by Amanda Fleet
I wanted to follow Mathas out of the room and demand to hear what he’d seen that suddenly made him doubt me so much, but Faran caught my hand, keeping me in the Great Hall. His other hand rested lightly on the dagger in his belt. Only when the Great Hall had emptied did he turn to me.
“We’d better train. And you’d better teach me some English.”
***
“Why did you hesitate?” I said as we walked towards the training rooms.
Faran glanced down at me. “When?”
“At the trial. Your father asked you if you thought I could beat a Lord Sondan-sized demon, and you hesitated before you answered.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know if you could, and I was under oath. I don’t know how strong Aegyir was when you fought him. I told the truth – your skills are not inconsiderable – but I wonder if Aegyir let you think you’d won.”
My pulse quickened and anger prickled my skin. “After everything Mathas said about what I did and why I did it, you still don’t believe me!”
“I do. But I don’t trust Aegyir. He would have known he was never in any danger of being trapped by you. Some of me wonders if he deliberately sent you back to The Realm, assuming you’d be hanged. If he becomes powerful enough to storm The Realm, we might not be able to stop him without all of our top Guardians, though Lord Father thinks Sondan would be strong enough to take your role.”
“Do you?”
“Think Sondan is strong enough? Maybe.”
I digested this. We reached the training room and Faran pushed the door open.
“Oh, I meant to ask you,” I said. “Why don’t you call him Lord Sondan?”
His face relaxed. “Because we’re best friends. Close friends usually give permission to drop the title. Lilja doesn’t call you Lady Aeron.”
He caught my left hand up and rubbed his fingertip along the middle finger. “I must get you another wedding ring. You’ve obviously lost the one I gave you.”
“What was it like?”
“A gold band. It had our names carved on the inside. As does mine.” He slipped his ring off to show me.
“That’s very romantic.”
He smiled and slid his ring back on. “Okay. Blade work.”
He tossed a sword in its scabbard to me. I caught it and drew the sword out, surprised at how light it was. I swished it experimentally. If I wasn’t missing the little finger on my right hand, the sword would have been balanced beautifully. But I had lost my little finger, and the blade clattered to the ground.
“Damn it!” I picked it up again, trying to figure out how to grip it better.
“What’s wrong?”
I showed him. If I gripped hard with the rest of my hand, I could hold it, but my hand tired quickly.
He screwed his mouth up. “Okay. Let me try to help you learn how to hold it.”
He stood next to me, switching his sword to his right hand. He flared his fingers, the sword held between his thumb and his palm. I copied him. Slowly, he curled his index, middle, and ring fingers around the hilt.
“Can you balance it with your third finger?” he asked.
“Don’t know.”
“Draw a circle with the tip?”
I did, and dropped the sword.
“Try again?” he said, picking the blade up and handing it to me.
Still no joy. I sighed heavily.
Faran stood behind me. “Balance the hilt with your palm and thumb.”
I did. He reached around me to fold my fingers around the hilt again. His chest pressed against my back; his cheek brushed mine; his spicy scent filled my nose. My heart fluttered, and I struggled to concentrate. His fingers lay directly over mine, and he rotated his wrist, making the sword-tip circle.
“Can you feel how I’m using my fingers to control that?” he said, his voice raspy.
Was he as distracted as I was?
“Um. Yeah.”
Actually, pretty much all I could focus on was his body tight against me, and how uneven his breathing was.
He changed to drawing figures-of-eight instead. “Feel the difference?”
“Mm,” I squeaked.
His breath dusted me as he chuckled. “Okay. You try.”
He let his arm drop, but didn’t move from behind me. I tried to control the sword, but couldn’t without his hand on mine.
I picked the sword up, taking the opportunity to step slightly away from him.
“Again,” he said.
If I managed to keep a grip on the sword, I had no dexterity. If I relaxed my hand to increase my flexibility, I dropped the sword.
I threw it across the room, frustrated. “I’m never going to get the hang of this. Teach me how to avoid being stabbed, without me needing to wield a sword. I can’t grip the bloody thing!”
“Okay.” He resheathed his sword and took the dagger from his belt. “Let’s start with a small blade.”
My eyes widened.
He grinned. “You’ll be fine. You’re protected by your leathers. I’d appreciate it if you could manage not to break my nose.”
“You’re safe. I can’t reach.”
His laugh filled the room, his eyes full of mischief.
“With a knife, you only get hurt if your attacker gets close to you,” he said. “So the trick is not to let them get close.”
He walked me through a couple of defensive manoeuvres before we tried them in real time. My brain was still somewhere else, and almost immediately, he pressed me against a wall, the point of his dagger resting on my chest.
“Am I distracting you?” he murmured, and poked his tongue into his cheek.
“Mm.”
His gaze dropped to my lips then swept back up to my eyes, his breaths warm and rapid against my skin.
“Don’t kiss me,” I said, even though more than half of me was curious.
“No?”
“No. Or you’ll get a Glaswegian version back.”
A frown flitted across his brow but he didn’t ask for clarification. Instead, he leaned in and touched his mouth to mine, resting some of his weight on the dagger. The blade sliced through my jacket as if it was made of paper. I gasped as crimson inched across my chest. Faran sprang back, and I collapsed to the ground, the sound of his bellow mingling with the rushing in my ears. I closed my eyes, surrounded by the pounding of running feet and barked orders. Searing pain pierced my chest, multiplying a thousand-fold as Faran pressed something to me and leaned hard.
14
I came around briefly – enough to open my eyes and see a stony-faced Faran still pressing something to my chest and a whey-faced Orian beside him. Faran met my eye and yelled, “Healer!” as I succumbed to the velvety black again.
The pain brought me back. A grey-haired, grey-bearded man I’d never seen before loomed into view. The healer? Someone had taken my jacket off, and the man unlaced my undershirt and drew it to one side so he could apply an ointment. It didn’t smell like salve and it hurt a million times more, leaving me coiling and writhing in agony. Lord Eredan stood by the door of the training room.
“Patch her up enough for her to stand trial,” he snapped, before marching out.
Faran stared at me, one hand cupping his chin, the other wrapped against his stomach, his body hunched. Orian crouched at my side, his face drawn. He shot a glance at his brother who shook his head. The grey-haired man stepped in to apply more balm and pain ricocheted through me. I whimpered, but both brothers just stared coldly at me. Faran turned his back.
***
I don’t know for how long I was drifting in and out of consciousness, but I heard people talking to Faran in urgent whispers each time I came around.
“You’re a gullible idiot! She betrayed The Realm before!” said Orian.
“I thought—”
“Well, you thought wrong, brother. She’s a traitor and a spy!”
Something tickled in the back of my brain, but it was so fleeting, it had gone before I could grasp it.
“Why else would she have this?” said Orian.
“She said she was trying to remember who everyone was.”
“You really are an imbecile, Faran. Stop being in love and start thinking!”
The room drifted away from me again. The next voices to reach me belonged to Faran and Lord Sondan.
“Faran, you always were a fool over Aeron. She was never worth it,” said Lord Sondan.
“You liked her well enough when we were first married,” Faran shot back.
“True,” Lord Sondan conceded. “But I can never forgive her for hurting you so much. She was supposed to have been banished for eternity, and yet, here she is! She’s barely been away.”
“She didn’t do—”
“At least tell me you gave her the hiding of her life when she dared to come back?”
“Sondan, she didn’t betray me—”
“Faran, her leathers just failed! Wake up, man! Or do I need to knock some sense into you?”
I tried to sit up, unsuccessfully. Faran’s gaze locked on me, his face contorting. Lord Sondan turned and stared at me, his lip curled.
“She’ll hang, Faran, and she’ll deserve to.”
I opened my mouth, but no words emerged. Exhausted, I flopped back, sweat plastering my hair to my forehead. The edges of my vision turned grey, and I sank back into oblivion.
When I came to fully, I was lying on the bed in our quarters, the thick quilt soft beneath me. I didn’t remember being moved there. Faran stood to one side of the room, his face grim; Orian sat on the end of the bed. Lord Sondan had gone. The wooden desk-chair from the outer room sat next to the bed, my blood-stained jacket draped over it. The metallic smell of blood made me feel queasy.
“Reagan, how are you?” said Faran, his voice strained.
Something was seriously amiss, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. “Well, I feel a lot better but you two look as if someone’s died.”
They shot meaningful glances at each other, saying nothing. I struggled to sit up, feeling wrecked. “What’s going on? What happened?”
Orian smoothed a hand over the covers on the bed, his conker-brown leathers almost glowing in the light from above. “You should rest.”
“Please tell me what’s wrong. Did the healer guy not manage to mend whatever happened? And how come you were able to stab me anyway, Faran? You said that the leathers would protect me.”
“The leathers protect true Guardians, Reagan,” said Faran, his tone harsh.
Pieces clanged into place. “You never call me Reagan. In fact, you’ve refused point-blank to call me that. Do you now think that I’m not Aeron and am not married to you?”
Was I about to be evicted as an Outsider to face Aegyir on my own? My heart rate climbed.
“What about being able to enter The Realm? My birthmarks? About the magic ointment hurting? And fuck me, that hurts! Don’t all those things point to me being a Guardian? To being Aeron?”
Faran rubbed the back of his head, shadows in his face making his cheeks seem even more hollow.
“Until these leathers failed, you all thought that I was Aeron,” I added. “Someone’s already tried to kill me on that basis. Who am I then, if I’m not her?”
“There’s no doubt that you’re Aeron,” said Orian. “Only doubt over your loyalties.”
My eyes locked on Faran. “Why are you calling me Reagan?”
He folded his arms into a barrier across his chest. Any trace of warmth he’d shown me so far, had gone. “Reagan is the name you insisted upon when you arrived here to spy for Aegyir. It seems you’re still the traitor you were. The leathers shouldn’t have failed.”
“Faran, I swear to you, I am not spying for Aegyir. I am not a traitor. I never was! Didn’t we have this argument, yesterday?”
He tossed my notebook on to the bed. “Explain.”
I stared at the book, disbelief welling. “You know what that is! They’re just notes to help me to remember who everyone is. You helped me with it!”
“They’re in code,” said Orian, leafing through the pages as if he needed to show me.
“Code? Faran, please? You know this is what Outside writing looks like! You’ve seen the newspapers.”
“Aegyir brought you here,” he said.
“Against my will! He was going to cut my hand off! I didn’t even know here existed!”
His dark green eyes bored into me. “Did he make you take his blood then? Or was it earlier?”
I threw my hands up, exasperated. “It was never! Aegyir killed people I loved. I am absolutely not in league with him.”
His words from the Council meeting rushed back. “If she betrayed me a second time, I’d kill her.”
“Faran, this is nonsense and you know it,” I said, my voice low.
“Orian. Please leave us.”
Triumph shone in Orian’s eyes as he left. Faran waited until the door was fully closed then turned back to me, his jaw hard, his body full of tension and sharp angles.
“Why did your leathers fail if you’re innocent?”
I drew in a long breath. “I don’t know. What if they’re just leather and not special Guardian leather? Why do they only work on Guardians, anyway?”
“Our bodies give off something that binds with something in the leather. I don’t know the details. If a Guardian is corrupted, it stops working.”
“Well, maybe my clothes weren’t soaked in the right thing.”
“They were made by the Senior Technician.” He pushed away from the wall and sat on the wooden chair next to the bed, moving my blood-stained jacket on to the floor.
“Mya? Then that figures.” Mya, the perky red-head who’d been in close conversation with Lady Morgan a couple of days ago and who would prefer Orian to be Elected Successor. Lady Morgan who was determined to be rid of me and who was now hanging out with Orian. Orian who wanted to be Elected Successor again and would happily undermine his brother.
“What do you mean?” Faran leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
How could I tell him what I suspected? I had no proof whatsoever. His eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
“I don’t have any evidence, but I saw Lady Morgan with Mya in the Courtyard and they looked as if they were planning something. I wouldn’t be surprised if Lady Morgan had asked her to sabotage my clothes.”
His brows rose. “Those are very serious accusations.”
“I know.”
“And why would Mya agree? Even if Morgan had asked such a thing.”
“Perhaps Mya doesn’t like me.” It was the truth but his stare made me squirm.
“Why?”
I breathed steadily. “I don’t know. Because I’m Aeron the traitor? Perhaps she’s just a patriot like the three goons last night and thinks she’s doing The Realm a service.”
Perhaps she wants to bring you down too so that her beloved Orian will be Elected Successor and she believes there’d be a chance of democracy with him. Maybe best not to say that, though.
His gaze didn’t waver for a full minute, then he shrugged out of his jacket. He slid his arm as far as it would go into the sleeve of my jacket and drew the blade of his dagger across it.
The leather parted like tissue paper.
Fire crackled in me. “It appears that you aren’t a true Guardian either, Elected Successor. Or, that my leathers have been sabotaged by the Senior Technician.”
Faran withdrew his hand from my jacket, his face thoughtful, and helped me put his jacket on. It smelled of warm leather and fresh perspiration. He grabbed my wrist and straightened my arm before drawing a blade slowly across it. The leather held. He sheathed the knife and tapped the communications button on his jacket, his eyes on me.
“Mya.”
There was a pause, then Mya’s voice came forth. “Yes?”
“Faran. You’ll report to me in the State Rooms in one hour.”
He tapped the button again, closing the connection before she could respond. The be
d dipped as he sat on the edge of it. “Why would Mya intend you harm?”
“Why does everyone in this damned place intend me harm? I’m not exactly top of everyone’s list of people to be nice to.” I took his jacket off and plucked at my stained top. The drying blood made the fabric stiff and scratchy. “Could you get me a clean undershirt please?”
He rummaged in the closet while I wondered how to get out of the blood-soaked shirt without ending up topless in front of him.
He held out a clean top for me. “Do you need help?”
I yearned to say that I didn’t. “Yes. Close your eyes.”
He helped me to peel off my top. I clamped an arm across my front as he threw the bloodied undershirt on to the chair.
“Turn your back?” I said. “Since you won’t close your eyes.”
Faran smiled, his face suddenly relaxed where a moment ago it had been hard as granite. “I have seen you undressed before, my lady.”
“Not me. And two minutes ago, I wasn’t your lady, I was allegedly a spy for Aegyir. So turn your fucking back.”
He rolled his eyes and turned away. “I hate to have to tell you, but I saw you when the healer was working on you.”
I pulled the undershirt on and laced the front, anger filling me. “Okay. You can turn around again.”
He sat next to me on the bed and picked my hand up, stroking my fingers lightly. His skin was still coated in my dried blood.
“How’s the pain?” he said, his voice soft.
He’d burned through the last of my fuse.
“Get out.”
His eyes widened, and he straightened, still holding my hand. “My lady?”
“Really? Was I your lady when I was screaming in pain? I was in agony and you stood over there and turned your back on me! Fuck off!”
He stared with uncomprehending eyes. “Why are you so angry with me?”
I blinked. “For real? Yesterday, you said you wanted to rebuild a life with me. You protected me; comforted me after I was attacked. Today, I was screaming with agony and you turned your back on me because you found it easier to think I was a spy than that I was innocent. You don’t get to call me a liar and a traitor and then act like everything’s fine! Get out!”