“Soon, lass.” Morag smiled at Ember, taking in her puzzled expression. “I’ll devote a night and day to this. Come back to me on the morrow.”
“Are we done then?” Barrow’s mood had soured.
“Aye,” she said.
“You have our thanks.” He looked at Ember. “The day is still young. Is your head clear enough for work?”
She sprang up, happy that she didn’t stumble despite the fact that her vision blurred at the sudden movement. “Of course.”
Barrow was already weaving his way through the maze of forges and clouds of sparks. Ember kept her eyes on his back, still needing a point of focus. The heady incense lingered, muddying her senses.
Ember blinked in the bright light of day as they emerged from the cave-like smithy.
Barrow eyed her carefully. “We’ll get you some water before training.”
She thought about protesting, wanting to deny any weakness, but realized how foolhardy that lie would be. “Thank you.”
As he led the way up the slow incline toward the barracks, Ember cast a sidelong glance at the tall knight.
“What did you see when you looked into the fire?”
He grimaced, and she wondered if perhaps the question was too personal. Her desire to know how unusual her vision had been made her wait rather than retract the query.
Readjusting the sword at his waist, Barrow glanced at her. “I saw a lion crouched in the darkness. When it struck, its claws became a single curved blade.”
“That must have been frightening.” Ember’s eyes moved over the saber that he always carried.
Following her gaze, Barrow said, “It was more than frightening. When I came out of the vision, I’d gained a long, bleeding gash across my chest.”
“How is that possible?” Ember asked.
“You’ll find the impossible to be possible more often than not the longer you’re with us,” Barrow told her. He paused for a moment before saying, “My blade is known as a shamshir. It’s a weapon of the Persians, and its name means ‘curved like a lion’s claw.’”
Ember found it difficult to suppress her disbelief at Barrow’s story. Her skepticism must have shown on her face because Barrow stopped walking and turned to face her. Without giving explanation, he unbuckled his sword belt, handing it to her. The blade was surprisingly light in her hands. Even more shocking was the sight of Barrow stripping off his tabard and undershirt to reveal his bare chest.
His fingers traced the single diagonal gash that stretched from just below his right shoulder to his left lower abdomen. Heat prickled along her skin, but she knew it wasn’t from the smithy. The image of Barrow’s torso etched into her mind. The contours of his body could have been carved from stone. The dark scar slashing across his flesh reminded Ember that this was a man before her, built of muscle, bone, and blood. Her fingers twitched, full of the desire to trace the deep crimson line and linger on his skin. The vivid thoughts startled Ember and she pulled her gaze off him.
“I will never lie to you, Ember.” He didn’t wait for her to answer, but she heard the rustle of fabric as he quickly dressed again. She handed over his sword belt but remained quiet, her mind awash with questions. His words made her blush as much as the memory of his bare chest.
“No two visions are the same. The weapons are crafted precisely for the one who will wield them.” Barrow buckled the belt low on his hips. “We’ll see what Morag has for you tomorrow. But it’s not only a weapon that you’ll need.”
She tilted her head, watching him curiously.
His smile broadened. “Come with me, lass.”
NINE
AS THEY CROSSED the courtyard, passing the manor and moving in the direction of the barracks, Ember struggled with Barrow’s taciturn manner. Would it be so difficult to simply explain to her where they were going and what the shape of her day would be? Making it worse, the tall knight seemed to take some perverse delight in watching her puzzle over her new life. She was beginning to look forward to the opportunity to spar with him, no matter how much of a novice she’d be on the training field. Giving Barrow one good knock with a mace would be worth it.
Ember was playing out this imagined confrontation, in which she managed to kick Barrow in the chest and send him sprawling, when the real Barrow’s voice intruded on her musing.
“We’re not going to the barracks, Ember.”
She hadn’t noticed that he’d abruptly changed direction, walking away from the barracks’ entrance toward the far end of the courtyard. Her blood went icy when she realized he was heading toward the practice fields where she’d spotted him sparring with Kael. Her daydream took a wicked turn, where suddenly she imagined Barrow drawing his sword and smiling cruelly at her.
“Be careful what you wish for.” He raised the wickedly curved blade.
“Ember!” Barrow was suddenly standing in front of her, both of his hands resting on her shoulders.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Is your brain still addled by Morag’s incense?” He searched her face with concern. “If you need water or rest, you must tell me.”
“No.” She pulled out of his grip. “I’m fine. Lead on.”
His eyes were doubtful, and Ember swore silently that she’d keep her overactive mind in check.
“Very well.” He took her past the barracks but bypassed the practice fields as well, to which Ember’s emotions had a lurching reaction of disappointment edged with relief.
“Ho, Barrow!” A lanky boy was waving at her companion. The boy set aside his pitchfork and came to meet them.
“Well met, Ian.” Barrow clapped him on the shoulder. “How’s their mood this morning?”
Ian laughed. “Restless. The spring air puts the spark of life in ’em like nothing else.”
“Glad to hear it,” Barrow said. He gestured to Ember. “Ian, this is Lady Morrow. She’s just joined our ranks.”
Ian gave her a lopsided grin. “So I’ve heard. Welcome, my lady.”
“Ian is apprenticed to the master of the stables,” Barrow told her. “Which means he’s here day and night, should you need anything.”
“It’s true that I’m a slave to these beasts.” Ian bowed his head, but Ember saw him grinning.