The Fall Of Snow: Guard Your Heart

10. Ten

Ten

A Place to Call Home

N ow that I am a guest in the cabin, the warriors set me up in the empty bunk with clean sheets and two pillows. It is quite the improvement over the closet, and honestly, the best arrangement I've had since leaving the manor. I've slept in trees, stables, an abandoned carriage, and even a small cave in the forest. The only downside of this arrangement is that the spare bed just happens to be directly above Huck's.

It isn't the best scenario, but it certainly isn't the worst either. I am not about to complain about a warm bed with a pillow and blanket. No longer do I need to use my rucksack to rest my head on. No longer do I need to use my cloak as a blanket. No longer do I need to sleep with one eye open and worry about hypothermia seeping into my bones at night. With my promise to cure Aspen protecting me like a shield, I breathe a bit easier.

For now.

This arrangement is only temporary. I tell myself that every minute of every day in case my humanistic instincts try to lay roots down in this cabin. This is not my home. It is only a temporary deviation on my journey to freedom. A stepping stone to get where I need to go.

Sleeping directly above Huck only bothered me for about a minute before I allowed sleep to take over. I am in a cabin surrounded by warriors who actually want me here. I couldn't be any safer. At least for now, I don't have to sleep with the fear of waiting for one of my mother's henchmen to take me out, and that's something. So I try not to think too hard about the fact that the only member who doesn't want me here, the only one who is openly hostile towards me, is right below my bunk. His deep breathing is like a heavy reminder of his dislike towards me.

Although he did heat my bath for me…

Finally not needing to hide my presence from the group, I wake at ease with the rest of them jumping down from the top bunk to find Coy handing me a steaming cup of coffee, only feeling the lingering twinge in my ankle a bit. I smile and take it with greedy hands whilst cursing myself for not preparing the coffee for the group. I want them to want me here.

As if he can read my mind, he explains, "Don't worry. I woke early today. I'll show you where everything is," and I realize no one on this earth is pure enough to deserve Coy .

The tightness in my chest eases a bit as I follow him into the kitchen and take a heaping sip of the nutty goodness in the mug. I commit everything to memory as he shows me where things can be found, including the logs for the fire. I am instructed to visit the food supply tent at a very specific time of day if I want to cook any meals to ensure I am not spotted by anyone in the camp. They provide me with gear and a uniform, hoping it will help me blend in while walking to and from the cabin.

Coy explains the allotment per day for each cabin and tells me that I can make whatever meals I desire as long as I can find the ingredients. I nod in understanding, but inside I begin to panic. I don’t care about meals; I care about what will happen once Huck discovers I’ve lied about my end of the deal.

I don't let my unease show as the group prepares to leave for the day, already deciding what supplies I’ll need. I watch from the kitchen as they all file out, boots scuffing the floor, and I must admit the ease I feel at not having to worry about being discovered is a welcome calm within me. As much as I detest the predicament I’m now in, I also don't shy away from a challenge. So I make my plan and finish my coffee before heading out the back door for the day.

The sun warms my cheeks as I trek through the woods, following the path I've taken many times now. There is a specific herb I found a few days back that will work perfectly for what I have in mind tonight. Something bold and pungent that I can hopefully use to mask the fact that I haven’t cooked in years. My worn boots, no more than thin pieces of leather bound together by pure will after the wear I've put them through, sink into the moss. I've pilfered a few items along my way through the towns, but most of what I have came from the manor when I first left home.

Coy promised to find me smaller boots to go with the rest of my new attire, so hopefully I can part with these sad shoes soon enough. When he handed me the Arion training uniform, I tried not to feel like a fraud accepting them, but it will help me blend in. This is not to say I can move around the camp without caution. I am still very much to stay out of sight, but on the occasion where I must visit the supply tent, a uniform can't hurt.

When I find what I'm looking for, I take what I need—slicing the green stalks with my blade—and head back to the cabin.

I make it just in time to head to the food supply tent, which is more of a well-structured shed than anything else. With no one around the back, I open the side door and slip right in undetected. The room overwhelms me when my eyes adjust to the dimness. Only one window appears at the back of the structure high up near the angled roof, letting light filter in just enough.

I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting to find in an Arion Warrior camp, but this definitely wasn't it. The amount of food in here is astonishing. The inner workings of supplying the camps that border our lands are something I do not even try to imagine.

I'm filling my rucksack with various items, careful to not take too much when my ears perk at sounds from outside. I've been listening intently to the noises surrounding me, noting the heavy footsteps and orders being shouted from afar, but this sound is one I know. This sound is low, brutal, and slightly carnal if I'm being honest. Dropping my bag to the ground, I climb the shelving on the back wall and scale to the window.

When I peer out the long triangular pane, I see a training ring a few yards away. Kneeling on the top shelf lined with small jarred goods, I find the source of the sound sparring with another warrior. Huck moves quick as lightning as he dodges the other warrior’s attempts to strike.

Despite the chill in the air, Huck’s shirtless body gives off steam as he spars. His muscles ripple with every dodge and weave, and I notice a silver chain around his neck with a charcoal-colored stone dangling from the end of it. Its jagged edges appear sharp as it swings from his neck with his movements. It almost looks like . . . flint?

Where the other warrior seems breathless, Huck seems unfazed by the training, save for the sweat that coats his skin. He moves with a grace that defies his bulk, spinning and striking in fluid motions.

My breath catches in my throat as he strikes the warrior in the jaw, his torso twisting with the motion—damn it. What am I doing? Ogling him like a hungry dog. I zoom out my gaze and take in the entire scene .

When Huck flips the warrior on his back, ending the training, he helps him up with a hand and hollers for the next warrior to step into the ring. I don't recognize any other warriors from the cabin except Bear, who sits on the sideline sharpening his blade. The next warrior steps into the ring as Huck takes a swig of water. He pours the canteen over his head before shaking the droplets to the side and I swear more steam releases from his frame.

Shock wracks my body when I see the size of this next warrior. He’s bigger than both Huck and Bear and has an arrogance about him that nearly puts Huck's bad attitude to shame. A jagged scar lines the left side of his face, and his eyes are so dark, they're almost black. My stomach flips when I see him unsheathe a dagger and flip it into the air with ease, catching the hilt each time. They aren't really going to train with real blades, are they?

In answer, Huck unsheathes his blade, and they circle each other. If I didn't know any better, I'd say these two were doing more than just training. It seems like this warrior has a personal vendetta to see Huck bleed, and I'm not entirely sure I can blame him. Huck probably overstepped where he shouldn't have one time or another. But that still doesn't calm the tightness in my throat as I watch these two fight each other with real blades. I know Terran can heal minor injuries, but why give him more work than necessary? Not to mention the possibility that a dagger to the right area can lead to a major injury, a life-threatening injury. One that would be beyond Terran's abilities .

I understand training for the real deal, but this type of training just seems plain irresponsible. This must be why their trainings are known to be ruthless.

The scarred warrior comes at Huck with an energy that sparks, and I wonder how Huck does it—spars one after another warrior without tiring. As far as I know, his only ability is heat or fire, not endless energy. I almost feel bad for him. Huck dodges every strike the scarred warrior makes while simultaneously trying to disarm him. He's quick on his feet and moves much faster than his opponent, but his opponent is clearly relentless in his pursuit of bloodshed and never lets up.

Just when I think this match might go on forever, Huck stumbles on a rock as he walks backward in the ring, throwing him off balance. The scarred warrior takes the opportunity to deliver a right hook, sending Huck spinning down to his knees. Before I can even register the movement, the warrior slices his blade at Huck's neck, but Huck shields it with his arm, earning him a gash just below his wrist. Even from here, I can see Huck's eyes turn murderous as he looks up at his opponent. Huck rises with a quick calm that sends a shiver down my spine and sends the warrior stumbling back when his fist connects with his scarred jaw.

In the next breath, Huck takes offense as he pushes his opponent to the other side of the training ring. With each blow, my breath hitches in my throat as the two warriors battle it out. Without a clue as to who decides a training session is over, I just stare through the window as the fight continues, unable to tear my gaze away .

When Huck knocks the warrior’s blade from his hand, I cringe at what will come next. With the look on Huck's face, he will disembowel this warrior for making him bleed. But instead, he tosses his own blade aside, choosing to end this fairly with nothing but their fists and wit. Despite their size difference, Huck matches every blow with one of his own which weakens the other warrior further. I can see the fatigue weighing down his movements as he tries to deflect Huck's relentless pursuit.

With a final blow, Huck knocks the scarred warrior to the ground in one swift movement, ending the fight. Instead of helping this one up though, he looks at the wound at the back of his wrist and licks the blood dripping down his arm. My heart hammers in my chest as I watch his tongue glide up his skin.

"Snow! What the hell are you doing up there?"

I nearly fall off of the shelf as I spin towards the door. Coy's eyes widen in concern, and my nerves instantly calm at the sight of him. "If anyone saw you in here, you'd be dragged out for questioning and most definitely be punished."

Heat flooding my cheeks, I make my way down the shelves and grab my pack from the floor. "I'm sorry, I . . . just wanted to see what the training was like." It isn't a total lie. That is what drew me to scale the shelves in the first place. It's just not what kept me at the window longer than I care to admit. Coy's soft eyes widen as I speak, alarmed in some way, and I find myself backtracking my words, wondering if I've said something wrong.

"What 's wrong?" I stride towards him and he takes the smallest step back before thinking better of himself and shaking his head. "Coy?"

His shoulders drop just a hair before he completely settles, his eyes once again soft around the edges. His cheeks are flushed a petal pink.

"It's just . . . your eyes. They're glowing again." As soon as he says it, I turn, cursing my emotions for giving me away. I mark the stir of my magic as I do every time my body feels any intense emotion. My mother said it could be controlled with time and practice, but never offered to teach me.

"I've noticed them a few times now. When I first met you, and again when you attacked Huck from the closet. I didn't want to say anything. I didn't want to seem rude, but . . . well, they're glowing again." His words aren’t accusatory or fearful. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, hoping it will stop the glow.

Slowly, I look back at him, hoping it has ceased, and feel my power settle back into place. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. It comes with my magic. I haven't exactly figured out how to control it when I'm . . . startled." It's the best way I can explain it without delving into something I'd rather not.

"Don't ever be sorry for who you are, Snow. Having power and emotions is nothing to be ashamed of. It's kind of beautiful to see. Your eyes, I mean." Now my cheeks heat at his heartfelt sentiment.

"Thanks. I guess that means the others saw them glow when I left the closet too, huh?" I grab my linen bags filled with ingredients, and Coy helps me carry them from the supply room.

"They did. But don 't worry, we're familiar with personal magics. Plenty of warriors have their own magics here at camp. I wish I were lucky enough to have been born with such a gift." We walk side by side back to the cabin, bags in hand.

Two warriors walking by give us a nod and we nod back casually, my hat covering most of my features. Coy covers my view with most of his body, hopefully masking my small frame, but my pulse still races as we walk by.

"What exactly is your power that causes your eyes to glow like the sun, if you don't mind sharing? How does it work?" I’m not surprised he isn’t familiar. Few people have this power.

"It’s called fuzion. We can transform our power into any form we need, and fuze it into an object to be ingested. Like if you wanted curly hair, I could fuze an apple and when you eat it, the magic would transfer through your system and reveal itself as such." He's silent for a minute, seemingly mulling over this rare type of power, before he eventually breaks the silence.

"That is probably the coolest power I've heard of to date. Is it limitless?" We open the back door of the cabin and he gestures for me to enter first.

"Well, mine certainly isn't. I think with enough practice, it could come close, but everything has its limits, right?” Coy nods at my rhetorical question and I continue, my words flowing with ease around my new friend. “My mother stopped teaching me before I could really discover my own limits. I just know that if you overuse it, it can cause fatigue and brain fog. "

"Oh." His voice is shy as he helps me bring the bags to the counter and I think he picks up what I left unsaid. I begin unloading the items.

"It’s kind of like if you overexert yourself in training. You become weak—sometimes to dangerous levels if you aren’t careful.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that’s typical for most magics. Sometimes in battle, if a warrior overexerts themselves, they have to be hauled off the battlefield because of the collapse from it.” I huff a breath. “And I thought my glowing eyes were bad. I’ve only had to worry about having a tell whenever my emotions wake my power."

Coy stops, placing his hands flat on the counter as he looks directly at me. "I know exactly what that’s like." As if to drive his point home, his cheeks flare and my sympathy for such a sweet part of Coy suddenly comes to fruition. Neither of us can mask our feelings from the world at our most intense moments of life.

Two unlikely souls from completely different walks of life have a common ground of something so intimate. I could weep at the idea that if anything had steered me away from this cabin that night, we may have never met at all.

That evening, when the warriors walk through the door, the table is set with dinnerware and a steaming loaf of bread, waiting to be cut. A bottle of deep red wine sits in the table’s center. The pot above the fireplace bubbles with a thick vegetable stock and hearty chunks of venison. Perfect for large hungry warriors to feast on. The aroma of herbs and spices fills the cabin, and my nerves get the best of me as they all enter the room, noses high detecting the scent. I've been spinning my ring around my finger so much this past hour anticipating their arrival, that I've nearly rubbed my skin raw.

"Man, did we score with this one! Thanks for finding us a cook, Coy." Bear kicks off his boots near the door and walks to the kitchen with his hands splayed on his stomach. My brow raises at him in question.

"Don't thank me. I didn't make the meal." Coy winks at me as he sits on the bench to unlace his boots.

Archer gives Bear a hefty shove as he passes him on the way to the kitchen. "Yeah, don't be so daft, Bear."

"Oh . . . uh. Sorry, my lady. I meant no offense. Honest." Bear bows his head in shame and the laugh that rises in me nearly cracks my face in half as I stifle it down. "Sometimes I don't think before I say things." For all his bulk and brawn, he looks ashamed. But truly, I would expect nothing less than impolite behavior from a warrior camp. These people were not raised as I was, in a proper home with polite gestures and courtly expectations. These people were groomed for battle from a young age, and I don’t fault them for that. After all, it wasn't their choice. When the Mother calls you to serve, you listen.

I raise my hand to halt his apology, "Bear, it's really okay. I know you meant no harm," I begin to pour the glasses, "but I do appreciate the correction." I hand him a glass, and he salutes me in silence before taking a sip.

"Huck, you sure you don't want me to take care of that for you?" Terran nods at Huck's wound from training. Shaking his head, Huck replies as he glances at it, "No, don't waste your time. It's just a scratch."

Just a scratch . Sure. Let's downplay the laceration from a dagger that could probably use stitches because it makes you seem tougher. Sure.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

As the warriors gather around the table, I watch as their grubby hands paw the clear glasses of wine and shake my head in disbelief. What in the Mother's name are on those hands?

Huck leans over my small frame to grab his glass from his designated spot at the table, like my presence is a burden to him, despite the meal I've just prepared. He grabs his glass without a word, staring at me with those menacing eyes of amber flame. The audacity! It's like he's trying to bait me.

Two can play this game.

"You smell like the horse stables themselves," I say to him with a glare. Archer nearly chokes on his wine watching our encounter and Coy chuckles to himself at my declaration. Huck's brows shoot up in disbelief at my words but quickly he turns it to a scowl. Before he can retort, I continue .

"If you filthy lot want to enjoy this meal properly," my eyes never leave Huck's as I raise my voice for all to hear, "you must wash up first." I lean against the countertop and take a sip from my glass. "Especially you." I eye him with a look that says you don't scare me . And I mean it.

He sets down his glass on the table harder than necessary, splashing a bit on the wood, and opens his mouth to speak, but before a word can be uttered, Coy drags him by the arm out the back door to quickly wash up. When the group files out, I smile to myself, feeling powerful for once in my life.

But how long will that last when my mother finally dispatches a huntsman to my exact location?