Chapter 24: Everly

Chapter

Twenty-Four

EVERLY

On the fourth morning after arriving at the Bloodstone camp, I walk down to the lake, my arms laden with pots that need scrubbing. I glance up at the crystal-clear sky and grit my teeth against the icy chill in the air.

Great.

Just what I need—frozen fingers to go with my frozen toes.

My skin bristles as I walk by Doran, mucking out the horse corral. His frigid stare follows me, and I quicken my pace, the pots clanking against each other as I hurry past.

Once I reach the water's edge, I kneel, dip the first pot in, and scrub. As I work, my mind wanders to Hawke and his threats. What would a proper spy even look for?

I glance around, trying to absorb every detail. The camp sprawls out behind me, a sea of tents, horse corrals, and campfires. It's massive, really. I bet there are at least three thousand men here. Maybe more.

They're always training, swinging swords and shooting arrows from sunup to sundown. But now that I think about it, I rarely see large groups leave the camp.

I scrub harder, my mind racing. What else? The supply wagons come and go regularly. There's a steady stream of messengers too, always in a hurry. And the command tent—that's where all the important conversations happen. If only I could get close enough to hear something useful.

A group of warriors run by, their breath puffing out in white clouds. I watch them go, noting their matching surcoats and synchronized movements. Everything here is so orderly. It's almost unnatural.

The wind picks up, and I shiver, wishing I could crawl into one of these pots for warmth. At least then I'd be toasty.

I sigh and dunk another pot in the frigid water. Being a reluctant spy is exhausting work.

I'm elbow-deep in icy water when a shadow falls across the surface. I glance up, squinting against the sun, and find myself staring at a warrior I've never met before.

He's young, probably around my age, with a friendly face that seems out of place among the hardened soldiers I've seen so far.

His brown hair is cropped close to his scalp. But it's his eyes that catch my attention. They're a warm, rich brown.

His nose is slightly crooked, as if it's been broken and not quite set right, giving his otherwise boyish features a rugged edge.

"Need a hand?" he asks, crouching down beside me.

I arch an eyebrow. "With cleaning pots? "

Dimples appear in his cheeks as he grins at me. "Yes. I'm an expert pot-scrubber."

"Oh, really?" I smirk. "And here I thought the only thing you warriors are good at is swinging swords."

A brisk breeze ruffles his hair as he clutches at his chest. "You wound me. We're excellent at starting fires too."

I snort and hand him a pot. "All right then, expert. Show me what you've got."

He takes it, rolling up his sleeves. His arms are lean but muscled, and his eyes spark with amusement.

"I'm Finn," he says, dunking the pot in the water.

"Everly," I say as he scrubs with surprising efficiency. "I'm impressed. Where'd you learn to clean like that?"

The warrior winks. "It's a secret."

"Finn, the horses need tending. Now!"

I look up to find Cenric standing over us, his jaw clenched tight.

All the playfulness evaporates from Finn as he jumps to his feet. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir." He scurries off like a nest of hornets is following him.

I turn back to Cenric, ready to apologize for staring at him in the sweat lodge, but his eyes are blazing harder than I've ever seen them.

"Did someone steal your favorite sword?" I ask, aiming for lightness.

His mouth tightens even more. At this rate, his lips might disappear entirely. "You shouldn't be fraternizing with the men. "

I can't help it. I snort. "Fraternizing? Truly? We were cleaning pots, not planning to elope."

The sun breaks through the tents and slashes across Cenric's face as he scowls at me. "It's inappropriate."

"Oh, I'm sorry." I widen my eyes in mock innocence. "I didn't realize pot-scrubbing was such a scandalous activity. Should I have brought a chaperone?"

Cenric's nose flares.

Part of me wants to poke him further, just to see what happens. "You know, if you keep frowning like that, your face might stick that way." I tilt my head, getting a better look at the handsome barbarian warrior. "Though, I suppose it would save you the trouble of having to glare at people."

Cenric's jaw tightens even more. "This isn't a joke, Everly."

"Truly? Because your face is pretty funny right now." I bite my lip to keep from laughing. "What's the real problem? Did Finn insult your horse? Steal your favorite shiny rock?"

Those brilliant blue eyes narrow. "You're treading on thin ice."

"Ooh, scary," I say, wiggling my fingers at him. "What are you going to do? Make me scrub more pots?"

Snow crunches beneath his boots as he steps closer. "You need to learn your place."

My place? As if he has the right to tell me where I belong.

Anger lashes through me as I rush to my feet. "And where exactly is that? Under your boot?"

"That's not—"

"—please enlighten me, then. Where should I be? In the kitchen? Cowering in fear? Or maybe I should bat my eyelashes and swoon every time you walk by?"

Cenric's mouth thins.

"Oh, I know." I snap my fingers. "I should be invisible, right? Just another nameless face in the crowd, not daring to speak to the almighty warriors?"

"Everly," he warns, but I'm on a roll now.

"Wait, wait, I've got it," I say, holding up a hand. "My place is wherever you say it is, right? Because clearly, you know what's best for everyone. All hail Cenric, the great decider of destinies."

I bow, sweeping my arm out dramatically. When I straighten, Cenric's eyes turn colder than the snow under my feet.

Oh no.

I pushed him too far.

Cenric's hand clamps around my arm, and before I can blink, he marches me across the camp. My feet barely touch the ground as I struggle to keep up with his long strides.

We reach my tent, and Cenric all but throws me inside. He whirls to face me, his eyes blazing like twin infernos.

"I will not be mocked," Cenric says in a low voice—the kind of voice I have rarely heard from him. At least, aimed at me.

Refusing to cower before him, I fold my arms. "I will speak to whomever I want, however I want, and for however long I want. You're not the boss of me, Cenric." Well, he actually kind of is, but I cannot take my words back now.

"I am your superior officer," he snaps.

"Do you mean, superior pain in my backside?"

"You need to show some respect," he says through gritted teeth.

A derisive snort escapes me. "Respect is earned, not demanded. Maybe try being less of a pompous ass."

"I would if you were less of an insolent brat."

"I'll stop being insolent when you stop being unreasonable."

"I'm being perfectly reasonable," he insists, though his tone implies otherwise.

"Oh, sure." I roll my eyes. "Because dragging me across camp is the epitome of reason."

"It was necessary."

"Necessary for what? Bruising my arm or your ego?"

The torch throws shadows across his face as his jaw tightens, and he speaks in a flat voice. "You're walking a dangerous line, Everly."

Something breaks inside of me. Something that no longer fears him. Or maybe I stepped across some invisible barrier the moment I challenged him.

Using my newfound confidence, I step closer to him, feeling the heat of his body against mine. "I'm not afraid of you, Cenric."

His expression shifts, the anger melting away faster than snow in summer. His eyes darken to a stormy, smoldering shade of blue, and for the span of a single heartbeat, his gaze drops to my mouth.

Oh.

This is...new .

I should step back. I should definitely step back. But my feet have grown roots, anchoring me to this spot.

Don't do anything stupid.

Apparently, my body has other ideas. I close my eyes and lean in ever so slightly.

Kiss me.

No, wait.

Don't kiss me.

I'm supposed to be mad at you.

But also...maybe kiss me?

"You have a bug in your hair." Cenric's voice breaks through, and my eyes fly open as he plucks a moth from my hair and releases it.

Disappointment floods through me as I step back, gaining distance and hopefully clarity.

"I should go," he says stiffly.

No, don't go.

Stay and...what?

Yell at me some more?

Pull more insects from my hair?

I nod, trying to act unaffected but probably looking like I have a nervous twitch. "Right. Important warrior business to attend to, I'm sure. Swords to polish, maps to scowl at."

He gives me a long look, then turns to leave.

Do something.

Say something.

"Cenric, wait," I blurt out.

He pauses, hand on the tent flap, and glances back at me.

Now what?

"I... I..." I fumble for words. "Thanks for not kissing me."

Wait…what?

Cenric's eyebrows shoot up. "I beg your pardon?"

"I mean, not that I wanted you to kiss me. Or didn't want you to. I just...appreciate your restraint?" Someone please knock me unconscious.

Cenric stares at me like I've sprouted a carrot in the center of my forehead. "You're welcome."

He turns and walks away, leaving me alone with my mortification.