by Grace Draven
Jahna clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. When she could speak without gasping, she whispered back to him. “I don’t think she can stuff a painting under her gown and not be noticed, Sodrin.”
“Don’t be so certain,” he muttered.
As much as it unsettled her to admit it, Jahna missed Radimar at the supper. He’d left for the nearby village of Osobaris that morning after learning a trader had arrived from Ilinfan and the surrounding territories. “Always good to have current news,” he said before leading his horse through the gate and onto the main road that led away from Hollowfell. He hadn’t yet returned, and Marius had told both her and Sodrin not to expect the swordmaster until the next day.
He surprised them all with his early return just as they finished supper. He entered the hall at Uhlfrida’s urging, bowing to Lord Uzbec and his lady as well as the cousin who eyed him with the same avaricious intensity she’d reserved for the silver plates from which they dined.
Sodrin again leaned down to Jahna. “Forget great-grandfather’s portrait. Care to wager she’ll try and stuff Sir Radimar under her skirts?”
Jahna swallowed her wine the wrong way and sputtered. Her vision blurred, and she coughed into her napkin while her brother unhelpfully pounded her back. When she could breathe once more, she discovered, to her horror, every eye in the room on her, their expressions varying from concerned to awkward to revolted.
Mortified, she rose. “Please excuse me,” she whispered and fled the hall. The empty courtyard offered sanctuary and a welcoming blast of cold air that cooled her hot face if not her fiery embarrassment.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she raged under the moon’s indifferent light. “Stupid and clumsy and foolish.”
“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” a voice said. Jahna whirled and almost burst into tears at finding Sir Radimar behind her. His slow smile did nothing to soothe her furious self contempt. “Lady Uzbec’s cousin strikes me as sly, greedy and maybe a thief, but not necessarily stupid.”
Jahna couldn’t find it within her to smile back. “I wasn’t talking about Lady Uzbec’s cousin.”
His amusement faded. He came to stand beside her, and Jahna shivered, not from the cold, but from his nearness. He still wore the clothes he’d donned that morning, and bits of grass and mud decorated the hem of his cloak. Moonlight gilded his red hair silver and turned his green eyes black. Those eyes stared at the star-filled sky for a moment before settling their gaze on her.
“I know who you were talking about, Jahna, and as your teacher, I order you to stop.” Her eyebrows arched at the command. “So you choked on a little wine. Who hasn’t done just that thing more than a few times? It isn’t stupid or clumsy or foolish. It just is. A slip we’ve all made at one time or another.” His hard-hewn face sharpened in disapproval. “You are your most unforgiving critic. Why is that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because I feel I should excel at things that have nothing to do with the way I look.”
His sudden grip on her elbow startled a gasp out of her. He turned her to face him fully and traced the outline of the purple stain on her cheek with the tip of one finger. Jahna closed her eyes, lost to the sensation of that butterfly touch on her skin.
Radimar’s voice was a caress of its own. “The people who can’t see past this are the clumsy ones, Jahna. The foolish ones, and most definitely the stupid ones.” His words made her throat close and her knees quake.
He fractured her insides, broke the armor she’d built within herself to guard her heart and her emotions, and he did it without realizing it, offering up kindness on the sharp blade of impossibility. She was young, unsightly and falling hopelessly in love with a man so far beyond her reach he might as well have been standing on the moon instead of in front of her.
Jahna opened her eyes to stare at him and silently despaired.
~ 4 ~
One year later
The Master beguiled, Year 3838
“You’re ready to fight in the Exhibition.” Radimar placed the training sword he used into the rack of similar blades lining the wall and grabbed a nearby towel to wipe the sweat off his face and neck. Today’s lesson had been a grueling one, and he was pleased with his student’s progress. He turned in time to see Sodrin give a celebratory leap in the air and raise a fist to the sky.
He grinned at Radimar, unabashed at his impromptu cheering. “This is good news! Are you sure?”
Radimar began collecting the various weaponry and protective padding scattered around the room. Sodrin copied his actions, working from the opposite side. “You’ve worked hard to reach this point. Your father will be proud. Your sister is.”
Sodrin snorted as he tossed a pair of padded woolen pauldrons into a chest. “She’s harder to please than he is.” He accepted the goblet of water Radimar handed him with a heartfelt thanks. He emptied it of its contents and went to the nearby pitcher for a refill. “These skills may come in handy for more than the Exhibition or my future as a king’s guard, though I hope that won’t be the case.”
Radimar paused in raising his own goblet to his lips. “What do you mean?”
Sodrin’s buoyant expression turned grim. “Delyalda is a celebration for most of us but an ordeal for Jahna. However, Father insists she attend with us every year.”
A year had passed since Radimar joined the Uhlfrida household to train Sodrin. In that time, he learned a great deal about the family members and their relationship to each other. Jahna and Sodrin squabbled like most siblings, but their reciprocal devotion was unmistakable as was Sodrin’s protectiveness toward his sister. He’d seen first-hand what Jahna dealt with at the royal palace during Delyalda. “How often did you use your fists to defend her name?”
Sodrin glanced toward the door, as if to assure himself Jahna didn’t lurk there, unseen and unheard. “More often than she’ll ever know or I’ll ever tell.” He gave Radimar an approving nod. “You’re kind to her.”
It was a compliment, but Radimar didn’t want Sodrin to think a lack of cruelty constituted something special in a man’s character. His own mentor had often impressed upon him that such a trait should always be the rule, not the exception. “There’s no reason not to be kind,” he said. “She’s an admirable girl. The Archives will gain a fine chronicler once she leaves to start her apprenticeship.”
“What you’ve taught her will help her when she has to live in the capital and neither I nor our father is there to shield her. She’s brave to go.”
She was brave. Even knowing she’d likely face a barrage of mockery or shallow pity, Jahna pursued her goal of joining the Archives body of chroniclers with the passion of a zealot.
The previous winter Radimar had said he would teach her to save herself, and he’d made good on that declaration within the limitations of his role and hers. He’d done what he could to teach her basic maneuvers of defense and escape—foundation skills that any person learning a martial art could employ, be they armed or not. He knew from longtime experience, once as a student and now as a teacher, how empowering it was. Jahna might never be the fighter her brother trained to be, but if she had to face adversaries like the ones who pursued her in the palace, she had the choice to run again and hide or face them down. Radimar suspected if forced into such a situation now, she’d choose the second.
He left Sodrin to straighten the rest of the solar while he returned to his rooms to bathe and change. The cold in the hallway stole his breath for a moment after hours spent training in the warmer solar. A pair of shutters had escaped their latch and cleaved to the wall, allowing the brittle winter air inside to tease the torches.
Radimar crossed the corridor to close the panels and paused at the sight of Jahna hurrying across Hollowfell’s courtyard, clutching a satchel to her chest. Her cloak whipped around her legs and strands of her brown hair snaked out of the confines of her hood to flutter in the wind. Delicate snow flurries trailed her progress as if coaxing her to stop and spi
n as they did in the steady fall of lacy snowflakes that shrouded the yard.
There was a grace to her movements that had been lacking the previous year, along with a confidence Radimar credited to her participation in the morning training lessons as well as her own maturation. The girl was transforming into a woman, one whose intelligence and unquenchable thirst for knowledge gleamed back at him from the depths of her wide brown eyes.
He took his time closing and relatching the shutters. The way to her chambers took her down this corridor. They’d cross paths and he looked forward to conversing with her, as he always did. Her wide smile when she saw him sent a rush of warmth through him, chasing away the gooseflesh that pebbled the skin of his arms and back.
“Sir Radimar, I didn’t think I’d see you until supper. Are you and Sodrin finished for the day?”
She had scraped her concealing hood back, leaving her head bare and her features fully exposed. Even in the hall’s diminished light and half shadow, the purple birthmark staining the right side of her face was easy to see.
Radimar was glad she no longer wore the hood in his presence or pulled her hair forward to obscure the blemish, nor did she offer only her unblemished profile when she spoke to him. His months at Hollowfell and lack of reaction to her birthmark had eased her anxiety. She trusted him now not to mock her appearance, and had she asked, he would readily told her he was blind to it, just as her family and the longtime servants were.
He noticed, instead, the refinement of her face as she grew older, the way her cheeks slimmed and highlighted the curve of her cheekbones. Her jawline and nose were more defined as well, promising an elegance reflected in her own father’s features.
He gave her a brief bow as she drew closer and pointed at the satchel in her arms. “Did you manage to corner the last caravan of the season?”
She had warned him the previous day that she wouldn’t attend this morning’s training in favor of traveling to nearby Osobaris and meeting with a caravan master whose caravan was quartering in the village for a few days before heading for lower elevations to winter until the snows melted.
“I did,” she replied. “They’ve brought goods from as far away as the Idrith Peninsula.”
“And what did you buy?”
She grinned, eyes shining with excitement. “Two hours of the caravan master’s time. He’s from a place called Meruka where the remains of an Elder temple still stand and hold their magic. He even sketched the ruin for me.” She patted the satchel where the precious drawing was tucked away. “Would you like to see it later?”
“Of course. I’ll fetch you after a game of turni menet with your father. I promised him the chance to win back the monies he lost to me last night.”
She shook her head. “Father and his wagers. How many times did you beat him?”
“Four out of five.”
“Better you than me,” she said. “I refuse to play him anymore. He cheats.”
Radimar grinned. “I cheat better.”
They both laughed, and she gave him a wide smile before continuing to her chamber, throwing a warning over her shoulder for him to be careful her father didn’t trap him in his chair until dawn with “that infernal game.”
When he came to her rooms that evening, she ushered him in with a scroll in one hand and a tunic in the other. Two servants were with her, sorting through the chaos of clothes and writing supplies scattered across the bed and table, waiting to be packed for the annual journey to the capital for the Delyalda festival.
Radimar gawked at the tower of parchment books set beside an open trunk. “How long do you plan to stay in the capital?”
Jahna shrugged and passed a tray of capped ink pots to one of the servants. “Most of those are completed accounts for the Archives, including what you told me about Ilinfan this past year.”
No one could accuse Jahna Uhlfrida of idleness. “Does Dame Stalt know you’ve prepared this much material?”
“She knows I’ve been working hard.”
That was an understatement. “This is the work of three industrious scribes,” he said.
A worried frown line creased the smooth skin between her eyebrows. “Do you think she’ll be pleased?”
Radimar snorted. “I think she’ll be stunned. I can’t speak for the quality of your records as that isn’t my expertise, but in the year I’ve known you, you’ve proven yourself thorough in your studies, whether they be recording histories or training with me.”
Her relieved exhalation made him smile. “I’m so glad you think so. You are an amazing teacher, and your words mean a great deal to my brother and me.”
A telltale heat settled across Radimar’s cheekbones at her generous praise. At such times he wished he didn’t have the fair skin that came with being ginger-haired. He’d never been able to hide a blush.
Thankfully, Jahna didn’t notice, too busy with emptying her satchel in search of her prize. “Did you still want to see the sketche the caravan master drew for me?”
He stayed long enough to admire the sketch and ask a few questions about her plans with meeting the dames at the Archives during their stay in the capital before returning to his chamber, pensive and a little troubled.
Jahna had waxed enthusiastic about her future meetings with Dame Stalt and been resigned about the suppers and dances that constituted a majority of the Delyalda festivals. He recalled Sodrin’s remark that the celebration was more a trial for her than anything, and he resolved to do what he could to make it less so for her this year. During one part of their conversation—and he couldn’t even remember what she said—candlelight had illuminated her features in such a way that Radimar could easily see how she would look in a decade as a woman fully grown and settled into her own skin. The image had struck him with the force of a mule’s kick, and for a moment he lost the ability to breathe.
Jahna’s repeated calling of his name brought him back to his surroundings. He assured her he was well, just tired from the day’s training, and hurriedly excused himself from the room, the weight of her puzzled gaze and that of her servants heavy on his back.
He lay in bed that night, chasing elusive sleep as the image of an older Jahna teased his mind’s eye over and over. Radimar rolled to his side, punched his pillow, and did his best to exorcise her from his thoughts. Sleep didn’t come for a long, long time.
The trip to Timsiora was cold and uneventful, the long days on horseback broken by the much more diverting evenings when the Uhlfrida family and their servants gathered around their camp’s fire built for warmth and supper and shared an easier camaraderie than they did on the estate. However, the closer they got to the capital, the quieter and more withdrawn Jahna became.
She had returned to yanking incessantly on her hood or fiddling with her hair so that both covered the marked cheek. She also reviewed the tomes she had put together for review at the Archives, her lips moving soundlessly as she read and re-read her writings, eyes tracking over the lines of script, pausing sometimes as a scowl bloomed across her features at some word she regretted using or a description that no longer pleased her.
On the last day of their travel, Radimar slowed his horse until Jahna caught up to him on hers. “I think you worry overmuch,” he said abruptly. “You aren’t approaching Dame Stalt as a prospective teacher but as an apprentice. She’s already shown interest in you, so much so that she sought out your father last year to see if he was agreeable to you pursuing the path of a king’s chronicler.”
Jahna huddled deeper into her cloak, whether from cold or anxiousness, he couldn’t say. “It isn’t Dame Stalt that worries me. King Rodan demands all noble families attend Delyalda. I dread it every year. I wouldn’t go except that being on your deathbed is the only excuse he’ll accept for not attending.”
“I can keep you company when I’m not preparing your brother for the exhibition bouts,” he offered.
She gave him a wan smile. “That isn’t necessary, though I’m tempted to take you up on your offer
. I think if I split my time between my room and the Archives, all will be well.”
He didn’t bring it up again but resolved to do what he could to make the festival the entertainment it was supposed to be for her and not a gauntlet to run and survive to its ending.
That resolution was put to the test when they arrived at the palace, settled into the suite of rooms Lord Uhlfrida once again paid a small fortune to the royal coffers to reserve, and went their separate ways—Uhlfrida to meet and drink with his fellow courtiers, Radimar to the royal training lists with Sodrin, and Jahna to the Archives with her packed trunks of precious manuscripts.
Uhlfrida joined Radimar and Sodrin at the lists later in the afternoon. The sky was clear for the moment, the clouds of snow breaking apart to reveal an anemic winter sun hovering low on the horizon as it prepared to end its very short journey. Night at this time was long, with the longest darkness to come in a week. By then, the festivities would be at their wildest and most frenetic, with the capital near to bursting with people drunk on wine, dancing, brawling and sex.
Radimar signaled to Sodrin that his father had arrived, and both men paused in their sparring to make their way to where Uhlfrida watched the king’s guard spar with each other. His shrewd gaze took in Sodrin’s perspiring face, the dirt-scuffed clothing and occasional smears of blood from his sparring and wrestling with the swordmaster.
Radimar knew he didn’t look much better. They had trained hard through the day, starting before the feeble dawn had even broken. He didn’t appreciate the interruption. Familial visits like these tended to distract his students enough that it took an hour or more for them to refocus on their lessons. Still, Uhlfrida wasn’t in the habit of interrupting training, and Radimar wondered what had brought him to the lists.