Page 51 of An Empress of Fire & Steel

“You make me sound like I am a tyrant.”

“From what I have gathered, you seem sweet and lovely,” Artem said, smirking from ear to ear. “But sometimes you can look at Torin like you are about to stab him in the neck.” He bellowed a laugh. “I mean, if I am honest with myself, I am here for it.”

“Thanks, brother.” Torin’s sarcastic tone made Emara stifle a laugh.

“I can’t lie to you, Blacksteel”—he looked past Emara at Torin—“that girl has a way of putting you in your place that even my father couldn’t do in the Selection.”

Torin chuckled behind her.

And she let out one breathy laugh, unsure of how that was possible.

He let go of the reins and wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her against him. An instant heat swelled in her stomach and spread all over her body, causing the hairs on her skin to rise. Her heart rate doubled in seconds.

“I don’t mind if it’s you who puts me in my place,” he whispered. “But only you.”

As the grey sky turned a soft shade of navy, they finally found a clearing suitable to rest and get shelter for the night. Her trio had set up camp within minutes; they had probably lived like this many times during the Selection. Artem and Torin had erected small tents and Magin was working on teaching Emara how to build a fire from dried wood he had brought from the tower. Knowing the weather was working against them, it had been a clever move. She thought about trying to light the wood by her own flames, but if something went wrong, she could take out the whole camp, so she opted for a survival-without-magic kind of night.

By the time Emara had watched Magin create the fire, Torin and Artem had unpackaged the salted meat, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a little hungry.

Once they had tucked into the meats and cubed cheese that they had brought from the kitchens, Magin announced that he would take the first watch, allowing the sleepy Artem to get some rest. Emara had a sneaking suspicion that a certain wolf had kept him up all night, and if he was going to make it through tomorrow, he needed to rest.

Emara had been surprisingly grateful for Breighly’s company in La Luna. Her energy had made it easy to forget about her troubles for at least one night, and that’s all she had wanted. She also reminded her of another blonde-haired, unapologetic rebel; even though thinking of Cally tore her heart to shreds, Breighly had filled that dark void, even if it had been for a short time.

A wave of emotion hit her as she sat watching the flames of the fire. Emara wasn’t sure if it was sadness, tiredness, or bleak nothingness that overtook her, but she stood, ignoring the idle chit-chat of the hunters, hoping to slip away into the tents without being noticed. She didn’t want to be around anyone, not if she was going to have one of her…moments. Suddenly, all three hunters stood to attention, and Emara’s skin leapt from her bones.

“What the—” She jumped.

She looked over them, a hand on her heart, and they stared back.

They were her guards, she remembered.

How fast they had reacted to her movement was a reminder that they were not just boys, idly strolling to the palace—they were warriors, men bound by oath to protect the kingdom. And her.

“Which tent is mine?” she asked, feeling the eyes of them all on her, too intense. She looked over the clearing, seeing that they had only erected two. “Are there only going to be two tents?” she shot a glare towards the three of them.

“We couldn’t bring four, that’s not how this works. We had to pack light. You are lucky we haven’t only got one,” Torin announced.

“That would be an interesting night,” Artem said lowly, putting an axe back into his weapon belt. She hadn’t even realised he had unsheathed one until now. “No, but seriously, did you expect four tents?”

“I…” She clamped her mouth shut as she looked around their makeshift campsite. “I actually don’t know; I have never done this before.”

“We are not close enough to the nearest village to find an inn tonight—maybe tomorrow or the next day. But you can have your own space and the hunters will share. We will be on shifts, anyway.” Torin picked up a large stone that sat close to the fire, the size of a small cat, and walked towards her. “Follow me.”

She followed him without any hesitation. She had been riding for hours and the thought of finding sleep was all she could think about. Torin pushed aside the entrance to the tent and ducked inside, followed by Emara. He placed the rock at the bottom of the fur sack that was designed for a warrior in the winter, and there was a small oil lamp glowing in the corner.

“Where will you be sleeping?” she dared to ask, looking up from the rolled-out mats on the floor.

“In the other tent with Artem.” He nodded towards the opening, his back still hunched over a little, the tent restricting him to stand his true height. “Why? Did you want me to stay here with you?”

Emara’s heart twitched at how sincere he was, and she had to bite back any snide response she would have normally jabbed his way. “I will be okay. Thank you.”

Torin nodded. “The stone from the fire should give you heat for some time. Keep it at the bottom of the sack, it will warm your feet.” He looked her over. “Should you need more warmth, just call on me.”

“I will not be needing more warmth—”

“I was referring to how one of us would bring you another stone from the fire.”

She fought to hide her smile. “Sure you were.”

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