The Edge of the Blade

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “What do you know of shiny girl things?”

  “I may not be a royal by-blow, but I did live at the seat of the High Throne of the Twelve Kingdoms for years. I have eyes in my head.”

  He made a noncommittal sound, contemplating me. “What do you win, then, if you’re proved correct?”

  That took me aback. I didn’t have anything I wanted to win—except for this woman I’d never met to have something of the chance I’d had, to make her own way in the world. Whatever that would take. If necessary, I’d find a way to help her do it. That fell within my skill set, most likely. But I found it difficult to believe that she would have zero options—that had to be more of Kral’s rut-brained thinking. “What do you want if I lose?” I countered.

  We eyed each other, Kral similarly unwilling to put claim to anything. Too much lay between us, our time together too short to predict what we’d want from the other, should the bet ever be resolved.

  I spoke into the uneasy silence. “How about we each agree to a favor, to be claimed at any point in the future?”

  He raised his brows at me, his face free of surliness for once. “A great leap of faith, for both of us.”

  “That’s what makes it special. We commit equally . . . and trust that the other won’t ask something we can’t give. Or won’t want to.”

  “It seems to me that we’re both people who tend to be ruthless in going after what we want. Why wouldn’t we exploit this kind of advantage over the other?”

  “I don’t know.” I felt a little wild, contemplating it. A great advantage, indeed. A little thrilling, too. “But I’m game if you are. It is a challenge, after all.”

  “Done,” he replied. And spit in his hand.

  Danu save me from Dasnarians.

  11

  In a gesture of magnanimity, Kral arranged for me to have a proper bath, albeit in a fairly small tub that two of his men hauled in and filled with hot water from the galley. Still, it was Dasnarian sized and so big enough for me to soak in it—utter bliss.

  I’d grown up bathing in snowmelt mountain streams and progressed to snatching dips in whatever body of water lay convenient to the campaign trail. Taking a real bath in hot water always implied the safety of home to me. A dangerous thought, as I couldn’t fall into being comfortable around the Dasnarians, particularly Kral.

  But it was nice while it lasted.

  I was toweling myself dry when Kral joined me. “Good,” he grunted, stripping off his bloodstained clothes. “I’ll use your water.”

  “You sure you don’t want fresher and hotter?”

  “No. A Dasnarian warrior doesn’t need such things. We’re made of sterner stuff than that.”

  I rolled my eyes at his back and refrained from commenting. Witness the dramatic growth of my diplomatic skills.

  “There’s some perfumed lotion at the back of the clothing cabinet,” Kral suggested, squinting at me as he stood—he was much too big to be able to sit in the tub—and soaped his hair.

  “Are you saying I stink?” I wandered over to rummage through the cabinet anyway. Perfumed lotion, huh? Speaking of girl things.

  “No.” Kral had that tone, the one that emphasized how patient and even tempered he could be. Ha! “But I do like the scent.”

  I found the squat glass jar, uncorked it, and sniffed. Kind of like an evergreen forest, but with sweeter elements, too. Something like the cinnamon pastries they made in Elcinea, something else I didn’t know. At least it didn’t have the cloying density of the pink rose unguents the followers of Glorianna used far too liberally. Still. “Anyone would be able to smell me from a distance, maybe even leagues, if I’m upwind.”

  Kral stepped out of the tub, sheeting water on the floor, crouched and dunked his hair to rinse it. A fine sight, with his thighs and buttocks flexing, a glimpse of his man jewels between. I’d never shared quarters with a man this way, but I began to perceive the many advantages. Kral grabbed a drying cloth and rubbed it over his face, then gave me a look. “Are you planning any stealth missions in the near future?”

  “You never know,” I retorted. But I dropped the towel and took my time smoothing on the lotion, enjoying his attention. I liked my body just fine, scars and all, and it served me well as long as I took care of it. Kral, though . . . somehow his regard made me relish my curves, the softness of my skin. Danu help me, I wanted to smell pretty for him.

  “I have dinner this evening with my officers.” Kral, with one last hot survey of my nakedness, moved to the cabinet and pulled out one of the folded cloths. “I’d like you to join us.”

  Ugh. I must have made a face to match, because he laughed, running a big hand over my skull, smoothing my short hair, then handed me the cloth. “Call it practice.”

  I had a bad feeling about this, unfolding the length of crimson silk. Not Kral’s deeper red signature color, but close. That’s all there was to it—a long length of nearly sheer silk. “This counts as clothes?”

  “Yes. Female clothes.” Kral had gotten out the washbasin, dipped it in the bathwater, and set it next to a razor.

  “I have zero idea how to wear this. I’m thinking like a big bandage or a funeral shroud. I’ll just wrap it around myself until it’s all used up and tie a knot, yes?”

  He came over and took the silk out of my hands. “I can help. Pay attention.”

  “It’s clothes, not like learning to read and write Dasnarian.” I paid attention anyway, watching as he expertly wound the cloth snugly around my torso, letting it drape more loosely on the outer layers, finishing with a long piece that swept over my bosom and trailed dramatically over my shoulder and down my back. “Dressed many women, have you?”

  He grinned, full of sexy, wicked mischief. “I’ve undressed plenty. A man learns.”

  I could just imagine. The outfit definitely felt . . . weird. Not bad, necessarily. Almost like wearing nothing at all. Aside from being unusually snug around my midbody, the silk provided a fair amount of range of motion. I tried a few of my favorite sword-form movements, satisfied with the freedom the silk afforded. “You realize, however,” I told a rapt Kral, “that an attacker’s weapon would go through this like I’m wearing nothing at all.”

  “This is not normally a problem for women,” he admitted. Ironic, that. The men armored themselves like tortoises set to bury themselves in the mud to last out the dry season and the women went virtually naked—but it was the men who thought they had all the thick skin and bravery. Kral trailed a hand over my one bare shoulder, down my arm, then to my waist and over the slight curve of my hip. “You look ravishing,” he murmured. “You could be a Dasnarian lady. If you had different coloring and longer hair, of course.”

  “I’ll have long hair at the same time it turns blond and my skin goes peaches and cream.” I moved away, gathering my knives from the bed where I’d left them while I bathed—and the two from the floor by the tub. Finding places to secret them in that outfit posed a challenge, but not an insurmountable one. The drape of the lower part allowed for thigh and ankle straps. The bare shoulder meant my arm sheath showed, but the delicately tooled leather made it decorative enough.

  When I finished, Kral shook his head from his observation point on the lone chair. “Rather less like a Dasnarian lady now.”

  I cocked a hip and grinned. “Better, then. What do I do for shoes with this getup?”

  “Dasnarian ladies go barefoot. Many of them wear lovely ankle and toe jewelry. I’m sorry I don’t have any for you.”

  Barefoot, huh? Well, I’d spent the lion’s share of my early life running barefoot in all weather; I supposed I could relearn. Time to toughen them up again, apparently. “I think I can live without foot jewelry.”

  “Good. Will you shave me?” Kral cocked his head at the bowl and razor.

  “Is this a handmaiden thing?”

  “Less sexual than practical. I never seem to get the shave as close as another can.”

  I stood in front of him, between his long, splayed leg
s, and dug my fingers through the silky hair. “I like the beard.”

  “It itches. And it’s not appropriate for—”

  “Let me guess. For the general of the Dasnarian military and an Imperial Prince of the Royal House of Konyngrr.”

  His lips that I loved so well twisted in a rueful, wry smile. “Exactly. Though our sail will take an extra day or so, we’ll be in more trafficked waters soon. I need to be presentable.”

  “I’ve never shaved a man before.”

  “You’ve a deft hand with a blade; I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

  I shrugged for that, checking out the razor, and followed his instructions for soaking a cloth in the warm, sudsy water. Kral tipped his head back, gaze on me as I brought the finely honed edge to his throat. I caught his eye. “So much trust.”

  “You made a vow.”

  Interesting. Working carefully, I found the ideal angle, bringing the gleaming razor just so along his golden throat. Indulgent, even, to follow the ridges of his corded neck, the hard bulge of his larynx, the etched line of jaw, for once relaxed and not set in aggravation with me. As the light hair fell away from his fine cheekbones, the tanned, smooth skin of his face showed a darker shade. I followed the sharp edge with my fingertips, checking the closeness of the shave, the softness of the newly hairless skin. Another way of enjoying a man’s body, this. With his eyes closed and face relaxed, Kral seemed almost a different person. Whatever demons drove him lay still in the moment. Perhaps part of why he liked to be tended to this way.

  Of course, being me, I couldn’t help needling him a little. “Vows can be broken.”

  He opened one eye, the pale blue diamond bright in the light of the lantern I’d set on the ledge. “Can they?”

  I shrugged, then set the blade against his other cheek. “Depends, I suppose. But I’ve yet to see one of the Three descend from wherever They lurk to chastise someone who broke a vow made in Their name.”

  “What of living with yourself?”

  “You tell me.”

  His jaw flexed. “At some point you’re going to have to let go of what happened to Lady Mailloux.”

  “I’m not much for letting things go.”

  “Why does this not surprise me?”

  “Don’t taunt the woman with a sharp razor at your throat.”

  He closed his eyes again, mouth curving in a pleased smile, and tipped his head back even more. “You won’t hurt me.”

  His smug confidence tempted me to slice him, just a little, if only to see his surprise. I resisted, however, and quite easily—because I didn’t want to hurt him, a realization that took me aback.

  “I’ve never fucked a woman without a lind before,” he remarked.

  Aha. I turned that bit of information over in my head. “What of all those concubines?”

  “Even with them. A concubine with an Imperial Prince’s child holds power. I couldn’t afford for anyone to have that kind of control over me.”

  Weren’t we in a confessional mood? It seemed a good opportunity to worm information out of him, and yet . . . I didn’t like this. It felt wrong. And I’d been down this path before and met with trouble.... the point is not for the goddesses to rescue us from our own mistakes, but for us to follow the example of the virtues they embody and learn to do better. “Kral,” I said, and waited for him to open his eyes. “That might have been significant for you, but it’s business as usual for me.”

  “So?” His voice carried a faint edge. This is what came of being honest, apparently. Still I plunged on.

  “I just don’t want you getting ideas, like you did before. I’m being clear on things.”

  He wrapped his fingers around my wrist, holding me there. “Are you reneging on your promise of exclusivity?”

  “No.” The thought hadn’t occurred to me, which was unusual. If nothing else, however, Kral had a knack for keeping me sated. Now that he was on board. “But when my job is done, I’ll have to leave. I don’t want you getting . . .” attached. I didn’t speak it aloud, faintly horrified at the thought. Is that what I meant?

  Satisfied, he let me go, running his hands over his face, then snagged me onto his lap. “Well done. I’ll miss this quiet time with you, once we reach Jofarrstyr.” He kissed me, and I leaned into it, enjoying the newly soft skin around his clever mouth. Though I missed the contrasting texture of his beard. Ah, well, something of pleasure to be found in both, I supposed.

  “We can make time, can’t we?” I murmured against his lips.

  He kissed me a bit longer, then set me on my feet. Stood himself and went to get fresh clothes. “You should be aware that . . .” He trailed off, searching for words, his back to me.

  Uh-oh. “Just give it to me straight, General.”

  “Fine.” He yanked on trousers in his signature color.

  I almost asked why the ever-faithful Karyn hadn’t embroidered the Konyngrr fist on his ass. At least he hadn’t dressed me in something with it. I would have to take exception to that. Too bad I didn’t have any reproductions of the new flag for Her Majesty’s reign. That I would wear, and proudly. Following Uorsin’s death, the Hawks had gathered and made a ritual of removing his bear from our uniforms. It wouldn’t have been politic for us to wear our own symbol, not with the former High King’s level of paranoia. When I got back, if Her Majesty would let me remain in the Hawks, I’d have to ask about us wearing something of our own. Or at least her symbol, as her elite guard.

  “The Emperor’s court is a dangerous, delicately balanced community,” Kral was saying. I nearly yawned in his face. That described any king or queen’s court, ever. Power—and the lure of it—did that to people. “Very few ladies attend court or other official business. The ones who do are noble wives, or my sisters, the Imperial Princesses.” He cleared his throat, casting me a cautious sidelong glance.

  “Kral, I’m not going to knife you for giving me good advice. Let me guess—all of these fine ladies are wives. No rekjabrel among them.”

  Surprise ghosted over his face. “You know what that means?”

  “Essentially ‘bed slave,’ right? Dafne translated it for me.”

  “I thought you might be offended by that, should you discover it.”

  “And yet you call me that anyway.”

  “It is an accurate representation of our relationship. My men needed to know. It’s not an insult.”

  Restless, I drew my favorite throwing knife and twirled it, prowling the room. “Seriously, Kral, it takes far more than that to bother me.”

  “Good. I’ve been thinking about how to put this to you. When your High Queen said she intended to send three women to Dasnaria as her emissaries, I thought that would be all the better for our advantage. I could have told her that, for any emissary of hers to be taken seriously, she should send a man, but . . .” He lifted a shoulder, let it fall, and pulled a shirt over his head. “I had no intention of helping her cause. In all honesty, I’m surprised Harlan did not warn her of this.”

  Because Harlan knew exactly why Ursula picked Dafne for the job. No one had her same skill set to be the spy the throne needed in Dasnaria. Unfortunate how things had worked out.

  “Okay, so you’re saying I’m not anyone’s wife, virginal or otherwise, nor am I a concubine.”

  “Correct. Even concubines are formally contracted, a kind of lesser marriage. But no concubine would show her face in court.”

  Perish the thought. “I can only guess where a rekjabrel falls in this hierarchy.”

  “At the bottom,” Kral admitted. “You should know that this does not reflect my regard for you. I would offer to marry you or make you officially a concubine, but—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “As I assumed you’d answer. Besides, you have no one to sign the papers for you, so it would be impossible to set up the contracts.”

  I went to Kral’s secret cabinet, pulled out a fresh flask of mjed, uncorked it, and took a long pull. Kral’s hands settled on my shoulders, his mouth
brushing my cheek from behind.

  “I’m sorry for this,” he said quietly. “I would give you status if I could. As it is, I’ve determined your best chances for acceptance lie in not being any of the usual things, which includes rekjabrel. No one can know of our liaison. No one there will know what to make of you any more than I did.”

  I managed to stifle several sarcastic replies and didn’t even shrug off his hands. The man meant well. Not his fault he was an idiot. Not entirely.

  “That’s very sweet of you. Thoughtful. I think I can endeavor to keep our forbidden love a secret.” Okay, I didn’t quite squelch all sarcasm. “But what of the seventy-odd men on this ship who do know?”

  “Loyal to me. They won’t betray our secret . . . relationship. Nor will any but a few officers be at the Imperial Palace.” Kral had an odd sound to his voice, so—figuring I had schooled my expression sufficiently—I turned in his arms. Sure enough, he seemed bothered by something, though I couldn’t discern what.

  “It’s a plan, then.” I took another drink of mjed and offered him the flask. “To secrets kept.”

  He took it and drank, watching me as he did.

  By the time Jens informed me we’d reached within half a day’s sail of the harbor at Jofarrstyr, I’d grown quite proficient at donning the klút, as the Dasnarians called the female garb. In many ways I liked the ease of it—no buttons, laces, or stifling undergarments needed—but the weather chilled as we approached the coast, and I was thrice-damned cold.

  Keeping my promise to Kral, and in a greater sense to Her Majesty, I’d turned my entire attention to learning to dress, speak, and behave as a proper Dasnarian lady. I feigned the meek subservience well. Not looking directly into men’s eyes went against every instinct I’d honed as both a fighter and a scout, but Danu taught to turn disadvantages to advantages. While obeying that particularly stupid social rule, I practiced attention to peripheral vision. As with my long-sight, it was excellent. Even better, it seemed I could observe more peripherally, all because people thought I wasn’t watching.