the back of the man’s right arm; blood trailed down his skin to drip on the ground. He grabbed at the wound with his hand as a slight whimper escaped him and scanned the area for the shooter.
The mark blazed to life on her arm, drawing her attention. The flowery design started to twist up her wrist as the vine-like tendrils wound their way up her forearm. Her eyes grew wide as she held her arm out in front of her, her attacker forgotten. It was the first time she’d seen it so bad. The mark only seemed to react when she was in danger, but what was the point if it didn’t do anything?
A rustling sound drew her attention back to her attacker. Farron had wrestled the man to the ground and had one of his daggers against his throat. A trail of blood trickled down the elf’s left arm just above his elbow.
So elves did bleed red. In the stories it had always ranged from purple to gold. In her daze, she found the revelation fascinating.
Claire quickly shook the thought out of her head and started to crawl over to them. Even though she wanted revenge, she didn’t want to see the man dead. And if the way the elf looked at him was any indication, his time was short.
“What do you want from us?” Farron growled, the blade digging into the flesh of the man’s throat, producing the first hint of red.
The man’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. “We just wanted the girl, that’s all. We were just followin’ orders!”
“From who?” Farron grabbed the base of the man’s throat, the muscles in his arms tensing.
Claire lunged forward. “Farron, that’s enough!” She gripped his wrist and began to pull. But it was no use, he was too strong.
“I don’t know! I never saw his face. Not all of it, his head was bald an’ he dressed all in black…”
“I know you can do better than that,” Farron said, his voice ice.
“Said he’d pay us, ten gold coins, an’ all we had to do was bring him the girl.”
That caught her attention. She released her hold on the elf and looked down at the man.
Farron’s hand tightened around his throat, causing him to wince. “What else?”
“H-he...”
“Go on.”
“He had strange markings on his wrist. Two black dots. I din’ mean to see ‘em, but they were there…”
Farron grew quiet, his face sobering up a little. Did that mean something to him? The dots? Whatever it was, she guessed it wasn’t good.
The man began to sob as he threw his hands up in the air in front of him to surrender. “I wasn’t gonna hurt her, not really, I swear! Please just let me go, I was just followin’ orders!”
Farron began to release him but then grabbed him tight again. “You’ll forget what you’ve seen here today or I’ll hunt you down myself.” He let go of the man’s throat and stood up. “That man, I wouldn’t go back to him empty handed, or else you will have no hands at all. Go find a new life somewhere, and consider yourself lucky that she was here to spare your life.” The man nodded rapidly. “And give us your shirt while you’re at it.”
He stripped off his shirt faster than any man she’d ever seen before and threw it at the elf. They watched quietly as the man struggled to his feet to run away into the trees.
“Are you alright?” Farron sheathed his blade and turned to her. He gently lifted her chin up to inspect the damage.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, her voice raw. She touched her neck and winced.
The elf began to rip the shirt while Claire turned to search for her dagger. The tears had dried on her cheeks but were threatened to be replaced by new ones. She had failed to save herself and almost died in the process. Why had she hesitated? Metal gleamed from beneath the leaves and dirt a few feet away. She picked the blade up and wiped it off before sheathing it.
“Come here, Claire,” Farron straddled an overturned tree several paces away.
She sat on the tree next to him and held her arm out, her body still trembling a bit. The glow had subsided a little, but she already knew what he wanted to do. He started to wrap the shirt, now turned bandage and mark hider, up her arm.
“Those marks, what do they mean?” she asked, curious. She needed a distraction before she lost it.
“He’s been bitten by the snake.”
She gave him a questioning look.
“It means that they are bad people, Claire.” His eyes concentrated on his task. “People that you do not want getting their hands on you. It may be best if we keep this hidden for a while.”
“Do you know who they are?”
He paused for a moment as if he were unsure he wanted to answer. “A group of people I’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting a few times.”
“Why do they want me?” Her mouth felt suddenly dry.
“Why do you think?”
She glanced down at her arm. Oh. “Will they come after us again?”
He was quiet for a moment, his face becoming unreadable. And that was all the answer she needed.
She took a deep breath to try and calm herself. Fear gathered once again inside of her. What could they want from her? Who were they and why had Farron come across them if they were so shady? There was something the elf wasn’t telling her, but she knew she wouldn’t get that much information out of him at once. Baby steps, that’s what it took with him. He had a past he wanted to keep hidden and was reluctant to reveal anything pertaining to it. But that was slowly changing for some reason. She could feel it.
“Don’t worry, we won’t let anything happen to you,” he said softly.
She glanced at him, and at that moment, she believed him. If she felt safe with anyone, it was with him. Fake bodyguard or not. She looked away then, confused by her sudden revelation. Would she feel the same with Aeron? Or Bren?
“I couldn’t do it,” she muttered after a while. “I couldn’t defend myself after all. All this training I’ve been doing, and for what? He wasn’t a centaur, he was just a man, and I couldn’t bring myself to hurt him.”
“Claire.” Farron took a deep breath and said, “You can’t be afraid to hurt someone if they are attacking you.”
“I did want to hurt him, I just couldn’t.” She buried her face in her hand while she fought back the tears. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore. So helpless… I want to become stronger. I have to.”
“There’s more than one type of strength, you know.”
“You don’t understand,” she said, “what it feels like to be so vulnerable, to not have the strength to protect others, or even yourself.”
“You do not need to be strong like me,” he said, quietly. “Sometimes all the physical strength in the world can’t protect someone. Just because you can’t fight doesn’t mean you’re not a strong person.”
Claire looked up at him, but his eyes concentrated on the task of wrapping her arm.
“Not everything has to be resolved with a blade.” He tied the ends of the cloth together just below her elbow and loo
ked up at her; a spark of amusement touched his eyes. “Besides, didn’t I already say that I’d hate to see you in a fight?”
“Far—” Claire looked away from him and closed her eyes. “Please.” Her head was starting to hurt already. Did he always have to ruin everything with a joke?
“Hey.” Farron touched her chin gently, his voice soft. He turned her face back toward him. “It’s alright to depend on others once in a while. An army isn’t made up of one person. To admit your weakness, that is the first step to becoming stronger.” He gave her a slight smile. “At least, that’s what I was taught.”
Calm washed over her. Although she hated to admit it, he was right. She looked up at him. Worry had replaced the amusement on his face. He tilted her chin up slightly so he could examine her neck more closely. She flinched as he lightly touched her skin.
“How bad is it?”
“I think you’ll live.” He lowered his hands. “Please try to be more careful though. Some people would rather not see you get hurt.”
Claire’s chest tightened slightly. Was he part of the ‘some people’? But more importantly, why did she care if he was?
“Miss Claire!” Bren called from the distance.
She jumped a little, snapping out of her reverie. Quickly, she rose to her feet and spun around to face the General as he came through the trees, hiding her newly bandaged arm behind her back. Farron stood behind her, his anger already palpable.
“How nice of you to finally join us, General,” Farron said as Bren rushed up to them.
Claire clenched her jaw closed to keep from turning around and yelling at the elf. It wasn’t Bren’s fault that the man had chased her. That had been her brilliant idea. Relief filled her when she noticed that the General looked unharmed. Mission accomplished, she guessed.
“Wait.” Claire glanced around. “Where’s Aeron?”
“Do not worry, mon lainí, I am safe.” Aeron stepped out from behind a tree a few paces away with a grin plastered on his face.
Had he been there the whole time? Heat rushed up to her cheeks for some reason. Why did she feel embarrassed?
“It seems our attackers are gone.” Aeron strolled over to them, the amusement faded from his face. “Though it would be wise to keep our guard up.”
“I agree,” Bren said with a sigh. Tension left his body and his shoulders relaxed a little. “Miss Claire, why don’t you get some rest? I’ll help keep guard.”
Claire looked up at Bren; he seemed sad for some reason. She turned to face Farron and took a deep breath. “Thank you.” After glancing around at the three of them she said, “Well, I’d hate to leave this happy party, but someone’s got to set up camp.”
Deciding to occupy her mind with something else, she marched away from the trio. It seemed like threats to her life were becoming a regular occurrence, so there was no point in sulking over it too much. She had had a moment of weakness and would just have to fix that in the future. If they wanted to brood, that was fine. But she didn’t have to be around to enjoy it. She picked a spot to set up camp. That was easy. Now all she had to do was figure out how to start a fire.
Her fingers twisted her hair, working deftly at the braid, a ritual so familiar it seemed almost second nature to her now. When she was younger, she had always wished for her mother’s locks, a rich red color, not the usual orange of most red-heads. But that would never be. And that was when she first understood that her mother wasn’t truly her own. She was seven, but she never really knew the real meaning of adoption until she was much older. The friends she would lose, the fiancé that would vanish. All because her parents had abandoned her.
At least, that’s what she liked to believe. If it was because of her own faults, then she’d rather not know. She never was as strong as Mother.
The forest around her was quiet. Peaceful. Able to sneak away from the camp for a little quiet time, she sat alone on a fallen tree. Out here, there was no one to judge her. Her charade didn’t matter. Out here, she was Claire Tanith.
Out here, Miss DuBonte seemed miles away.
Never in her life did she think that playing somebody else could be so taxing. She was exhausted. Always having to be on guard, making sure she didn’t slip up. Trying to adopt the grace that seemed to come so naturally to most ladies, never losing her temper, or speaking what she truly thought, lying to the man she wanted so desperately to like her back. Her body and mind felt ragged. It truly was tiring.
She even had to lie to be able to come out here unsupervised. But she needed it, desperately. A break from it all.
A snap sounded behind her and she jumped, a gasp escaping her mouth. She spun around, her pulse in her throat. Her hand found the hilt of her dagger, but fell to her side when she discovered who it was.
“It’s only you,” she said as her shoulders slumped. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Why did he always do that? Though, if the elf really meant to keep quiet, he wouldn’t have stepped on that twig. He was too careful for that.
She leaned back on her hands, turning her back on him. There went her quiet time.
A small silver flask dropped down into view as Farron dangled it in front of her. She only looked at it for a second before she snatched it out of his hand. It was just what she needed. Her fingers worked just as quickly at unscrewing the top as they did braiding her hair. She lifted it to her lips, without even stopping to smell it, and tilted it up to take a quick sip. She recoiled at the strong taste. Liquor. And potent, exactly what she needed.
“Thanks,” she said, turning to the elf. He sat on the tree next to her, facing the opposite direction. She handed the flask back to him, the cap dangling on a silver chain attached to the corner. “How did you know?”
“It looked like you needed it.” He raised the delicate container to her before taking a sip himself. Simple and somewhat plain, it seemed to suit him somehow.
“More than you’ll ever know.” She eyed the flask, raising an eyebrow in question. Where in the world had he gotten that?
“Sanre’s finest,” he said, admiring the silver container. “Fran’s parting gift.”
“You are full of surprises, my friend.”
“So now I’m your friend?” He jiggled the flask and grinned.
“I’m just upset you kept that hidden for so long.”
“There wouldn’t be any left if that fool knew about it.”
“You better keep your eye on it, now that I know about it.” He offered it again, and she took it, recoiling after she took a sip. “At least I don’t have to be a lady in front of you,” she said with a slight laugh as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“It’s nice to know you try.”
She handed him the flask and leaned back on her hands again. Dusk was falling on the forest, the sun painting the sky through the trees a vibrant orange. She looked out, focusing on nothing in particular.
He was quiet as he took another hit of the strong spirit. He didn’t say anything for a while, and she was grateful for that.
“It’s so exhausting,” she blurted out finally. She wasn’t even quite sure why. Why did she tend to do that when she was alone with him? Maybe it was because he seemed to be the only one who listened at times. “Pretending to be someone you’re not,” she continued quietly, “Pretending that everything’s alright. I just want to scream sometimes. But that wouldn’t be very lady-like of me, would it?”
“I suppose not.” There was a hint of amusement to his voice.
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“I’m not pretending anything, Claire.”
She looked sideways at him, her eyes narrowing a little. “You pretend you don’t have a past.”
“Wanting to forget is a little different than pretending. I am who I am, much to your distress.” He smiled and handed her the flask.
“That’s disappointing to hear.” She took the container and another sip, then handed it back. Already her body felt hot, her head a little lighter, her
worries a little eased. Sanre’s finest, whatever it was, sure didn’t disappoint. She sighed. “I was hoping there would be a more gallant side you’ve kept hidden away somewhere in there.”
He shrugged. “My lady, I’m as gallant as they come. Everyone else is just pretending.”
That made her chuckle. “I don’t know where you get your confidence from.”
He held up the flask again. “The same as every man.”
“I wish it worked the same way for me.” She leaned back on her hands again and looked down at her boots stretched out in front of her. “I wish I could tell him. Maybe not everything, but at least who I really am.”
He took a long swig. Perhaps he didn’t want to hear this. He never did like the General. But she couldn’t stop herself. Who else would listen? The trees? As appealing as that prospect was though, trees didn’t have a flask full of lovely, lovely spirits.
“It’s scary, you know,” she said. “Revealing your true self to someone. And you can only hope they like what they see. I will always be that adopted barmaid from Stockton. There’s nothing I can do to change that. No matter how hard I try to pretend.” She took a deep breath. “I thought that as long I was Miss DuBonte in front of him, it would be alright. I could be charming, and he would fall for me. But then what? I could never bring him home; he would never meet my mother. They don’t even exist to him. But in the end, I guess what I’m really afraid of, is that he won’t even like me. The real me.”
Farron was quiet for a while. He tugged at her braid lightly and turned to her, a slight smile on his mouth. “I think Miss Tanith’s charms are much more captivating than Miss DuBonte’s.”
She stared up at the elf, heat spreading to her cheeks, trying to read his expression. What exactly did it mean when he said stuff like that? She could never quite figure out if there something more, or if he was just trying to cheer her up. Did she hope for something more? Just thinking about it made her slightly terrified.
“You shouldn’t have to be someone else for the one you love, Claire.”
With her cheek resting against her shoulder, she peered up at him. How was it possible that the ice prince was capable of saying these types of things? Perhaps there really was a side to him that he preferred to keep hidden.
He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“What is Farron like in love?” She really was curious. It seemed like it would be such a foreign concept to him. But seeing as though there was a woman in his life once, it couldn’t be that far-fetched.
He smiled, shifting his gaze down. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, my lady.” He stood, the smile turning into his surely now famous smirk.
Claire’s mouth dropped open, meaning to reply, but was truly at a loss for words at that. What in the world was that supposed mean? Her eyebrows scrunched together as she puzzled it out.
He leaned down and held the flask out in front of her.
Hesitantly, she took it.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” he whispered close to her ear.
A chill went down her spine. She tensed, gripping the silver container tight in her hands.
“Good night, Claire,” he said, and then he was gone.
Confusion racked her mind more than ever. It was bewildering. But deep down she knew. How could she not? But she couldn’t go there with him. Not with him. Could she?