Twenty-One Arrow Salute: An Order Series Novella Book 2.5 (The Order) by Kasia Bacon

Author:Kasia Bacon
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Kasia Bacon
Published: 2018-06-11T07:00:00+00:00

It soon became apparent that the life of a Royal Archer of the Highland Regiment turned manic in the run-up to the Queen’s Namesday.

The horses needed more rigorous grooming and practice than ever. Any riding equipment and weapons had to be checked for signs of wear and tear, repaired or replaced if needed, and—eventually—cleaned and polished to the perfect shine. Before our dress uniforms arrived, we had to squeeze in a fitting or two at the military tailor and cobbler. And once the mounted rehearsals started, no one in the unit had enough time to scratch their arses.

Nonetheless, Hernan and I carried on with our training sessions at dawn. Otherwise, due to different duty schedules, we caught glimpses of each other at meal times. But even then we merely waved at each other in passing, given that Hernan sat at the Honour Guard table these days, and Achiah took to sitting next to me to rabbit on about the errands she wanted me to run. All while I was trying to shove food in my gob as quickly as I possibly could.

Four days before the festivities, an hour into our morning practice, Hernan and I ran out of arrows we’d been shooting into the sky, aiming towards the forest. It took a while to collect them from the grasses, thorny bushes and clumps of stinging nettles.

Every time Hernan bent over, treating me to the sight of his tight little behind encased in a fitted layer of baize, it sent a new thrill to my groin.

I twisted my hair into a topknot and fixed it up with a leather thong. I could really go without the constant trickle of moisture working its way down my back, making my uniform cling to my spine. Highlanders had a tough time acclimatising to blazing Asirhwÿnian summers as a rule, but for whatever reason, I coped with it worse than most.

Hernan, on the other hand, a native to the capital, presented fresh, crisp, and annoyingly unaffected by the heat.

Revived by a long drink from our waterskins, we pushed on with the training. On that occasion, I observed Hernan as he went through the forms, assessing his posture and trying to detect flaws in his technique. I spotted none. On the contrary, a feeling of excitement and satisfaction settled in my stomach at the competent elegance and fluidity of his movements.

He was ready.

“Good,” I said when he brought the bow in line with the centre of his body, having completed the shot.

“Good?” He turned his head my way, his forehead furrowing. “Bollocks. That was excellent!” His jaw jutted up in the familiar way I remembered from the camp.

I snorted, welcoming this manifestation of self-assurance. He needed that in spades right then. The conviction that he could do it, and do it well.

“We’ll talk excellence once you’ve given me six error-free rounds matching my speed and height. And that without stopping,” I said with the quirk of an eyebrow.

He squinted. “Very well, then. You’re on.”

Having applied some fine ash powder to my hands, I passed its container over to Hernan.

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