The pounding of footfalls echoed behind me as if in answer, and I turned just in time to get smacked across the middle with Toscar’s blunt practice blade. “Damn you,” I gasped.
“Here.” He tossed me a blunt blade of my own, and I barely had time to heft its weight before he swung at me.
I managed to block him, and then he swung again, so quick that I leapt back to give myself an extra instant to catch the rhythm. It had been so long since I’d faced anyone besides imaginary opponents. Cedric at the embassy was my last real practice, and he was good but predictable once I knew his fighting style. Toscar was anything but predictable, and I found myself beaten back to the edge of the floor with the harsh ringing of our blades. He chuckled again. That smug bastard.
I whipped my sword with such force that it hissed through the air. He stumbled a little as our blades met, my sudden force taking him off his guard. My greater strength--likely the only greater quality I had in this match. My bold words that the one thing I’d learned from Father was how to handle a blade mocked me now. I hadn’t learned a quarter of what Father knew about swordplay, and it would cost me my life. Unless I fought with every ounce of will I possessed. I snarled and lunged. My arm twisted back and forth like a snake as I jabbed my sword point toward his chest, then his shoulder, his arm, his stomach, anywhere I could reach. He countered my moves smoothly, our swords clanging in a rhythm to rival cymbals in an orchestra.
“You know, Safire can threaten all she likes, but as long as I leave you alive, she’ll never slay herself. If I crippled you, she’d nurse you till her heart gave out,” he said, sibilant as any out-of-breath serpent.
I swallowed and tried to ignore his words, tried to take courage in the fact he was already breathless. He’d use my quick temper against me if I let him. All swallowing did, though, was remind me how thirsty I was. In a regular practice, we would have both had the chance to drink water beforehand, but Toscar had done everything he could to gain the advantage, hadn’t he? Dishonorable whoreson . . . suddenly his blade struck my shoulder. I ducked with a curse and tumbled to the floor in my haste. Quickly I rolled and gained the distance from him and momentum I needed to spring to my feet. He jumped toward me, ready to rain blows on my head.
I sent his blade flying with a sharply angled counterblow, and he almost let go of the hilt. Almost, but not quite. I dodged around his left side, hoping he would turn and be blinded by the windows. But he knew that trick--this was his territory, and he’d likely used the same move himself many times. He turned in the opposite direction from me and met my blade from an unexpected position.
I stumbled, then whirled around so fast that I caught him with his sword raised. I hit his belly with the length of my blade, and he grunted, his hand instinctively dropping to cover his middle. I hit his stomach again, and he groaned. He was slow bringing his blade around to parry my third blow, and I got in a cut to his shoulder before I leapt back from his sword. I let him chase me all around the salon then as I ran. I hadn’t had the space to run like this since the night of my capture, and a wild joy filled my lungs at the feel of my muscles stretching and responding to my will.
“Do you always turn tail?” he panted as I went by him, and I realized he had stopped chasing and was letting me tire myself out while he rested.
“Just catching my breath,” I retorted as I broke my run in mid-stride and charged toward him. Rather than tiring me, my race around the floor had flooded my veins with liquid fire. I felt ready for anything.
I swiped my sleeve across the sweat beading on my brow, then lunged from that position, my arm so high that the point of my blade was inches from his right eye. He sprang to the side, and we circled each other, blade tips almost touching.
“Tsk, tsk, Merius. Aiming for a man’s eye? That’s grounds for dishonorable dismissal from the salon.”
“You’re one to talk of honor, you backstabbing bootlicker. Or should I say slipper-licker?”
His customary nasty chuckle deepened to a real laugh. “The more we push, the more you and Safire reveal your barbarian upbringing. Though I must say I can understand why you’d want to blind me, after I witnessed Safire’s barbarian side this afternoon. I bet she‘s a ripe tumble.”
“It’s crude and low, barbarian in fact, to talk of a man’s wife that way, my lord,” I said through my teeth.
“Have you ever forced her?” he asked as if speaking of the weather. “She seems one who’s even sweeter forced, all claws and teeth and snarls outside but hot and slippery as oiled bathwater inside.”
It seemed as if the throbbing veins in my temples finally burst and sent blood streaming in my eyes and ears, as all I could see was pulsing scarlet and all I could hear was a low roar. I lunged blindly toward where I thought Toscar stood, some distant Merius observing me and yelling what a fool I was being. My muscles acted on the instinct of pure, wordless rage, heeding no distant voice of reason.
When the blood left my eyes and I could see again, Toscar’s face seemed oddly horizontal, as if he were lying down in midair. I felt the sun warmed, smooth floor beneath the damp linen of my shirt, and I knew then I lay on the floor and Toscar’s face was at a strange angle because he stood over me. Some downward pressure pinned me in place, and when I looked, I realized that he had his foot on my middle. I tried to roll away but his boot heel dug into my stomach, bruised from his initial attack, and I groaned.
“There are twenty-two queen’s guards in this chamber with us, Merius. Do you realize that?”
I glared up at him, sweat burning in my eyes. “I didn’t have time to count.” Then I tried to spring away, only to be rewarded with a kick in my side that made me want to curl up and retch.
“Move again, and I’ll kick you till you piss blood,” he said calmly. “See, even if you manage to hurt or kill me, you’ll have twenty-two swords in you before you ever leave this chamber.”
“You’re the sort to hide aces up your sleeve when you play cards. That‘s what we Cormalen barbarians call cheating, Lord Radish.”
“Be that as it may, you can only fight the odds so long, Merius. I’m offering you a chance here.”
“A chance at what?”
He shook his head. “I do hope you’re being deliberately obtuse. A chance to withdraw your challenge . . .”
“Never.” I spat on his boot for emphasis. Oh hell, what had I just said? What had I just done? My stiff-necked, instinctive pride would get me killed and leave Safire saddled with the aftereffects of a severed mind bond, whatever those might be.
Toscar slowly grinned as if he could sense my thoughts. “Hotheaded fool. Your father will live to see you snuffed before him yet, and it’ll be your own doing--and his, for not disciplining you better.” He kicked me even harder this time, leaving me to double up on myself as he turned and strode for the door. I watched the up and down flicker of his boot heels, felt the rhythmic echo through the floor and in my gut as if he kicked me again with each footfall. I would kill him. I had to kill him. Far be it for me allow such a demon to roam the earth--my existence could only continue if his did not.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The sharpness of turpentine jarred me from the stupor of pain as the guards escorted me into the chamber and pulled the blindfold from my eyes. Safire and Korigann stood before an easel near the largest window, bottles of mediums and small containers of pigments arranged on the broad windowsill beside them.
“Merius,” Safire said, dripping brush in hand as she took a step toward me. Bright reds and golds splattered across her smock, even a swatch of orange down one cheek. She reminded me of a naughty child let loose with her father’s paints, so free of artifice that I ached inside for her.
“Keep on with your work. Is the bath ready?” I said.
“The servants just left. If you give me a moment, I’ll rub your back.” *You feel so tense it hurts.
“Much as I’d like that, I need some time to myself to catch my breath.”
She nodded and returned to the pa
inting, Korigann and her bowed together over the canvas as if they prayed it to life. I shut the door of the privy chamber, shed my clothes, and eased myself into the steaming bath. I sighed at the hot water, almost too hot to bear. At least they hadn’t stuck us in an ordinary prison cell, where there would be no baths or servants and only fleas and rats for company. I sank deeper into the bath water until it covered all but my head, my body forgetting its bruises in the soft warmth. I almost drifted to sleep, sitting there. My brain, however, was not so easily calmed. The inconsistency of our surroundings, how one moment we could order servants around and the next moment be dragged off blindfolded to God knew what fate, puzzled me. We were little better than royal playthings, really. I started to scrub my hair with the soap, my hands so violent that my scalp tingled.
“Merius?”
I jerked my head around toward the partly opened door where Safire stood. I hadn’t even heard the door latch click. We considered each other for a quiet moment until I blinked at the sting of soap in my eyes. I plunged my head under the water. When I emerged, I started, for Safire’s face hovered over the edge of the tub like a lovely moon, steam from the brazier kettle smoothing the points of her features. She reached for my shoulder, and I swatted her away.
“I just want to be alone.”
Her eyes flared, the softness dissipated. She stumbled to her feet. “Pardon me for being concerned--you’ve been in here an hour, and not a peep from you, not even a stray thought.” She stalked toward the door.
“An hour?” I realized then the bath had turned lukewarm, and I grabbed the kettle from the brazier and poured some boiling water out with a hiss.
“Yes, Merius, an hour,” she threw over her shoulder, her hand on the latch. “I thought maybe those fiends had given you poison and you passed out in the bath or something.”
“He slaughtered me, all right? Is that what you want to hear?” I threw back, hardly aware of what I said as I started to shake.
She returned and knelt beside the tub, reached out her hand to knead my shoulder, my neck. I tried to shrug her away, but she ignored me, her aura mingling with mine in a gentle purple and silver haze, so gentle that I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t want her to be gentle with me. I wanted her to be mad.
“Damn it, witch, I told you to leave me alone,” I yelled.
“Shh, shh, love,” she murmured. “And you’re already mad enough at yourself for both of us and Mordric combined. Lord above, you’re hard on yourself sometimes.”
I swallowed and let her keep rubbing my back. No words, no thoughts even passed between us, just silence and then a soft splashing as she ran a washcloth over my skin.
I couldn’t have said how much time passed until we heard Korigann’s knock at the door. Five minutes, perhaps, although it could have been another hour. Or two. Odd how time did that--sometimes the moments went by so fast that I would swear someone had moved the hands of my pocket watch forward, other times so slow that I would swear my watch spring was broken. This moment with Safire was one of those that was neither fast nor slow but outside of time altogether. So when Korigann poked his head around the door, I felt as one disturbed from a trance, befuddled at the sudden awareness of physical existence.
“Pardon me, but I wanted to let you know I was leaving.”
“Good night, then,” Safire said. “Thank you so much for your guidance today, and not just with the paints.”
His face relaxed into a smile. “You’re quite welcome, my dear. Good night to you both.” He started to withdraw.
“Wait,” I said. “Can I ask you something, sir?”
“What is it, Merius?”
“Have you ever watched Toscar at practice?”
“Only a few times.”
“What kind of fighter is he, in your opinion?”
Korigann shook his head. “I wish I could tell you, but I know so little about swordplay. I can tell you what kind of man he is, but I think you already have as much knowledge of that as I do, if not more.”
“A dishonorable cheat who’ll take every advantage?”
Korigann’s smile held an edge this time. “Especially when facing Mordric of Landers’s son. He hates your father, Merius. Please don’t underestimate that.”
“I won’t.” I glanced down at my hands, the skin crinkled from the water, and swallowed. My father‘s hands--I hoped. I needed his hands to survive this fight. Then I looked back up at Korigann. “Thank you, sir.”
“Good night then. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Good night,” Safire and I said in the same breath as the door closed behind him. She shed her smock and shift then and climbed into the bath with me. I poured more water from the brazier kettle into the bath. Steam hissed up with a scent of sandalwood and bath oil. Then I braced my foot against the bottom of the tub and shoved myself back. Water splashed over the side, and Safire covered her eyes.
“Merius--if you move like that one more time, there’ll be more water on the floor than in the tub,” she exclaimed. "How can you fight Toscar anyway?"
“Shh, don’t think about that now.” I took the washcloth from her and ran it over her breasts, her soft belly, the arcs of her hips, her body more rounded and ripe in the wake of pregnancy. She sighed and leaned back against me as I lazily trailed the cloth between her thighs.
“We might not get out of this, you know, if you go through with that duel,” she murmured then, her eyes closed.
The washcloth slapped dully against the water as I threw it down. Then I stood with a great sloshing and clambered out of the tub, shivering violently. They hadn't even left us any towels, apparently worried Safire would try to cover herself with one.
“Merius?” She hooked one elbow over the side of the tub, her chin resting on her forearm as she watched me, her eyes unreadable.
“I have to kill him, Safire, or die in the attempt. What don’t you understand about that?” I paced around the tub, rubbing my hair with my hands until it stood on end.
“The part where you might die. Why are you doing this? You have nothing to prove.”
“I’m not proving anything. I’m ridding the world of a rapacious, slipper licker son of a bitch.”
Her brow furrowed. “Did you call him a slipper licker?”
“I figured it was more accurate than boot licker,” I muttered as I crossed my arms over my chest.
She smiled and glanced down with half-lidded eyes, as if overtaken by some secret amusement. “Will you come back to the bath, Merius?”
I shook my head. “You don’t understand. You weren’t in the salon today. You weren’t there the night I was captured. If I don’t face him in this duel, I’ll never again get the chance to fight him on my own terms. I‘d be little better than a whipped dog, little better than Whitten.”
She flinched at the mention of Whitten but pressed on with her argument, the stubborn witch. “But you made the challenge before we realized how powerful the mind bond is. Surely that changes the circumstances? It’s no slur on your honor to be sensible.”
“You still don’t understand. He means to kill me, Safire. Even if this duel never happens, he still means to kill me. He’ll find a way, duel or no duel.”
She bit her bottom lip, staring at the puddles on the floor as if she somehow divined our future there and saw nothing good. “Please come back to the bath. I’m cold without you.”
I poured some water from the brazier kettle into the bath. “There--that should warm you up.”
I set the kettle down with a clang and strode into the main chamber. I crawled into bed. The duvet slid against my body, a weight keeping me from flying into a thousand slivers of rage. All I could see on the back of my eyelids was the silvery flash of blades clashing in the dark. I groaned as an invisible band tightened around my temples, splitting my skull as if it were a hazelnut.
Cloth hissed, and I cracked my eyelids. “What are you doing? Get on the other side of the bed. I don‘t want you near me right now, witch.”
&nb
sp; “I told you I was cold without you,” Safire said serenely, her voice muffled as she burrowed under the duvet beside me. I cursed and started to roll over, away from her, when I felt the smooth velvet of her lips, the wetness of her wicked tongue somewhere I couldn’t ignore. Every muscle in my body suddenly loosened with a surge of heat in my veins, and I fell back with another curse and let her have her way.
When she straddled my hips and leaned down to kiss me, I put my hand over her mouth before it touched mine and met her gaze. “You should know that nothing you do will keep me from fighting him, sweet.” I lowered my hand.
“Stubborn man,” she murmured, then kissed me. I groaned, feeling a flame rise within, a wonderfully excruciating heat that tingled through the very marrow of my bones. I grabbed her and rolled her under me, and we slipped sideways into the ongoing dream between us, the sweet eternity of our fiery joining.
Later, as we lay side by side, I took one red curl and twined it around my finger, then untwined it, then twined it all over again, over and over again as I watched our auras twining together in their endless dance of light around the bed.
She sighed. "I could go to sleep right now, but I see they left us dinner while we were bathing. We should eat something before it gets cold." She rose then and padded back to the privy chamber to retrieve her shift, the firelight flickering over her hair. She hummed a lullaby to herself, the same wistful little melody she had hummed to Sewell a few times. My breath caught. I swiftly got out of bed and headed toward the table where dinner was concealed under the ubiquitous silver dome. This damned mind bond. I didn’t want to be her dark mirror, reflecting her pain like a blemish she didn’t realize she had until she saw her reflection.
I lifted the dome. Hmm, some kind of marinated fowl, foreign vegetables like peas still in their pods, rice--Numerian food. Perhaps they were giving a banquet to honor the rebels--I wouldn’t put it past Jazmene to be so bold. I tasted the glaze on the meat--honey and curry, sweeter than what I was accustomed to for meat, but still good. Then I bit into a square yellow chunk. Sweet, so sweet it made its own syrup in my mouth.
Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 56