Jo was crying, and she wasn't sure why. Something in the way that Ashe spoke to Rhapsody, something in teh way she smiled at him, was breaking her heart.
The teenager went to practice her aim with her daggers in the throne room. Grunthor, finishing what remained of a large boar, looked interested. "Oi, little miss! What're ya doin'?"
Thunk. Thunk. "Practising."
Grunthor got up, and went over to her. He gently touched her wrist, and angled it a bit lower. "Ya gotta aim a little lower ta get yer target's bulleye." Jo snatched her hand away. "Not at what I'm aiming at," she said venemously.
"An' jus' what are you aimin' at little miss?"
"Ashe's big fat head."
Grunthor laughed. "Look, don' feel too bad. If ya want, we can get a better aim while e's sleepin'." Jo couldn't help but laugh. Grunthor continued. "Or, if ya prefer, we might ask ol' Uchmed ta take a couple o' shots at 'im." Jo pouted. "Achmed always kills them with one hit." Grunthor smiled jovially. "Not if yer tellin' him not to. Ya could tell 'im where to aim."
Jo's smile was small, but Grunthor could tell he'd done his job. As he turned away, Jo called out.
"Hey, Grunthor!"
He stopped.
"Thanks. You're there for me, just like Rhapsody."
He walked onward, wondering if the teen would ever realize that he hadn't meant to be there as Rhapsody would be. He sighed. Never had he felt so confused and yet so happy.
"Yer welcome. Any time, little miss."
Set in Prophecy, sometime in mid-novel.