Sweetblade

by Carol A Park

  She flew in the door like a bird before a storm. “Ana, are you still in here?” she chided. “It’s a gorgeous day, and I’m walking to town for some cider. Come with me!”

  Ivana looked toward her book, but Izel moved between Ivana and the table and picked the book up. She paged through it and raised an eyebrow at Ivana. “You shouldn’t leave these lying around,” she said. “If someone were to search our house…”

  Ivana snatched the book out of her hand, removed it to their room, and locked it in her trunk.

  When she returned to the living room, Izel made a face at her. “I don’t know why you even take such terrible risks.”

  “Mama says you can’t understand a culture until you understand the people’s language.”

  “We’re not supposed to be learning other languages,” Izel said. “It’s forbidden, if you recall.” She tugged on her arm. “Come on, before Mama comes in from hanging the wash and finds some chore for us to do!”

  Ivana sighed. She supposed she could use the chance to stretch her legs. She had been cloistered in the house all day, and a frothy mug of cider at the end of a brisk walk would be nice—especially on one of the first nice days since winter had begun to lose ground to the creep of spring. She retrieved her coin purse, tucked it into the pocket sewn on the inside of her sleeve, and joined Izel, who had already opened the door again.

  “Good,” Izel said smugly. “I would hate to have had to threaten you.”

  “Threaten me?” Ivana asked, following Izel out the door.

  “Yes. With telling Mama and Papa about your thing with Cern.”

  Ivana halted, flushing. “What? How do you know about that?”

  Izel rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows about that.”

  What rumors had Cern being spreading exactly? She shouldn’t have let him kiss her. But she had just wanted to feel, for once, that she wasn’t an outsider among the others her age on Lord Kadmon’s estate and in town. For a few minutes, she had felt appreciated.

  Ivana set her jaw and marched forward again, trying to cool her cheeks by force of will alone. “It wasn’t a thing,” she said. “It was a little bit of kissing. That’s it.”

  Izel smirked, but she wisely said nothing further.

  Until they reached the clothier, that is.

  Ivana hung back as Izel pressed her hands against the glass window and gazed at the dress displayed there.

  “It’s so gorgeous,” Izel said with a sigh.

  Ivana eyed the gauzy dress critically. With winter finally giving way to spring, the other girls had been anticipating discovering what that year’s new summer fashions would be. Ironic that Ivana would end up being one of the first to find out, considering what little interest she had in the subject.

  The sleeves came down to just above the elbow, where they split and hung free for another handspan. The shoulders held up a plunging neckline, and virtually no back. “Where’s the back of the dress?” she asked, incredulous.

  “It’s the latest style from the cities,” Izel said, a hint of reproach in her voice.

  “It’s a wonder it stays up at all.”

  “Oh, please,” Izel said. “If you were a noble, you’d be wearing one, whatever you thought of it.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Ivana craned her neck to see the advertised price. “And nor could either of us ever afford such a thing. Do they raise the price in correlation to how little material the dress contains?”

  “It would look fabulous on you,” Izel said, looking Ivana up and down.

  There was the tiniest bit of jealousy in her voice, and Ivana found herself flushing again. Ivana wrapped her arms around her bosom, which had blossomed rapidly in the past year—far beyond that of other girls her age.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “Staring at it isn’t going to make it more within our reach.”

  Izel moved away from the window without further comment.

  Ivana, however, found herself glancing back as they continued down the street. It would look good on her, wouldn’t it? The way that neckline plunged…

  The thought of the attention it would draw from real men gave her a tiny thrill, and she shivered.

  Foolishness.

  The word was in her father’s voice.

  They walked in silence for a moment until Izel looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “So,” she said. “How was it?”

  “How was what?”

  “You know. With Cern?”

  Ivana glanced at Izel. She appeared to be perfectly serious, even eager to hear the details.

  She frowned. “It was all right, I guess.”

  “All right? All right? That’s not how those silt novels you’ve been reading make it sound.”

  Ivana’s eyes widened. “What—how—!”

  Izel smirked again. “I found one under our pallet. Fascinating stuff.”

  “You shouldn’t be reading those filthy things,” Ivana said.

  “Oh, and you should? You’re only a year older than me, Ana.”

  Ivana swallowed. “A year and a half. And it’s research.”

  Izel snorted. “For what? Future encounters with Cern?”

  Not on her life. “All Cern and I did was kiss a little bit. Besides, Cern is a child. The men in those stories are…”

  “Experienced?”

  “Different.”

  Izel harrumphed and appeared to be ready to belabor the point when a long whistle sounded.

  “Ana! Heard about you and Cern. Got any left for us?” Whooping laughter rang out from a group of boys loitering on the street ahead. One of them made a rude gesture near his groin.

  Ivana’s fists clenched tightly. “Tell Cern,” she said, once they had approached, “that if he spreads any more lies—”

  “You’ll what? Suffocate him between your melons?” They laughed again

  “Come on, Ana,” Izel said, tugging on her sleeve with one hand and fiddling with the rose pendant she wore around her neck on a fine chain with the other.

  Ivana turned away, her face red from more than embarrassment. Stupid, childish—

  “Aw, Ana, don’t be mad,” another boy, named Tavil, said. “At least you have something.” He snickered.

  Izel flushed, ducked her head, and hurried forward.

  Ivana whirled around, and before she could think, she punched Tavil square on the nose.

  He yelped and stumbled back, then yelped again when blood spurted from his nose. He glared at Ivana, but she had achieved her goal; he and his friends dispersed.

  Ivana rolled her shoulders and flexed her hand. That had felt good—but burning skies, her knuckles hurt.

  Izel gaped at her. “Oh, Ana—you shouldn’t have! If Mama and Papa find out—”

  “They won’t. That idiot isn’t going to go spreading a story of how a girl decked him.” She sniffed. “Come on. I could really use that cider now.”

  Ivana and Izel chose a table near the door in The Golden Chalice—the nicer of the two town taverns—and ordered a single cider and a plate of honey cakes to share. They split the cost—one selma each, a sixth of their respective monthly allowances. It was an expensive treat for them, but worth it every once in a while.

  As they waited for the server to bring their order, Ivana eyed the mistress of the inn. She was hanging a notice on the door. Once she moved out of the way, Ivana read the notice. Apparently, they were looking for extra help.

  “What’s so interesting over there?” Izel twisted round in her chair to follow Ivana’s gaze, and then she spun back, her eyes alight. “Think Mama and Papa would let us work here? We could earn some extra coins…”

  “I doubt it,” Ivana said. Still, she eyed the notice. The idea of working was appealing. It would distinguish her from idiots like Cern.

  The server plunked the cider and honey cakes down in the middle of the table, and at the same time, the door to the tavern swung open again.

  The man who stepped through could have stepped out of one of those silt novels.
He was tall, young, and handsome, and he had a creamy beige complexion with a layer of bronze underneath—typical of someone who was only part-Fereharian. He stopped for a moment, his eyes scanning the interior of the tavern. They flitted over their table and then roved back. His eyes met her gaze, and, incredibly, he smiled at her.

  She turned around, certain that he must have been looking at someone else, but when she turned back, his smile had grown.

  She flushed, gave him a tiny smile back, and ducked her head, embarrassed to be caught staring.

  To her horror, a moment later he had approached their table. “Ladies,” he said, his voice as warm as his skin. “Only one cider today?”

  Izel’s eyes were wide and her mouth open. She swallowed. “Uh—well, we can’t really afford—”

  Ivana kicked her under the table, and Izel swiveled her head to look at her, her brow furrowed.

  “No reason to overdo it,” Ivana said, conjuring up her most mature voice.

  His eyes twinkled. “Indeed,” he said. He smiled again, rapped the table with his knuckles once, and moved on to the bar.

  “Burning skies,” Izel said, staring after him. “What’s he doing in a place like this?”

  Ivana frowned at her. “Stop gawking,” she said. “This is a respectable tavern; why shouldn’t he stop on the way to wherever he’s going?”

  Still, Ivana had to force herself not to turn around to see what he was doing.

  It didn’t matter. He was being kind to a pair of girls, that was all.

  Except then, her head jerked up as he reappeared at the side of their table.

  He picked up their mug of cider, set it directly in front of Izel, and set down another mug in front of Ivana. “Hard to overdo it on cider,” he said, amusement still in his voice, and then he returned to the bar without another word.

  Ivana was perplexed. Had he bought them another drink? Surely he must know they couldn’t pay him back.

  She took a long drink of the cider, then coughed and put it back down, her eyes watering.

  It was cider, but made stronger than she ever drank it.

  “Something wrong with it?” Izel asked.

  Ivana steeled herself and took another long drink. “No,” she said. “It’s just fine.” She did turn, then, to look at the stranger. He was watching her, and when he saw her glance his way, he winked before turning back to the bar.

  What did that mean? Had he given her his drink by accident? But no, he would have figured that out by now. She stared down into the mug, feeling a little nervous.

  Izel began chattering away, the incident forgotten, but Ivana was quiet. She finished the cider, not wanting him to think she couldn’t handle it—though, in truth, it burned her throat and stomach.

  The handsome stranger didn’t stop to speak to them again on his way out, but he did favor Ivana with another smile before leaving the inn.

  This time, it went straight to her gut, and her stomach churned in a way it never had before. Maybe it was the alcohol.

  “I think he likes you,” Izel said.

  She turned back to look at Izel. “What? Oh, don’t be ridiculous. He thinks we’re sweet little girls, that’s all.”

  Izel downed the rest of her cider. “Didn’t smile like that at me,” she said into her mug, and then she stood up and winked at Ivana. “Come on. We should get back.”

  Ivana was still too shaken to consider the irony that it was her little sister dragging her home.

  Chapter Three

  Elidor’s eyes were on her again. But they weren’t always on her face, and she had never seen him look at her body, not like other men she had encountered did at least. Right now, his gaze was on her hands, as it often was when he was home and they ate together. Watching as she cut through eggs. Buttered bread. Pushed food around her plate.

  She shifted, making sure the sleeves of her shirt covered her forearms and the wounds there. They were covered, but she felt self-conscious about them anyway. She didn’t want to have to answer questions.

  Her desperation for food and warmth had lessened even after only a few weeks of living with those needs met at Elidor’s home, and with it, her desperation to take her mind off her isolation had grown. Each night, her internal state was only mirrored and magnified by the darkness until she lit her lantern and reached for the blade again. It helped her calm herself enough to fall asleep; the past few nights, she had stopped even trying to fall asleep first.

  She existed merely for the sake of existing, with only herself for company—and her own company was dismal. So she had finally determined to ask a question she had been avoiding—maybe because she didn’t want to know the answer.

  “Dal,” she said, putting down her fork, unnerved once again by his gaze. “Am I allowed to leave the house?”

  He raised his eyes to hers. Impassive yet probing. “You’re not a prisoner.”

  “So…that means yes?”

  “Where would you go?”

  “Well, I was thinking now that I look a little less like a starved beggar, perhaps I might try to find work again.”

  His eyes drifted to her hands again. “Work? Doing what?”

  “I—my father—” She halted and drew in a sharp breath. It was the first time she had said those words aloud since…

  “I am well-educated,” she said instead, “and have some skill with science and language. I thought—”

  “Language?”

  He sounded intrigued, and a spike of fear went through her. It was illegal to learn foreign languages. It didn’t matter whose house she lived in. The Conclave would gladly drag away any commoner professing to know languages other than Setanan. So she clarified. “Reading. Writing. Grammar.” She cleared her throat. “Of course.” The words sounded unconvincing even in her own ears.

  But he didn’t press her. Instead, he settled back in his chair. “So you think to hire yourself out as a tutor—or copyist perhaps?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Those who can afford tutors hire learned adults, not children.”

  Ivana pressed her lips together. At seventeen, she was hardly a child. “But perhaps those who can’t afford a learned adult might settle,” she said stiffly.

  One of his eyebrows twitched.

  Thinking the conversation was at an impasse, she re-directed the course of the conversation. “On that subject, I noticed you have a library.”

  Elidor had provided her no means by which to occupy herself. She had explored the house as much as she dared and had noticed the small library the other day through a windowed door.

  When he didn’t reply, she forged on. “Since I am unable to do anything more productive, might I borrow some books?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Books?”

  “Yes. Books. To read. Something that both learned adults and learned children enjoy.”

  His facial expression didn’t change—it rarely varied by much—but it took him a moment to answer. Almost as if he were turning over the pros and cons of allowing her free reign in his library. “Very well,” he said at last.

  Thank Temoth. It would take her mind off her troubles, anyway. Assuming they didn’t instead remind her of that time a lifetime ago when she would sit with her father long into the night, reading while he conducted his experiments.

  “You might find Barthen’s latest treatise of interest,” he said.

  She furrowed her brow. His sudden conversational tone was unnerving. “Sativola Barthen? He released that two years ago.” Not long before everything had begun to go wrong, in fact.

  “I see you’re already familiar. What did you think?”

  Barthen was a renowned scholar at the University in Weylyn City, known best for his work with plants. His latest treatise had forged into new territory. “He should have stuck to categorizing plants,” she finally replied. “The idea that because something can’t be seen with the naked eye, it must not exist, is ludicrous.”

  “Really? And what leads you to that proclamation?”
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  She looked away, not wanting him to see the tears that sprang to her eyes. What conversations she and her father would have had about Barthen…

  They had never had the opportunity.

  Elidor let the silence fill the room, then waved his hand and spoke as if he hadn’t mentioned Barthen in the first place. “You may certainly try to find work. But when you fail, come to me. I may have found a use for you.”

  Taken off-guard, she just nodded.

  He stood and left without a word, as he usually did, leaving his housekeeper to clear the table, and leaving Ivana alone.

  He was…strange.

  And yet, he had made no moves to hurt or misuse her. He had never visited her in her room. In fact, she rarely saw him except at the occasional meals he insisted she share with him.

  The housekeeper, who she now knew was named Da Veryna, took her plate, and Ivana nodded her thanks. Then a thought struck her. Would Veryna have any further insight on her odd employer? She was kind but didn’t speak to Ivana much. She seemed as confused by Ivana’s presence as Ivana herself was. “Da,” Ivana said. “How long have you been in the service of Dal Elidor?”

  Veryna turned to look at her. “About five years.” She nodded, as though anticipating a follow-up question. “He’s a strange one, I’ll give you. Keeps to himself mostly. Sometimes makes unreasonable demands. But he pays well, and since he’s gone so often, I can’t rightly complain.”

  “What does he do?” Ivana had wondered, but she had been hesitant to ask Elidor himself. His demeanor didn’t invite questions.

  Veryna wrinkled her nose. “Something for the government,” she said. “But I don’t know what.”

  “That’s all right.” Ivana paused. “I was thinking of going out tomorrow. Is there an extra cloak lying around here I could use?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll find something for you.” Veryna hesitated. “Some might call him unkind, Da, but he’s never laid a hand on me, not ever, to this day, and he’s always composed in speech.” She twisted her apron in her hands. “I don’t know why he’s brought you here. He’s not given to charity. But I think you’re safe.” She nodded. “I think you’re safe.”