Chapter 45: Everly

Chapter

Forty-Five

EVERLY

Cenric's accusation echoes in my mind as I drag myself to the washing stand the next morning.

He hates me now. Despises me for betraying him.

I sigh and splash water on my face. Sadly, it does little to improve my mood.

How can I go about my duties like nothing happened? Morwen will expect me to be present and to work hard, yet all I want to do is curl up on the bed and eat something sweet.

Pottery digs into my palms as I grip the edges of the basin. This is all my fault. I knew what I was doing when I allowed myself to get close to Cenric.

I yank my nightdress over my head, tossing it aside with more force than necessary. The cold air teases my exposed skin as I pour more clean water into the basin, then add lavender and lemon balm .

I splash the frigid water over my arms, my neck, my face. Each icy droplet is a shock to my system, but I don't flinch. Instead, I grab the coarse cloth and scrub. My skin turns pink, then an angry red as I scour every inch, as if I'm trying to wash away more than just dirt.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

What did you expect?

A happily ever after with the nephew of the chieftain?

When I'm finished with my bath—or self-deprecating, more like—I reach for the blue surcoat Cenric gave me. My fingers hesitate against the fabric. I should hate it, this reminder of his kindness before everything went wrong.

But I can't bring myself to cast it aside.

Instead, I slip the surcoat over my head, smoothing the fabric down my body. The blue hue reminds me of Cenric's eyes. I shake my head, trying to banish the thought.

The clatter of pots and the whinnying of horses drift through the tent as I grab a brush and work it through my hair. Next, I divide it into three sections, braid them together, and secure the end with a leather cord.

It's not my neatest work, but it will have to do. I'm certainly not in the mood to start over.

As I turn to my bed to retrieve the fox, a gust of wind whirls around me, materializing into Hawke. I gasp and stumble backward.

Amusement glints in his eyes. "Jumpy today, aren't we?"

"Do you ever use a door?" I snap. "Or is appearing out of thin air your idea of a grand entrance?"

He smirks. "What's the fun in a door? "

I glare at him, my earlier despair morphing into white-hot anger. "Fun? You think any of this is fun?"

"Come now, Everly. Don't tell me you're not enjoying your little adventures with Cenric."

"Adventures?" Poison laces my words as I continue, not caring who Hawke is anymore. He can rot in a desert for all I care. "Is that what you call threatening my family and forcing me to spy on people?"

Hawke remains calm and composed, those gold eyes regarding me with a vexing detachment. "It's necessary."

"Necessary for who?" I demand, jabbing a finger at his chest. "You? Your demented sister?"

"For you, Everly. For your people," Hawke says, his tone far more sincere than I ever thought possible for someone like him.

I scoff. "What do you know of my people? You're Calcite!" I hate how I spit out that last word, as if he's deceased. As if he's someone to hate because he's Calcite.

I have never disliked anyone from another tribe before. Never let bitterness fester in my heart like mold.

Now, I hate Hawke. Hate what he has done to me. Hate that he has caused Cenric to not trust me.

A muscle clenches in Hawke's jaw. "I know there are people who would like to see the entire Bloodstone tribe disappear."

My eyes narrow as I search his face for any hint of deception, but he appears earnest. Still, I won't be fooled so easily.

"Isn't that what you want?" I challenge.

"You have no idea what I want," he says, his words even.

"Like what?"

Instead of answering me, he pulls a folded missive from his cloak. "Give this to Cenric."

"Why?" I ask as I eye the parchment. "Is it laced with poison?"

Hawke smirks again. "Poison is Alvina's weapon of choice, not mine."

Before I can object, he places the missive in my hand. "Do as I ask, Everly."

My skin bristles at the way Hawke speaks to me, as if I'm his puppet and I have no choice but to obey him. "Or I could scream and watch as Cenric slaughters you."

Hawke's smirk deepens, twinkling in his eyes, as if he finds great amusement in my words. "Oh, Everly. You really are delightful. If you weren't in love with Cenric, I would take you for myself."

I open my mouth to rebuke him, but he disappears.

Great!

I drop my eyes to the parchment and debate whether I should open it or find Cenric and throw it at him.

Or I could toss it in a fire. But then, I'd have to explain to Hawke why I didn't deliver it.

Damn him!

"What to do, what to do..." I tap the parchment against my chin.

I could always read it first. Then again, do I really want to know what's inside? Knowledge is power, sure, but it's also a burden, and I'm carrying enough of those already.

I grab the fox. "What do you think I should do, little guy?"

The fox stares back with its carved eyes.

I sigh. "Fine. I'll give it to Cenric. But I'm not going to like it."

I step out of my tent, the missive clutched in my hand. The sun's barely up, and the camp already buzzes with activity: warriors training, cooks stirring breakfast pots, and—

Oh.

There he is.

Cenric stands by one of the horse corrals, his back to me as he tends to a stunning dark brown gelding. The horse tosses its mane, and Cenric reaches out to stroke its neck. The simple gesture makes my belly tighten in ways it shouldn't after he was mean to me.

Damn him and his stupid, perfect everything.

He runs a brush along the horse's flank, his muscles rippling beneath his surcoat. It's utterly unfair how good he looks doing the most mundane tasks. He could probably make mucking out stalls look heroic.

Focus, Everly.

You're here on a mission.

I march toward him, clutching the missive like a shield. With each step, I rehearse what I'll say. Here's a letter from the rebel leader. Hope you enjoy it. Oh, and by the way, sorry for lying to you. Want to kiss?

Yeah, that'll go over well.

As I approach the corral, I spot Morwen walking by with an armful of dried herbs. I wave at her, and she grins at me.

Cenric turns and stares at me. The gelding whinnies, as if greeting me too. At least someone's happy to see me.

I hold up the missive. "Here."

He frowns, eyeing the parchment like it might explode. "What is that?"

"A love letter from Hawke. He's madly in love with you. Wants to know if you'll run away with him and start a goat farm."

Cenric's mouth tightens. I'd like to believe it's a struggle to suppress a smile, but it's more likely a grimace from clenching his teeth. "Everly..."

I sigh, dropping the act. "It's from Hawke. He appeared in my tent—don't ask, I don't know how he does it—and told me to give this to you."

Shadows darken Cenric's eyes as he speaks in a voice sharp enough to slaughter at least one hundred people. "He did what?"

"He appeared in my tent."

"When?" Cenric snaps.

I shrug. "A moment ago."

"Why didn't you call for me?"

Indignation flares through me as I shove my braid over my shoulder. "You wanted me to call for you when you berated me yesterday?"

A fierce scowl twists Cenric's features. "Yes."

"Even if I had called for you, Hawke would have disappeared before you arrived."

"It doesn't matter. If he shows up in your tent, you call for me."

Anger spikes through my veins as I glare at Cenric. "Should I ask before I blink too?"

His jaw tightens. "This isn't a joke."

"Truly? I thought we were putting on a comedy routine for the horses." I gesture to the gelding, who's watching us with what I swear is amusement in its big brown eyes.

Cenric takes a step closer. "You don't understand the danger—"

"—oh, I understand plenty," I say through my teeth. "I understand that you think I'm some helpless damsel who can't tie her own bootlaces without your say-so."

Frustration etches into every line of his face. "That's not what I—"

"—save your breath," I snap. "I don't need your lectures or your protection. What I need is for you to read this damn letter." I thrust the missive at his chest, feeling a petty satisfaction when he has to fumble to catch it. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have important damsel duties to attend to. Fainting, embroidering, maybe some light swooning if I'm feeling particularly delicate."

As I turn to storm off, I add over my shoulder, "Oh, and Cenric? Next time Hawke pops into my tent, I'll be sure to scream your name. Wouldn't want you to miss out on all the fun."

I march away, my cheeks burning with anger. Behind me, I hear Cenric mutter a string of curse words.

Good. Let him stew for a while. Maybe it'll knock some sense into that thick skull of his.