by Sharon Shinn
She tried to shake free, but his hand only tightened. “I am here to do the work of the Pale Mother,” she said, her voice even colder. “Stand aside.”
“I need a little attention from the Silver Lady,” he murmured. “Why don’t you share a little of her light with me?”
He pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth. She tried to struggle and she tried to scream, but the contest was too unequal. She had nowhere near the strength she needed to resist him. Her lips were bruising under his, her ribs were cracking in his hold, and she felt herself grow faint and dizzy. Still holding her, still practically devouring her, he forced her backward so that her spine was against the nearest building and the whole weight of his body lay upon her. She felt one of his arms uncoil from around her waist and his hand go groping at his belt, and she experienced a surge of panic so violent that she thought her bones might shatter.
Suddenly he flung himself off of her and went spinning to the ground. He had released her so abruptly that she nearly lost her balance and fell.
But no—he had not let her go. Someone had ripped him away.
Choking and breathless, she rested a hand against the wall and gaped at the scene before her. Her attacker leapt to his feet, fury in his eyes and a dagger in his hand, but he faced an opponent who looked every inch a fighter. The newcomer was sandy-haired and burly, not particularly well dressed but holding a sword that gleamed with loving polish. He had the very tip of it pressed under the other man’s chin, and he looked absolutely prepared to drive the point home.
“I don’t think you’re wanted here,” her rescuer said in a steely voice. “Go now, unless you truly want a fight.”
“I’m not afraid of a gutter boy like you,” the first man snarled. Indeed, if she was going by their clothing, Ellynor would guess her attacker was a merchant or a low-ranking noble, while the man who had come to her aid was a peasant or laborer. She was not sure how things worked in Gillengaria, but she couldn’t think an aristocrat would allow himself to be intimidated by a serf. “Stay out of a matter that does not concern you, or I’ll cut your throat right here on the street.”
Ellynor gasped, but her rescuer was unfazed. “You have no idea how quickly I can kill you,” he said in a calm voice.
“With a blade already at my throat? I suppose you could.”
The sandy-haired man stepped back, lowering his weapon. “Draw your sword.”
Instead, the noble flung himself at the other man, his dagger leveled to pierce the heart. Ellynor shrieked, looking around wildly for assistance.
But there was no assistance needed, or even time for help to come. A whirl of fists, a flash of metal, and the nobleman was on the ground groaning, his hand pressed to his shoulder and blood streaming down his shirt.
Ellynor knew enough about duels to realize he had not sustained a fatal wound. Still, she was a little shocked when the other man put a hand gently on her arm and said, “We should leave now. Before he gets up to try again—and before anyone comes to investigate.”
She gazed at him numbly. “But can we—should we—can we just leave him here like this?”
The man turned a contemptuous look on the nobleman, still moaning and cursing, trying to roll to a seated position. “He’ll be fine. Disabled, not really hurt.”
“Then we—”
A door opened down the street, and someone stuck his head out, looking curious. The fair-haired man pushed at Ellynor’s arm with a little more urgency. “Come on. We’ll talk someplace else.”
And because she was really too disoriented to think what she ought to do instead, she allowed him to whisk her around the corner, up the street, and into a large, low building that she belatedly realized was a stable. Just as, with a spurt of fear, she wondered if she might now be in an even worse situation, he turned and grinned at her.
“Now,” he said, dropping his hand. “What was that all about? I hope I didn’t come between you and a suitor you cared about. That’s not what it looked like, but sometimes—” He shook his head.
“No! I was lost and I stopped to ask him for directions and then he—he—well, you saw what he did. I thought he was going to—I was really afraid.” She paused to take a deep breath and try to quell some of her shaking. She was not usually so helpless and so easily overset. But she had never, ever, felt at such risk before.
This was why Torrin and Hayden would never let her out of their sight.
“Thank you so much for saving me,” she added in a calmer voice. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.”
She expected him to respond with a gracious You’re welcome or I’m glad I could be of assistance. But his voice was almost as stern as Torrin’s would have been. “What were you doing out by yourself in this part of town, anyway?” he demanded. “Especially if you don’t know how to take care of yourself?”
Her own temper rose. “I can take care of myself if people behave with some decency!” she shot back. “What kind of city is this, where men accost young women on the streets? Women who serve the goddess? He should be struck down by the Pale Mother!”
“Well, it didn’t look like she was about to intervene anytimesoon,” her companion said dryly. “If you can’t defend yourself, and if you don’t have the sense to stay where it’s safe—”
“I shouldn’t have to stay where it’s safe! People like him should be the ones who are kept off the streets, not me!”
Unexpectedly, he grinned at her, the expression so boyish that all her anger melted away. “I’d say you’re right about that,” he replied. “But since that’s not the way the world works, you’d better either get yourself an escort or figure out how to fight back.”
Reluctantly, she smiled in return. “I don’t expect to be walking unaccompanied around Neft too often,” she said. “In fact, probably never again. So I guess I don’t need to learn how to defend myself.”
He shrugged. “Never a bad skill to learn, anyway. Never know when trouble might come.”
“You certainly seem to know how to fight.”
That grin again. It made him look a little raffish. “Always did.”
“You probably enjoy it, too. Just like my brothers. They’re never happier than when they’ve got swords in their hands or their fists up to hit somebody.”
“Fighting’s a skill, and I’m good at it. Don’t you enjoy whatever skills you have? Don’t you work at getting better?”
Nonplussed, she stared at him a moment. She couldn’t remember anybody ever asking her that before. As a Lirren girl, she had domestic abilities that all women were expected to cultivate, and she had been praised from time to time for her cooking or her sewing. But no one had ever said, Ellynor, you set a stitch so beautifully! Practice your embroidery and you will be a fine seamstress someday. No one had expected her to have aspirations. Everyone appreciated her talent for nursing, of course, but it wasn’t something she had considered building her life around.
She had never really thought about having a calling, and dedicating her life to it.
Though now that she was a novice at the Lumanen Convent, theoretically she had found her calling. Theoretically her life would be devoted to the Pale Mother.
She shook her head, shaking the thought away. “I—I supposeI do,” she said. “And you’re right. Your ability to fight was a very useful one today.”
He held his hand out in a friendly gesture. “I’m Justin, by the way,” he said. “Am I allowed to ask your name?”
Not something they’d covered in convent etiquette, though Torrin most certainly would not approve. “Ellynor,” she said, and put her hand in his. His palm was warm and callused; she could feel the power in his grip, though he closed his hand very gently over hers. “I serve at the Lumanen Convent.”
Another grin. “I recognized the robes. Why do you think I’m being so polite?”
“You think you’ve been polite?”
A laugh for that, as if he was surprised. “Wel
l, a lot of people think it’s something I’ve never really mastered. Can I get you some water to drink? To wipe off your face? You might not want to go back to the convent looking like you’ve been mauled in the street.”
Suddenly self-conscious, she put her hands to her cheeks, to her hair. Oh yes, she could feel the disorder in her coiffure, and her face probably bore all manner of scratches and bruises.
And she was dying for a chance to wash away the taste of that other man’s mouth.
“Yes, please,” she said in a rather small voice. “Thank you. I wouldn’t want anyone to see me looking mussed up.”
He nodded, then called out what must have been someone’s name. “Delz?” He waited, but there was no answer. “I think we’re alone for the moment,” he said. “Let me get you some water and a clean cloth. Here—you can sit on that while you wait.”
She perched on the rough, unpainted bench he indicated and looked around. She was definitely in the town stables, though the room she was in at the moment held no horses. It was a big work and storage area, with bags of grain piled on the floor, pitchforks leaning against the wall, tack and bridles hanging from hooks. Justin had disappeared through two wide, half-opened doors that must lead to the stalls where the horses were kept. Ellynor could smell the distinctive odor of hair and manure and hay, and catch the occasional whinny and snort. One of the horses must have stuck his nose over his stall door, asking to be fed, because she heard Justin’s voice, low and soothing. “Not now, boy. Your turn comes later.”
Hard on the heels of his voice came his person, striding through those same doors. He had a white cloth in one hand and a bucket in the other.
“I just pumped it, so it’s clean enough to drink,” he assured her, seeming to read the expression on her face. “But I couldn’t find a mug. Can you use your hands?”
She looked down at her palms with some doubt. The fingertips were bleeding from where she’d tried to claw at her attacker’s skin, and she had dirt on both hands from catching herself on the building so she wouldn’t fall. “If I scrub them first,” she said.
He set the bucket down next to her and settled on the other side of it. “Here,” he said, dipping his own hands in the water and bringing them up in a rough cup. “I just washed mine.”
She bent her head down and sipped, unconsciously bringing her own hands up to hold his steady. Water seeped through his fingers and onto hers, then dripped down to make small dots on her robe. She thought she could taste soap from his hasty cleaning, and, under that, maybe even the flavor of his skin.
She drank till the water was gone and she was almost licking Justin’s wet palm. She could still taste her attacker’s brutal kiss.
“More?” Justin said.
She nodded. He scooped up more water, held his hands out for her. Again she fancied she caught the residue of soap and skin. Her chin was dripping when she finally looked up and smiled at him, dragging her sleeve across her mouth.
“Thank you.”
He smiled back. “You still look like an urchin.”
She laughed. “Well, let me clean myself up.” She glanced around. “Is there a mirror in here?”
“In the stables?” He snorted. “No. I can wipe your face for you.”
“I think I’d rather do it myself, thank you very much!” But she was laughing again. “Just give me that cloth and I’ll do it blind.”
He handed her the white rag, and watched her as she dipped it in the bucket and passed it over her face. It came away soiled with traces of grime and a thin smear of blood. Where had that come from? She dabbed at her lips again, and again the cloth came away stained with red. She envisioned her mouth, puffy and torn, and her hair, no doubt an utter disaster.
“I must look awful,” she said, sighing. “Anyone who sees me is going to know something happened.”
“Were you going to try to keep it a secret?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I think I just wanted to tell the story so that I didn’t seem quite so helpless and stupid.”
“Well, you might not be stupid, but a lone woman on the streets can be pretty helpless,” he said. “I don’t think the Lestra should be sending her novices out alone.”
For a moment it occurred to her to wonder how he knew the Lestra’s title, and then she supposed that everyone did. From what she could tell, most people in Gillengaria worshipped the Pale Mother; surely they would all know the details of convent life.
“Usually we don’t go out by ourselves,” she said, wiping her cheek again. “I was running an errand, and I got lost. Normally we’re in groups, and the guards are with us.” She glanced up and gave him a rueful smile. “I was glad to be out alone,” she admitted. “My brothers would never have let me walk through the city by myself! They’re so cautious and protective. I thought, ‘Finally! A chance to be free of everyone’s attention!’ ” She grimaced. “And then this happened.”
“Seems like your brothers might be right. Somebody should be watching after you.”
The tone was provocative. She flashed him a quick look to find him grinning again. “Do you have sisters?” she asked pointedly. “And is that how you treat them?”
Another laugh, but this one a little bitter. “I have sisters,” he said in a curiously flat voice. “And, no, I don’t watch out for them.”
“Are they older or younger? How many?”
“Three. Older.”
“Are you close?”
He shook his head and did not answer. Ellynor decided it might be a touchy subject and she probably shouldn’t pry. After a final swipe at her face, she turned her attention to her hair, putting her hands up to the back of her head. She’d hoped she could just poke the pins in place, but the knot was too loose. With a sigh, she pulled the pins free, and the whole long mass came tumbling down. She swept it around over her right shoulder and combed her fingers through it to straighten the tangles.
Justin’s eyes were fixed on the sebahta pattern dyed into her hair. Similar to Rosurie’s except that hers featured a sickle, rose, and bird design to mark her as being of the Alowa family. The dye was a rusty blond against the jet-black of her hair.
She felt a sudden unreasonable pang. Now he would know she was a Lirren girl; now he would know his life could be forfeit if he so much as talked with her for twenty minutes. All the novices at the convent knew her heritage, of course, but Ellynor had not thought to mention it to this young man. This Justin. Not that she would ever see him again, not that it mattered whether or not he knew who she was, not that she had expected him to come courting until he found out she was off-limits for any suitor except those sanctioned by her family. It was just that—despite the real terrors of the day—she had rather enjoyed sitting here talking to him, bridling at his scolds, laughing at his observations. She had rather liked him, and now he would recoil and walk away.
But he didn’t. “Your hair—that’s so beautiful,” he said. “What have you done to it? Why did you do that?”
So he didn’t recognize a sebahta pattern when he saw one. Beginning the braid with swift, sure fingers, Ellynor remembered that Astira hadn’t recognized it, either. No, nor had any of the other girls from the convent. It seemed Lirren customs were not so well known here across the mountains. Justin still had no idea who she was.
Her spirits rose. Ridiculous though that was.
“It’s just—a kind of decoration,” she said, stumbling over the false words. To deny the sebahta like this! And to feel so delighted as she did so! “Do you like it?”
“Yes. It’s striking. But you should wear your hair down all the time, so more people can see it.”
“Oh—it would be in my way. I wear it down on social occasions sometimes.” Weddings. Feast days. When she was safe among her family members.