Page 25 of Crown of Iron
She looks at the grimy glass above the sink and says, “Sure, if you can get it open. Joel—my husband—was the only one who could ever get the damn thing open.”
I jump onto the counter and push the lace curtains to the side. Gripping the window's frame, I attempt to slide it up. My arms tremble and the wood groans, but it doesn't budge. Needing a better angle, I slide my feet inside the basin and try again.
“They're back!”
My hands slip as Mia's tiny voice calls from the front room. Since overseeing my bathroom duties, she has stood at the window with her chin resting on her crossed arms waiting for Kyron and Blaze to return.
“Give the men room to work and stay on the stoop,” Shianne calls.
“Yes, Mama,” she yells back as the door opens and closes.
Kyron pulls a wagon full of wood into the clearing just outside the kitchen window. His leather jacket is draped over the logs they brought to cut, and he's rolled his sleeves to his elbows. He glances to the bright sun beaming down him and tugs the hem of his shirt from his pants before running it over his face. Removing the axe secured to his back, he joins Blaze to unload the logs. The two work quickly, piling their findings next to a tree stump. When the wagon is empty, they talk for a moment, Kyron's arms moving like he is splitting wood. Blaze nods and sets a log on top of the stump. With the axe in hand, the boy brings the blade down. It’s a weak swing that does little more than embed the first inch of the axe into the surface of the wood. With a pat on the back, Kyron motions for him to try again. The second blow leaves the log almost split in two.
Kyron says something to the boy that makes him smile. Blaze squares his shoulders and has a little swagger in his step as he sets up the next log. I've only ever seen Kyron bark out orders; it’s reassuring to learn he can hand out compliments as well.
A light brush at my shoulder tears my attention away from the wood cutting and to Shianne. She wipes her dirty hands on her apron while staring at her son. When he chops another log with less effort, a proud smile consumes her face.
“Kyron seems to be a good teacher,” I say.
“He is, and both him and Blaze are stubborn. They try to handle every situation on their own. That's why I'm surprised Kyron brought you along with him. He's always felt obligated to help me around the house on his own.”
I watch Blaze hack into the next chunk of wood and the urge to share the truth overwhelms me. “He didn't. I followed him. To be honest, I was spying on him. I thought he was up to no good.”
She hums in agreement. “Even after all the stories Joel told me about him, I had a hard time trusting him the first time he knocked on my door. He brought me my husband's belongings and wished to give his condolences. I don't remember what he said, I was busy drowning in my pain and imagining what he did to earn those black eyes. I didn't have room in my sorrow to worry about letting go of my fear. The man I love wasn't coming home, and my children were without a father.”
Joel and Shianne's family is an exception to the rule. Not many soldiers want to build a life outside of the military. They understand how fragile the balance of duty and homelife is, how danger always looms. The fear of leaving a family behind should they parish in battle is not worth the risk. Most soldiers choose to remain closely knitted with those who understand their plight best—other soldiers.
I understand the trials of growing up with a father who divides his time between the military and his family. The times Papa was away hit our family the hardest. We’d go weeks and sometimes months without seeing him. But we always had the hope of him returning home. I can't imagine what Shianne and her children have gone through, to know a staple point in their family will never walk through the door again, never eat dinner with them, not be present for their adult milestones. It’s heartbreaking. This family has no hope of seeing Joel again, which makes me cling tighter to the hope of rescuing my father.
Shianne clears her throat and continues her story. “Every other week, Kyron came back asking to help me. I turned him down every single time. It wasn’t until my anguish loosened its hold on me that I saw his. Knowing someone, other than me and my children, felt a fraction of our pain over Joel’s death, it broke me in a new way. I couldn’t bear to leave him wallowing in that. We started with chores outside, where he was a safe distance from Blaze and Mia.”
I glance at her over my shoulder and ask, “What changed your mind about him?”
“My children. Their curiosity was contagious. They wanted to know why I wouldn't let them say hello, or why they couldn't go outside when he was here. I realized then that the problem was mine. My preconceived notions made me fearful. They didn't see a Stigian, but a kind man helping us after they lost their father. I couldn't give them one good reason why they couldn't get to know him. There’s something to be said about facing your fears and learning you were wrong.”
We return to staring out the window. Blaze massages his shoulders while Kyron takes the axe and demonstrates how to hit the target in the center. He swings the axe all the way down, and like he has sliced into soft butter, the wood splits in two. He fidgets with his shirt, the damp material clinging to his arms and chest. When the fabric returns to his skin like a magnet to metal, he pulls on the back and slides it over his head.
My jaw drops. His sleeves always cling to his biceps, but to see them in the flesh is an entirely different story. A tattoo marks his upper arm, and black ink runs down his side. Even from this distance, I can clearly make out the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. And the lines that start from his hips and V into the leather pants sitting low on his waist, I can't recall the Statera ever sculpting a more perfect body.
He tosses his shirt to the side and motions Blaze back. He lifts the axe over his head and the muscles in his arms and stomach flex. The axe comes down with a whack, the log splitting in two. He drags the back of his forearm over his brow, swiping the ebony hair from his forehead.
“Despite your reservations, you have to admit that he is a sight to behold. It should be easy enough to concentrate on that until you are ready to face your fear concerning him.”
I jerk my head around and gape at Shianne. Her words wouldn't be so shocking if they referred to anyone but him. Not only is he my superior officer, but we don't like each other. I can't believe she suggested that I ogle him until I'm not scared anymore.
“What?” Shianne says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Neither of us is blind, and there’s no denying how spectacular that body is.”
I should return to helping Shianne and not entertain her playful words, but a nagging voice fuels the raging battle inside me. Just one more look and then I’ll focus again. I lift my gaze to the window.
Kyron talks with Blaze, leaning on the handle of the axe like a cane. I soak him in from his boots to his fitted leather trousers, to the dark dusting of hair below his navel. His torso, arms, eyes… I pause as his dark eyes lock on to me. All the air leaves my lungs as we hold each other's stares for what feels like eternity. The corner of his mouth quirks up, jump starting my stunted brain. Heat floods my cheeks, and I scramble off the counter.
No. Absolutely not. No! The last thing I need is a distraction. Especially him.
Nine
Every flaky, fruity pastry in the five kingdoms is bundled in baskets throughout Shianne's kitchen and a pot of stew simmers on the stovetop. I sit with Shianne at the dining table and gulp down a big glass of water. I've helped my mother in the kitchen, but nothing to this magnitude. Baking is hard work, and I’ll never look at a loaf of bread the same way.
Shianne and I are deep in a conversation about the trials she’s faced as a single mother when Blaze, Mia, and Kyron come into the house.
