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Harper gaped at her. “Why?”
Irritation flashed across Erika’s face. “Discipline is critical.”
Harper didn’t drop her gaze.
“Because you need to grow your strength. You need to be able to hold your blade and wield it for long periods of time. You’re already tired. You have no stamina, so you must build it.” She slapped the underside of Harper’s arm with the flat of her blade. “See? You’re drooping already. Stand up straight.” With a low growl, Erika turned and stalked to Brand. “I can’t take this,” she hissed.
Brand stared at her flatly.
“I don’t deal with novices.”
“Patience.” His voice was low and soothing, but Erika scowled all the same. “I know this isn’t easy for you. I’ll take over from here.”
“I can do it,” Erika snapped.
A weary flare of irritation spiked in Harper. Erika hated her and didn’t want to train—but would do it out of pride if she had to, rather than cede the responsibility to someone else? Harper didn’t understand the nomad at all.
Brand huffed. “But it’s better if you don’t. I insist.” His tone brooked no argument.
Harper’s cheeks burned as she returned her gaze to the woods. Did she mean for me to hear that? Erika did not seem like a good teacher at all. Harper wondered if there was more to her than met the eye, because so far, she did not like Erika. I am trying. What’s her problem?
Harper straightened and forced her complaining arm to rise again, though her muscles ached fiercely. As the sunlight faded and the moon rose, Erika stood there, watching her. She stayed silent, only moving to slap Harper’s arm or tap her back to indicate she faltered once more. Harper dug deep until every part of her hurt, but she clung doggedly on until her stare could have burned a hole into the scenery. She would not give Erika the satisfaction of seeing her fail.
When Erika finally allowed her to relax, Harper’s whole body trembled, but Erika offered no sympathy. Harper made no complaint, though her eyes pricked with tears, overwhelmed in her exhaustion by fears that assailed her mercilessly, taunting her about how useless and out of place she was. Harper gave Erika her blade and stumbled back to collapse upon her cloak, ignoring Ragnar’s offer of a seat at his game of chatura with Aedon as she fell fast asleep.
Harper woke early the next morning. Though exhausted, she could not return to sleep. Erika’s scathing tones burned in her mind as she tossed and turned— and eventually gave up. She rose silently, glancing around camp. Brand was also awake, gazing into the woods.
“I’m going to wash,” she whispered.
He held up his hand to stop her. She paused. He drew out a knife from within the folds of his cloak, though it looked more like a dagger to her, so huge was it.
“Never go anywhere unarmed, just in case. Be on guard.”
She took it, her hand barely fitting around the wide grip that was formed for his big, broad hands. “Thanks.”
The ground remained sodden and muddied from the previous night’s storm, though the sun had risen, already creating a warmer, more pleasant, day. Harper looked at her feet, focusing on not slipping on the moss- and mud-covered rocks as she rounded the outcrop. She followed the stream far enough that she would not be seen or overheard from camp.
Clambering down to the stream, she unclipped her cloak, resting it and the dagger atop a high rock, stripped to her undergarments, and gave herself a brisk wash in the cool water using a chunk of moss. It felt refreshing to wipe the visible layer of grime from her skin that the fire’s smoke had gifted the previous night.
“What I’d give for a hot wash,” she murmured to herself, laughing dryly. Had she ever gone so long without a proper wash? Definitely not. No matter how poor she had been, water was free and wood plentiful. A hot bucket had been her treat after an unbearable shift or long hunt. It did not bear thinking about.
She clambered from the water and found a rock that caught the early morning sun. She perched upon it and closed her eyes, soaking in the light and warmth as it dried her skin. Before too long, she was almost dry, so she hastened to put on the billowing shirt, just in case anyone else should have awakened and followed her. She bent to pull on her breeches. As she tugged them over her hips, an arrow shattered on the stones beside her.
36
HARPER
Harper spun around, almost falling on the uneven rocks. She glared up at the bluff, squinting into the sun. Two silhouettes leapt down with inhuman agility. She gasped when they left the sun’s piercing corona. Elves. Both armed and dressed in slim-fitting dark clothes that camouflaged them amongst the foliage. Braids contained their long, mahogany hair and their golden eyes were narrow and hostile—yet they hung back with an edge of wariness whilst they took her in, as though they expected her to be trouble.
“Where is it?” the taller, female elf snarled. She stalked closer, a long, slim blade pointed directly toward Harper. Harper inched back, bumping into the rock where her cloak lay. With her hand behind her back, she fumbled for the knife. The elf’s male companion, armed with a bow—which was drawn, an arrow nocked and pointed toward her heart—circled away from them both to cut her off from running.
“Where’s what?” Harper asked, turning slightly to try and keep an eye on both of them at once. Every nerve in her was alight, and her body trembling on the edge of bolting, because there was no way she would be able to match them in combat.
“You know what,” the male elf answered. “We’ve tracked you this far. We know you to be with the thief and his pack. Where is the aleilah?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harper said guardedly, but her heart thundered and her nerves shot with lightning. Do they mean the Dragonheart? “I’m an innocent traveller.”
“Ha!” the female elf scoffed. “No one who runs with the Thief of Pelenor is innocent, but I shall give you a choice. Where is the elf, or the aleilah?” she said, leaping across the stream to land feet away from Harper.
