The Silver Bracers (Lady Blade, Lord Fighter Book 1)

by Sharon Green

  "I'm not sure I believe the lack of hostility in your voice, but I'm coming in anyway," Traixe called through a very small crack, then opened the door wider to step inside. "I'm a man of unquestioned courage, and besides that I've had a long, full life."

  "Well, it looks like I was wrong," I said into his grin as he closed the door again behind him while watching me swallow at the brew in my cup. "Here I thought the enemy wasn't too likely to knock, but that's just what happened."

  "Please, Sofaltis, don't say that even jokingly, " he asked, actually wincing at the thrust. "No matter how it may look, your father and I aren't your enemies."

  "My Fist name is Soft and Gentle," I informed him, looking at him over the toes of my boots. My feet were crossed at the ankles and propped up on a very elegant, very expensive table, and from the way he glanced down and then quickly up, I was willing to bet that under other circumstances he would have commented. "If you expect to be answered when you talk to me, don't call me Sofaltis. She's someone else entirely, and has nothing to do with me."

  "How much of that brew have you swallowed?" he demanded, apparently finding it impossible to stick to the apologetic tone he'd started with. "You're expected at the Grand Feasting in a short while, and if you show up swacked your father will probably have you taken out behind the stables and taught the folly of overindulgence. He's in no mood to be kind and understanding right now."

  "Neither am I," I said with a shrug, deliberately taking another swallow. "Pass that word along to whichever poor soul my father gives that order to, and don't forget your condolences. You won't have another chance to offer them."

  "Damn it, I'd be the poor soul he gave that order to, and you know it!" he snapped, putting his fists on his hips as he stepped forward just a little. "Do you expect me to believe you'd draw on me? For any reason?"

  "Do you know what they call men who depend on friendship to keep them alive?" I asked, meeting the anger in his eyes. "More often than not, they call them dead. I'd probably be sorry afterward, if it's any consolation to you."

  "Probably sorry," he echoed, still angry but now in a different way. "That's really very effective. If I didn't know you so well, that deadly understatement would probably have convinced me. And telling me to use your Fist name. That's to make me forget who you really are, isn't it?"

  "That was to remind you of who I am," I said, beginning to get annoyed. "I'm the one with the sword and the pretty silver medallion, not the one in the gown with the vacant smile who says, 'Yes, Father, no Father, anything you like, Father.' If you remember that, Traixe, I won't have anything to be sorry about."

  "So you think you can best me," he said, this time folding his arms and smiling at me very faintly. "Are you absolutely sure about that? No doubts, no hesitations, just convinced?"

  "No doubt about it, you've got that deadly understatement part down better than I do," I conceded, returning his very faint smile. "As far as besting you goes, when is the outcome of a private fight ever that sure? The only certain part is something I am convinced about, because I know I'm good enough. I can force you to the choice of your life or mine. Is that unhesitant enough for you?"

  "Evon broil it, girl, what are we arguing about?" he demanded, his face suddenly drawn from the realization that I wasn't joking - or bluffing. "Do you really think I would face you with weapons? Or that any man of this household would? How did we end up talking about killing?"

  "That's what comes from associating with certain people who shall remain nameless," I answered, not any happier than he was. "If those certain people - or you - think I'm going to chain myself to a Flower for any reason at all, you and they are in for a rude awakening. I'm not being difficult, I'm flatly refusing, so if you want to avoid conversations about killing, forget about whatever you were sent here to say. And go away so I can get drunk in peace."

  "Sofaltis, you aren't being betrayed," he said in a gentle way, his eyes now reflecting hurt. "I didn't come here to tell you what you don't want to hear, I came to say your father is just as furious as you are. Would you rather sit here and swallow brew until you pass out, or would you rather try helping us to get out of this Evon-forsaken travesty of tradition and Law? We're going to fight to get out of it whether you help or not, but your efforts might make all the difference."

  "Efforts to do what?" I asked with a snort, completely unimpressed with his sincerity. "Am I expected to challenge him, or do I simply take him to bed and work him to death? Always assuming, of course, that he'd know what to do in bed, which I strongly doubt. Did you see the nerve of him? He actually tried to touch me!"

  "He - ah - pointed out to us that by betrothal Law, he has the right to do at least that," Traixe said, then waved his hand to keep me from interrupting. "Stop foaming at the mouth, the subject came up when your father tried to take him to task for the very thing you just complained about. It seems your … intended is unexpectedly taken with you."

  "I'll take him somewhere," I growled, pulling my feet down from the table. "And I don't mind telling you what I 'intend' doing with him. I'll start with letting out just a little blood, from his wrists, say, and then - "

  "And then you go on to guaranteeing that we all swing with you," he interrupted flatly, stating rather than arguing. "It was your father who registered the betrothal, which means that we're legally responsible for seeing that the marriage rites are performed - and also legally responsible if something fatal happens to the groom because the bride doesn't care for him. You'll swing for doing it, we'll swing for allowing it, and only Duke Trame will have all his problems neatly solved."

  "Then what do you expect me to do?" I demanded, slamming my cup down on the table before getting to my feet. "Are you suggesting I pretend to marry him, not seriously, of course, only as a joke, and simply keep the pretense going until he dies of old age or overeating? Do I look as though I'm in the mood for any sort of joke? If you stop to think about it, you'll realize I find considerably more appeal in the thought of hanging."

  "If you'll just listen to me for a minute, you might discover none of us has to hang," Traixe said, and if I hadn't known better, I almost would have thought he was finding the situation very funny. "We can't refuse to go through with a registered betrothal, but if the groom changes his mind it won't be our fault - or at least it had better not be. If you can show him - honestly - what he can look forward to with you as his wife, he just may decide the duchy isn't worth it. But just in case there's an inquiry later, everything you say and do has to be strictly true, an accurate example of what you're really like. No man could mind the real you, but Lord Kylin, now, that might be another story."

  Traixe finished up looking very innocent, but the gleam in his eyes was anything but. I hadn't had so much brew it was affecting me, but I still had the strangest feeling his amusement had a source other than what he had proposed against the Flower. Or an additional source. I couldn't think of anything it could be, but that didn't mean I was willing to ignore the suspicion.

  "You said that overblown joke was 'taken' with me," I finally tried, groping around to see if the suspicion had flesh and bones. "Flowers, almost to a - you'll excuse the expression - man, don't usually like women. Or real men. Or other Flowers. What could there possibly be about me that attracts it?"

  "Your father and I were discussing that very point," Traixe said, leaning down fast to take my cup of brew before I could pick it up again, and then draining it. "Ah, I needed that," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before replacing the empty cup. "No matter how long I've been with your father, I still don't feel comfortable drinking in his presence. Not that he's ever discouraged it, you understand, it's just something that I feel."

  "Help yourself, then," I returned with a shrug, deliberately folding my arms to show unconcern. "Plenty more where that came from, especially if I insist."

  "Soft and Gentle," he said, looking at me sourly. "I think Sweet and Reasonable would have been more fitting. Do you mind if I sit down, o
r will that start you considering sacking the castle?"

  He sat down in the chair to the left of the one I'd been in without waiting for my answer, which was very wise of him. At that point I was waiting for an answer of my own, and wasn't about to be decoyed into discussing other things.

  "All right, all right, the truth of the matter is … we're not sure," he grudged, looking up at me where I still stood. "Not only were we surprised at the way he reacted to the sight of you, we were just short of shocked when he defended what he'd done by insisting it was his right. The only thing we could think of was that Duke Trame is his father, and that might account for the difference. His brothers are certainly lusty enough, so maybe the seeds are just dozing in him ."

  "You certainly know how to choose the proper words and phrases to convince someone to go along with your plans," I observed, swallowing the urge to make a face in reaction. "So all you want me to do is encourage it while discouraging it. Also while being my own sweet self. Nothing to it. If I can't use my sword, I'll use my boot dagger."

  "You can't simply refuse to try," he said, clearly holding down annoyance. "What we want you to do is start out treating him the way you did earlier, but let him talk to you and get to know you. While he's being eager and what he considers charming, you make sure he understands exactly what he's getting in you. Let him get to know the Blade as well as the woman."

  "And if it decides it likes the Blade as well as the woman?" I asked, still extremely unhappy with their brilliant ploy. "If there's attraction involved there's always that possibility, but I can tell you right now what my final answer is and will continue to be: under no circumstances will I have anything to do with a marriage ceremony, not for anything imaginable. Have I made myself clear?"

  "You have a talent for making yourself clear," Traixe said, back to the sourness. "As long as you're willing to help us try, though, your father will be satisfied. And since you've been so generous as to share your thinking with me, I've decided to do the same with what I've come up with. Your father blames himself for what's happened, and although he hasn't said anything aloud, I'm convinced he means to order you to leave before the time of the ceremony if Lord Kylin still insists on going through with it. I can't begin to tell you how much trouble that will bring down on his head, but he'll find it the better bargain over betraying his daughter into something that would destroy her. He loves you, you see, and doesn't want to see you hurt. Do you want to freshen up a little before we go to the Grand Feasting? We still have a few minutes."

  I don't remember whether or not I nodded, but I did turn toward my bedchamber and a minute later was closing the door behind me. Traixe had accepted my departure without comment, so it was possible he didn't know what his words had done to me; for my own part, I felt the way I had that time in battle when someone had come at me from a direction I hadn't been expecting. I'd thought the blood I'd lost had taught me not to let that happen again, not to let anyone in any position get past my guard, but there I stood, bleeding again without a single blade having touched me.

  Once again only a single lamp was lit in my bedchamber, and its feeble efforts weren't quite up to letting me see myself clearly in my mirror. I put a hand to my face to convince my mind that that was really me I saw, the young Blade with brown hair, gray eyes - and the look of helpless devastation covering everything else. I'd been so calm and in control, so easy and assured over the decision I'd made - and now every bit of that was gone.

  Or almost every bit of it. I left the mirror to fall heavily into a brocade chair, then cursed under my breath when my sword hilt came back at me and jabbed at my side. There was no sword slot in that chair, not when it was meant for a lady's bedchamber, and that silly, unimportant little mishap suddenly blossomed into a major crisis. I leaned forward to put my face in my hands, elbows resting on thighs, but the situation was much too serious for tears.

  Traixe was sure my father was going to order me to dishonor him. Order me to it.

  What in Evon's name was I going to do?

  The dark behind my hands was very peaceful, but I wasn't fooled into thinking it was real. There was no such thing as peace, not this side of Home, and anyone who didn't understand that was a mindless idiot. While my father was insisting I obey tradition and the Law, I'd had no trouble flatly refusing; how was I supposed to continue with that when he was ready to order me to his dishonoring? How could I do that to him? And how could he do that to me?

  I sat back in the chair feeling the sharp edges of a shadow weapon in my flesh, but although I could reach it easily I couldn't draw it out of me again. If I'd turned around and walked away as soon as that marriage nonsense was mentioned, everything would have been fine; now if I walked away the blame would be my father's rather than mine, and he would not be denying that blame. To keep from betraying the daughter he loved, to keep from "destroying" her…

  How destroyed could a woman get being married to a Flower?

  "It would drive you crazy in no time flat," I growled as though in argument, but the contention wasn't too likely to hold up. That's what night houses were for, after all, and with a Flower named my father's heir, someone had to be around to run the duchy when its present duke no longer could. It wasn't much of a life to look forward to, but it was better than the one a normal marriage would bring, constantly disappointing though it would be. . . .

  "Broil it!" I growled as I got to my feet again. I'd almost had myself convinced, and the game wasn't even over yet! There were all sorts of decisions yet to be made, and none of them were the sort to be made without a lot of prior thought. I didn't want to bring hurt to my father, but committing myself to a lifetime of frustration just to save him from discomfort or embarrassment wasn't what I considered an equitable trade. Traixe's revelation had startled me and gotten me upset, but Blade training helps you snap back from that sort of thing in as short a time as possible. Nothing of a lasting nature had to be decided right that minute, not even if I had the sinking feeling I knew how I'd have to decide, so the best thing to do would be to put it aside. I still had a Grand Feasting to attend ahead of me - and a Flower to meet and do my damnedest to discourage. I walked purposefully to the door and pulled it open, and Traixe looked up when he saw me, then got to his feet.

  "That didn't take very long," he observed, inspecting me in a casual way. "It might have been a good idea to wear that gown I sent, just to push Lord Kylin off-balance, but at the very least you ought to leave your sword here. My Fighters and I will be with you, and Lord Kylin might - "

  "No," I interrupted, flatly and finally, meeting his eyes to show I meant it. "If you're afraid my being armed will be a temptation I can't resist, kindly grant me more self-control than that. I'll talk to that Flower of yours, but right now that's as far as I'm willing to go with it. Take it or leave it."

  "Evon take it, you've got more stubbornness than the rest of your family rolled together," he growled, some of my frustration finding a home in him. "Have it your way then, but don't expect it to be your way every time. The day will come when someone makes you do things his way."

  "Not without a sword, they won't," I came back, starting for the reception room door. "And at least we know the someone won't be the infamous Lord Kylin. It may be wearing a sword, but if it tries to use it it'll be too busy with its self-inflicted wounds to worry about anything else."

  "Sofaltis, you're still looking for a fight instead of thinking about helping," Traixe protested as he hurried to follow me to the door. "You've got to stop calling Lord Kylin an 'it.'"

  I opened the door and walked outside without answering, picking up my escort of Fighters as I passed them. Traixe sounded a growl of annoyance deep in his throat as he caught up to me, but he didn't add anything. He must have thought he was wasting his breath, but he certainly had no grounds for complaint. After all, I'd warned him what would happen if he called me Sofaltis.

  The feasting hall was usually more than spacious, with stone blocks, flagstones, and heavy wooden
beams surrounding the long boards, tall, wide windows and broad fireplace, but it didn't look the same that day. My father's colors of silver and green on the woven hangings were nearly obscured by all the people crossing back and forth in front of them, or milling around in front of them, or hurrying past them. The counts and barons guesting with my father were resplendent in their finery, their wives were even more splendidly turned out, the city people were almost their equal, and what seemed like every servant in the household moved around them, either with tidbit trays, pitchers, or piled-high platters for the tables. My father's kitchens had to have been preparing for days and days for that Grand Feasting, but his guests seemed more interested in the conversations they were holding than in what was being offered them.

  "It looks like the subject of the new arrival is making the rounds," Traixe murmured from my left, his eyes moving over the animated conversers. "I don't think I've ever seen the lesser nobility so chummily close to the merchants and city higher-ups before, but there's never been such complete agreement between them before. I'd say they're discussing tradition and Law."

  "I'd be happier if they were discussing assassination," I murmured back, looking around the way he was. "That's what's wrong with associating with the law-abiding."

  Traixe's grunt was more noncommittal than agreeing, but I wasn't really paying attention to him. My roving gaze had found my father, who stood not far from the main board with his special guest beside him - and no one else within speaking range except for servants. The crowding of the rest of the room didn't extend to their corner, something my father was more than aware of, to judge by the tightness of his expression. The Flower, though, seemed blissfully ignorant of the true state of affairs, and chattered on into his host's unresponsiveness while striking poses for the rest of the world to chatter about.