Cloaked

by Taylor Hobbs

  As they set into their familiar patterns of travel, Fawkes finally spoke. “What did you learn?”

  At least it wasn’t a lecture on how she was a total failure. The grumbling of her stomach was enough of a reminder for Charlotte. “That I’m slow? I lack patience?”

  “Do not guess, think about it.”

  Charlotte took a moment to compare all of her attempts with Fawkes’ singular success. He pushed her to analyze, and go deeper. “I need to draw them in, not just wait for them to move,” she said. He grunted in approval, so she continued. “I have to wait for the biggest fish, and not worry about the small ones. I need to wait until the perfect moment to strike, because once it’s gone, it wastes too much time to orchestrate another attack.”

  “Good.”

  Her cheeks reddened with pleasure. “But the most important part,” Fawkes said, “is that the water can affect your vision. It distorts from the surface and makes underneath unclear, so when you think you are grabbing the fish, you have already missed it. Remember, you are an intruder in your prey’s environment. You have to play by his rules.”

  “Until you get the fish to the surface,” Charlotte pointed out.

  “And he’s gasping for breath,” Fawkes agreed. “When you hold his fate in your hands.”

  They continued their journey parallel to the stream, following as it meandered. “Fill up all the bladders,” Fawkes told Charlotte when they had stopped for the night. “Tomorrow we break from the stream and arc wide around the valley.”

  “Do you think the duke’s men are still looking for us?” Charlotte asked.

  “They will have realized by now that I do not intend to rescue the Lindsor niece from Earl Hawthorne’s dungeons. I expect they are gearing up for pursuit, dawn at the earliest. They can travel lighter and more quickly and have many men to spread out their search. We need to reach the border soon.”

  Adrenaline rushed into Charlotte’s small frame, chasing away exhaustion from the day’s travel. “If we are to come across any of the duke’s men, a few more training lessons wouldn’t hurt,” she suggested, ducking her head to hide a smile.

  “Show me you have learned something from this morning, and I will consider it,” Fawkes told her, after a long and thoughtful pause. He turned to care for Ghost while Charlotte eagerly kicked off her shoes and jumped into the water. Calm and slow, she reminded herself. Follow his rules.

  It only took three tries this time, and with a cry of triumph, she flipped the first fish up onto the bank. Fawkes, having approached to observe her, quickly thumped the flapping creature over the head and got to work with his dagger. Two more tries and Charlotte tossed her own dinner up to him. She thought she caught a glimpse of pride in his gaze as he watched her, but his attention was diverted by the task at hand.

  Splashing her way to the bank, Charlotte didn’t even feel the cold water as it soaked through her clothes. She realized her bandage had come off at some point during her excursion, and flexed her hand experimentally.

  “Why, it doesn’t hurt anymore!” she told Fawkes. Throughout the day, the throbbing had ceased, but she had chalked it up to a numbing component in Fawkes’ poultice. She had never expected that the medicine would have worked so completely, mending an injury that should have taken weeks to heal in only twelve hours. There was still some faint discoloration molting the skin, but her fingers moved with easy dexterity.

  Charlotte held out her hand for him to examine. Fawkes took her smaller hand in between his large, calloused ones and lightly traced each finger. The touch sent shivers up Charlotte’s spine, and she thought he held onto her for a beat longer than necessary. Then, as if realizing what he had done, he dropped it like a hot poker, declaring her healed.

  Seeming like he needed an immediate distraction from their uncomfortable closeness, Fawkes said, “You learn quickly. It might actually be within my power to teach you a few techniques to use in case we run into trouble.”

  “I’m ready to start right now,” Charlotte said, jutting her chin out in what she hoped was a confident gesture toward her mentor. Internally, her stomach was doing flips. She was both nervous and excited at the prospect of learning real material. Not that catching fish didn’t have its uses, but it wasn’t as helpful as, say, throwing a punch without almost breaking her hand. Wet and tired, she pushed all discomfort aside and planted her feet in front of Fawkes.

  All of the walking and riding during the past few weeks had honed her muscles enough for her to feel a marked difference in her body. Years of scullery cleaning duties had resulted in an upper body that was stronger than the typical woman, defying the definition of what was deemed ‘attractive’ in society. Charlotte had accepted long ago that she would never possess the soft, supple curves and delicate ivory skin of the noble women. It used to bother her to see how the boys she fancied lusted after these shining examples of demure femininity, until she realized she would rather be able to hold her own and defend herself. Though she had a petite frame, she could put up enough of a fight to be too much trouble for an attacker, who would move on to easier prey.

  Physical strength had also carried over to create a strong mind. Charlotte was willful, determined, and knew how to push past bodily discomfort. But in order to rival Fawkes’ skills, she knew there would be a great deal of training to come. Now that her hand was healed, there was nothing to hold her back.

  Still, she did not expect the blow that crashed into her stomach, knocking the air out of her lungs. Gasping for breath, she tried not to vomit, and came up flailing with a punch of her own, which Fawkes easily deflected. Angered, she launched into an erratic series of punches and kicks, all of which he dodged.

  “You have the fire,” he said, “but before you can channel it, you need to learn to wait for your opening. I am stronger and faster, but you can use your size to your advantage. Refuse to make it easy for me to get to you. You lack the body mass to match me punch for punch. Become a small target. Let your attacker tire himself out, then use his moves against him. This will keep you alive.”

  During Fawkes’ speech Charlotte’s ineffective blows had slowed considerably, until she had to stop, arm and core muscles burning from the workout. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she glared at Fawkes, who wasn’t even winded. He remained completely unperturbed by her furious physical exertions.

  “Gather your breath, and we will go again.”

  No matter how hard Charlotte tried to find her opening, Fawkes always knew a split second ahead of time where her ineffectual fists would try to land. “Your face betrays you,” he said. “Put a wall up between it and your emotions. Remain a mask.”

  Her heart pounded in her chest, beating against gasping lungs. Her arms dropped to her sides, and she said, “Enough. I can’t do anymore.”

  “You wanted this,” he reminded her, stepping closer. He forced her chin up to look at him, before grabbing both her shoulders. “But this does not have to be the life for you—” He was cut off when Charlotte rammed a punch into his side.

  “How’s that for masking my emotions?” she asked.

  Hot anger flashed in his eyes before the emotional barrier slammed down between them. Fawkes refused to let her see his thoughts. He ignored her question, and said, “Seeing as you still have more than enough energy left, you can do some muscle exercises until sundown.” He backed away from Charlotte and dropped down to the ground, balancing on his hands and toes. With his shoulders centered directly above his wrists, Fawkes bent his elbows until his chest touched the dirt, and then straightened back up.

  After pausing a moment in the ‘up’ position, he stood up, brushing his hands on his pants. “Your turn. Keep going until I tell you to stop.”

  If Fawkes thought that she would back away from the challenge, he had underestimated Charlotte’s hatred of failure. She nodded at her mentor and started the exercise. The dip in her elbows grew shallower with each repetition, until her entire body shook with effort. Sweat beaded and dripped into her eyes,
the stinging doing little to distract from her screaming muscles. The punches had worn her out more than she wanted to let on, but she was still determined not to concede.

  “How much longer will you go?” Fawkes goaded her.

  “Have you ordered me to stop?” she grunted, red-faced.

  “You can quit at any time.”

  She didn’t have the breath to answer him, and instead bent her arms a fraction of an inch. The movement was too much, and her arms buckled and gave out, and she greeted the dirt with her face.

  Fawkes sighed. “Stop.”

  Gritting her teeth and maneuvering her hands back underneath her chest, Charlotte ignored him and gathered all of her remaining strength. So slowly it was almost imperceptible, she began to push back up. When her arms locked out straight, she held the position for a beat more, just to prove that she could. Only then did she step her feet underneath her and rise to face Fawkes. “Now I’ll stop,” she said, “until tomorrow.”

  Charlotte meandered off downstream, and once she was out of sight of the camp, collapsed in agony. She lay spread-eagle on the bank, wondering if she would ever be able to use her arms again. Closing her eyes for just a moment, Charlotte rested.

  When she awoke the next morning, she discovered that somehow she was back at the camp, tucked into her bedroll. The last thing she remembered was lying down and… Wonderful, she thought. Just as I try to prove to Fawkes how tough I can be, I go and fall asleep, and have to be carried to bed like a child. Now he would know how much the training had exhausted her. She felt she had taken a giant step backward in gaining his respect.

  Rolling over, she spotted the familiar black lump that was Fawkes wrapped in his cloak. It was so early that the man still slumbered, the steady rise and fall of the dark material indicating that he was resting peacefully.

  She couldn’t recall ever seeing him so vulnerable. Calm and quiet, yes, but always alert, muscles tensed like a cat. Watching him sleep, curled up tightly in the fetal position, gave Charlotte a glimpse of the man he hid from the world. This figure couldn’t put up walls or present the persona of the Cloaked Shadow. Is this the real Fawkes? she wondered. What does he dream about? A life before this one, maybe?

  His back was to her as she pondered him, and she saw his shoulders tense. He can sense I’m staring! she thought, panicked. Her head dropped back down, and she tried to feign sleep.

  “And what, may I ask, is so very interesting about watching me sleep?” Fawkes’ low voice traveled over to her. His question rumbled through the ground, and Charlotte could feel vibrations on her cheek. Instead of answering him, she let her mouth drop open slightly.

  “That will not work on me, Charlotte. I know you are awake. Get up and go tend to Ghost.”

  Her eyes popped open. “How can you tell?” she asked, genuinely curious. She was alert, having slept more soundly than she had in weeks. Though her body protested every movement and her soreness begged for her to keep still, the exercise had done her mind wonders. It was at least an hour before dawn, but she felt as spirited as if it were midday.

  “You were not drooling like you usually do.”

  Charlotte slapped a hand to her mouth and furiously wiped. “I don’t drool!”

  “I am pleased you woke up early today. We have a lot of ground to cover. Hurry and prepare. Am I right in assuming you want to walk instead of ride first?” Fawkes cocked an eyebrow at her.

  The thought of getting up in the saddle made Charlotte wince. “I’ll walk,” she said.

  He chuckled, revealing a much better mood than he was in last night. “This part of the journey will be difficult, as we must trek along the mountain pass instead of through the valley. The elevation will slow us considerably, but we cannot risk being trapped by Duke Belaq on the main road.”

  Charlotte gulped. Heights. Not her favorite thing. “Will we be able to see our enemy from the mountain road?” she asked, trying to distract herself.

  “I might be able to get a good location on the scouts if they have traveled more quickly than anticipated, but I predict that they are still a day or two behind us. However, due to our extended route, they may have traveled too close for my comfort and might already be on the valley road. Regardless, our course should only take another three days.”

  The memory of Duke Belaq’s cold, calculating stare flashed in Charlotte’s mind. “What makes you think the duke will just give up hunting us if we cross into Croantis? I hardly think breaching diplomacy will matter much to him.” Duke Belaq was a savage hound on a blood trail. He would not give up until he had Fawkes in his jaws.

  “The duke does not dare pursue over the border because he knows he would be outnumbered,” Fawkes answered her, as they started on the trail. Charlotte wondered if it was just her imagination, or if the ground was already starting to slope upward. The crest of the mountain still looked impossibly far away. Three days? She groaned internally. At a leisurely, realistic pace, the journey would take a week at least. How she was supposed to cover all those miles and still have energy to train at the end of the day? Logically, she knew it had to be done in order for the two of them to safely escape. Emotionally, however, she felt that maybe Fawkes was doing it on purpose in light of last night’s session.

  As if reading her thoughts, Fawkes spoke again. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Achy,” she confessed. And not ready to climb a mountain, she refrained from saying.

  Their footsteps trudged in synchronicity. “To maintain the edge over your enemy, you must be willing to sacrifice everything in pursuit of your mission, including physical comfort. I believe Duke Belaq has this passion, but his men do not. This is why he still trails behind, instead of on top of us. His knights hold him back, but he knows that he cannot defeat me alone, otherwise he would have left them behind. I imagine this causes him great frustration.” Charlotte’s mouth turned up into a small smile at the thought of a vexed duke, but it quickly disappeared when her next thought was how he might relieve his frustration on her and Fawkes, and she was very glad of the distance between them now.

  “This single-minded ferocity is rare, and only those people who can push all other thoughts out of their minds except completing their goal will triumph,” Fawkes continued. His steps never faltered, his pace never slowed. Placing one foot in front of the other, he kept his gaze on the horizon as he spoke. Charlotte mimicked his actions, focusing on leveling her pace in spite of her soreness. She realized that this was her training lesson for the day, and she embraced it wholly.

  “I can do it,” she told Fawkes.

  He gave what sounded like a snort of disbelief. “And just what will happen when we reach the top of the pass?” So her mentor hadn’t forgotten Charlotte’s fear of heights. Her face burned with embarrassment when he summed up her last experience.

  “Clutching that rope…you had done admirably in releasing your brother, yet you were willing to fail your mission because you became lost in your fear. Do you think your brother would have abandoned you? No, he would have stayed and tried to help you, only succeeding in getting both of you caught and executed. You were willing to send both yourself and your brother to death, all because you refused to slide down the rope. You do not possess the mental strength, even if I can teach you to fight hard enough to stay alive.”

  Bile rose in Charlotte’s throat, cutting off a biting response to his accusations. He didn’t know her, not truly, and he severely underestimated what she was capable of. Her fists shook in anger as she tried to think of the right words to say to Fawkes that would shame him.

  One foot in front of the other. She forced herself to breathe. Had he really said all of that to break her down? Was it a way to test her? To find out how far she was willing to push herself? Charlotte risked a glance in his direction. His face remained neutral, as though he had just finished talking about the weather, unaware of how his statements crushed her.

  As much as Charlotte wanted to deny it, there was truth in his words. She
would have been caught that night if it hadn’t been for Fawkes. She would not have made it down the tower, and all would have been lost. But to have her deepest fears and flaws thrown into her face so casually wounded her pride. They had been having such a pleasant morning, even bantering back and forth a bit before heading out. How can Fawkes be so nice to me one minute, and then switch into a brutally blunt arse the next?

  A burst of understanding hit her. Because right now you’re talking to the Cloaked Shadow, not to Fawkes, a voice in her head piped up. Charlotte thought back to her previous training sessions, and realized that the switch had happened then, too. She wondered if Fawkes even realized who he channeled when showing her techniques and lecturing her, or if the transformation was subconscious and automatic. The line in her mind that separated Fawkes and the Cloaked Shadow had blurred over their journey together, and she had starting thinking of them as the same person. Their recent interaction, however, reminded her of the stark distinctions in her mentor’s personalities.

  You’re mad at the Cloaked Shadow, not Fawkes, Charlotte told herself. The mentor instead of the man. But it didn’t help that both sides were able to stare into the depths of her soul with piercing blue eyes that demanded the truth. She couldn’t hide anything from them.

  Charlotte resolved to prove the Cloaked Shadow wrong when the time came. For now, the miles stretched out in front of them.

  ****

  “Your turn to ride Ghost,” Fawkes reminded her once the sun hit midday. He had just dismounted from the sweating steed.

  Looks like the Cloaked Shadow has turned back into Fawkes, Charlotte noticed. She wouldn’t give into his courteous offer, though. Her pride still stung from his earlier remarks. “I’ll walk,” she told him. He let the matter drop, and they didn’t speak again until stopping for the night.

  Charlotte sat down on a small boulder and peeled off her shoes, hissing in pain. Calluses that had slowly formed during the days on the road had been ripped off in one afternoon due to her impetuous march. Her feet were raw and bloody, but she felt like she had restored some of her dignity. Fawkes said nothing about her injuries, and she refused to bring attention to them.