Chapter 18: Everly

Chapter

Eighteen

EVERLY

I grab an empty basket from the cart and place apples and pears into it. Brennah picks up another basket and adds figs to hers.

"Do you think Cenric likes figs?" Brennah asks.

I smirk. "I'm sure he'd prefer a nice, juicy turnip."

Brennah's face scrunches up in confusion. "Truly?"

"No, not truly," I say as I toss more fruit into my basket.

As we load our bounty into the cart, a commotion erupts behind us. I pivot as three men wearing black masks attack our guards.

Without thinking, I grab the first thing my hand touches—a rather hard pear. I hurl it at the nearest attacker, and it smacks him in the back of the head.

The man stumbles and turns to glare at me. "Did you throw a pear at me? "

"No," I say, already reaching for another pear. "It was a really ugly apple."

He lunges toward me, but I'm quicker. I pelt him with a barrage of pears, each one finding its mark.

Around me, the other women join the fray. Ava wields a stick like a quarterstaff, while Feyona throws punches that would make any warrior proud. Even Brennah gets in on the action, tossing fruit at the attackers.

Morwen grabs a handful of spices from her newly purchased stock and flings them into one man's face. He howls, clawing at his eyes.

"That's right," she says. "How do you like my special blend?"

The assailants, clearly unprepared for a group of feisty women, retreat. As they stumble away, I turn toward the Bloodstone warriors. Two are unharmed, but the third clutches at a nasty gash on his upper thigh.

Morwen kneels beside him, already yanking herbs and bandages from her bag. "Hold still. This might sting a bit."

As she works to bind the wound with cloth, I survey the surrounding carnage. Fruit litters the ground, looking like the aftermath of an aggressive food fight.

"Well," I say, "I guess we're going to need more fruit."

"No." Morwen finishes tending to the warrior's wound and stands. "We need to return to the camp as quickly as possible."

We all turn away, leaving behind the market and the stunned shopkeepers, who cautiously emerge from their hiding spots .

The two uninjured Bloodstone warriors flank their wounded comrade, supporting him as he hobbles along.

Ava and Brennah push the cart while Morwen walks ahead. Feyona keeps pace next to me, one hand resting protectively on her swollen belly.

I glance at Brennah, half-expecting her to break the silence with another question about Cenric's fruit preferences, but even she is subdued.

As we near the camp, I wonder what Cenric will say when he hears about our adventure. Will he be angry?

Warriors from the camp spot us and rush forward to take charge of our injured companion, supporting him as they lead him toward the apothecary.

Cenric steps from one of the larger tents and approaches us. His blue eyes sweep over our group, lingering on me for a moment, and I fight the impulse to check if there's a pear stuck in my hair or something equally mortifying.

"What happened, Morwen?" Cenric asks.

"We were attacked in the market," she begins, her voice steady and calm, "by three men in black masks. They went for our guards first."

A muscle ticks in Cenric's jaw as he speaks. "And then?"

"Then, we fought back with sticks and fruit," Morwen says, pride lacing her words.

Cenric's eyebrows shoot up. "Fruit?"

"Fruit," Morwen confirms. "Everly started it."

Cenric's attention swings back to me, and my cheeks burn, as if I've been caught doing something forbidden .

Morwen goes on to describe what happened in vivid detail, from Ava's stick-wielding, to her own spice attack.

I remain silent throughout.

After Morwen finishes recounting everything, we all turn to leave, but Cenric stops me.

"Wait, Everly. I want to speak to you."

He grabs my elbow and guides me into a tent. It's sparsely furnished, with only the bare necessities. There's a bed that looks about as comfortable as a pile of rocks, a washing stand, and a desk with neat stacks of parchment.

He turns to face me. "Are you all right?"

"Yes."

Cenric's brow furrows, creating that little crease I've always found adorable. "Are you certain?"

"I'm fine, Cenric," I say, trying to reassure him.

I'm used to violence. Avoiding it was impossible when I grew up in a Bloodstone city that despised outsiders.

"You don't look fine to me."

I blink once, twice, wetting my lips as I try to gather my scattered thoughts. No words come to me, not with Cenric standing so close. And not when I can't stop picturing that young couple back in Astarobane—the terror in their eyes as the mob descended on them, the sharp crack of stones striking flesh, the blood pooling on the cobblestones.

I shudder and yank my cloak closer.

"Are you truly well?" Cenric asks, his voice anchoring me back to the present.

I meet his gaze and nod. "I'm fine. Just remembering things that are best forgotten. "

"Like what?" He tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear.

"I…"

"You can tell me anything, Evie," he says in a voice thick with worry.

"It's nothing," I croak out, knowing the last thing I can tell him is everything .

He takes a step closer, and suddenly the tent is way too small. "You know you can trust me, right?"

"Of course."

"Then, why won't you tell me what's bothering you?"

Because if I start talking, I might never stop.

I might tell you everything about Hawke, about the rebels, about how I've been in love with you.

"I..." Come on. Think of something. "I'm worried about my family." It's not entirely a lie, at least.

Cenric's expression softens. "Your sister? And your mother?"

Grateful for the change in subject, I nod. "And my grandmother. I haven't heard from them since I left Astarobane."

"I could send a messenger," Cenric offers.

"That's very kind of you."

"It's no trouble. I want to help."

"I appreciate it," I say, trying to inject some normalcy into my voice.

"Are you sure there's nothing else bothering you?" he asks as his eyes search mine.

"I'm fine, truly." I plaster on what I hope is a convincing smile, then I find something else to talk about other than my deep affection for him. "I'm just a bit shaken up from the market incident."

He steps back, giving me room to breathe, but somehow making me cold. "You were very brave. Throwing fruit at attackers. That's creative."

I laugh. "Well, I didn't exactly have a sword handy."

Amusement glints in his eyes. "Next time, maybe aim for something harder, like a coconut."

"I'll keep that in mind. Though, I'm sure coconuts aren't native to Karra."

"We'll import them specially for you."

Shouts pierce through the tent, catching Cenric's attention. His brow furrows as his focus returns to me. "I should escort you to your tent."

His hand wraps around my upper arm, guiding me outside, where the afternoon sun peeks between thick, brooding clouds.

We walk in silence, his hand still on my arm. Every step sends sparks shooting through my body. It makes me think about things I shouldn't think about.

So, I try to distract myself by focusing on the sounds of the camp—the clang of swords from the training area, the chatter of warriors gathered around fires, the nickering of horses.

As we near my tent, Cenric's grip loosens, then falls away entirely.

We stop, and I turn to face him.

"Have a good day, Everly," he says, then walks away.