Sweetblade

by Carol A Park

  She straightened up and bowed, preparing to turn away. “My lord,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry to have taken up—”

  He held up a hand. “Please. Let’s pretend…” He shook his head. “It would be nice to be merely Airell for once.”

  “Yes, my—”

  “Please, no my lords between us. I’m not even four years your senior. Agreed?”

  “I…”He was nicer than Lord Kadmon and his family. But why did he even care to talk to her? “Yes, Dal.”

  “Airell. Just Airell.”

  And why shouldn’t he? she scolded herself. She had let the opinion of the children in town shape her view of herself for far too long. “Airell,” she said.

  “That’s better.”

  The mistress of the inn swept by, and the look she gave Ivana was discretely annoyed.

  “Ah,” Airell said, standing. “I can see I’m about to get you in trouble.” He bowed. “Good day, Ivana. I hope to see you again soon.”

  With a wink and a smile, he swept out the door.

  Ivana lay on her pallet next to Izel, staring up into the darkness. She couldn’t sleep. All she could think of was Lord Airell and his enchanting smile. A smile he had favored her with. Her!

  Izel rolled over to face her. “All right,” she said. “I can almost feel thoughts rolling off you. What’s keeping you awake?”

  Ivana turned her head to look toward Izel and then sat up. “I saw that nobleman again today,” she said. “He came into the dining room and talked to me a bit more.”

  Izel sat up as well, alert. “Oh?”

  “I-I think you may be right, Izel,” Ivana admitted. “I think he might like me.”

  Izel was quiet for a minute. “Ana…”

  “Do you know who he is? He’s Gan Gildas’ eldest, Lord Airell. Can you believe it? Lord Airell.”

  Izel was silent.

  “What?” Ivana asked, a little annoyed. “You don’t believe me? You’re the one who said you thought he liked me first.”

  “I-I was partially jesting, Ana.”

  “Partially?”

  “Well—I’m certain he does like you, after a fashion.”

  Ivana’s throat tightened. “No,” she said. “That’s unfair. Is it so hard to believe that someone could like me for me? Am I so boring? Or perhaps you think the whole of who I am can be summed up in my breasts?”

  “That’s not what I meant, Ana, but he’s a noble, for Rhianah’s sake. There’s only one reason someone like him would be interested in people like us.”

  “He’s not like that,” Ivana said. “He told me not to use any titles with him. He’s so genuine, and he never looked at my chest, not once.”

  “That you saw,” Izel said softly.

  Ivana’s ire rose. “I can’t believe this. I would have thought you of all people—just last week you were dying to know about my encounter with Cern, and now—”

  “Cern isn’t one of them. Even I have better sense than that.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have discussed this with you. I couldn’t expect you to understand.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” Izel snapped. “You think you’re oh-so-mature since you blossomed before me? I thought you were more than your breasts!”

  Ivana lay back down and turned her back to Izel. “I’m done with this conversation.” She could sense Izel sitting up for a little while longer before she sighed and then also lay back down, silent.

  A tempest raged in Ivana’s chest. How dare she insinuate—she finally received some attention from a real man—

  She was jealous, that was all.

  And yet, Izel’s words spoke to a tiny part of her, the tiny part that couldn’t help but feel Izel was right.

  That was what made her the angriest. Yathyn’s scars, she wouldn’t let Izel ruin this with sense. There was no harm in talking to him, and still plenty of time to back away if it turned out Izel was right.

  With those thoughts to comfort her, she finally went to sleep.

  Chapter Five

  Something jerked Ivana out of her sleep far too soon. The paring knife she had fallen asleep holding rolled from her hand and clattered to the floor. She sat up and blinked, disoriented, and then she flicked her eyes around the room.

  Elidor was standing in the doorway.

  She bolted out of bed.

  The grogginess of being woken after too little sleep and the pulse of energy that raced through her at the sight of Elidor combined to make her head swim. She reached out for the washbasin to steady herself.

  He had found out. He had come to kill her. He had finally decided to make use of her in other ways. He—

  He was looking at the freshest cuts on her forearm, which was streaked with dried blood. She had fallen asleep too tired, too weary, too upset to care about wiping it away.

  A surge of indignation at his silent intrusiveness into her private life washed away the last vestiges of sleep. She shook her sleeve down to cover the cuts, bent to retrieve the knife, and set it with a snap on the washbasin, as if daring him to try to reclaim it. Everything else was gone. He wouldn’t take away this as well.

  She almost laughed out loud. And what would she do if he tried? She had witnessed this man murder two people without a bat of the eye.

  Can’t think about that. Can’t let him see my fear. “Dal. May I help you?”

  “You missed breakfast.”

  She blinked and squinted at the clock. “I…had a restless night. I must have slept later than usual.”

  “Then you’ll eat now.” He turned and walked away without explanation as to why he had awoken her, why he cared about her having missed breakfast, indeed, without even seeing if she would follow his command.

  She gathered up the bedclothes in her fists. No reason to upset him, but neither was she going to jump to his whims without even washing up. No reason for him to think she was trying not to upset him.

  She was going crazy.

  Ivana entered the dining room a half hour later, after having washed her face and teeth, brushed her hair, and changed into clean clothes.

  A spread of honey cakes, slices of cold ham left from the night before, and two ceramic carafes had been laid out on the table. As usual, a single place setting had been laid out. She started toward it and then jumped as the door to the dining room swung shut behind her.

  Elidor stood there, waiting for her.

  Something had changed.

  But if he had found out about her little expedition the night before and was going to murder her for it, why the delay?

  Elidor moved to his side of the table and sat down, his hands folded in front of him.

  Was he going to just sit there and watch her eat? That was even creepier than usual. Still, she tried to act normal. She filled her plate and noted with some trepidation that Veryna was nowhere to be seen. “Where is Da Veryna?”

  “I sent her home,” Elidor said, his eyes not leaving her for an instant.

  That didn’t bode well.

  “We have some things we need to discuss privately.”

  Her hand paused on its way to fill a glass with honey wine from one of the carafes. Perhaps now was a good time to flee. Why was she still sitting here?

  And go where? Do what? Would she have a chance at a new life because she could grab some gloves and a cloak on the way out?

  “Oh?” she managed to choke out. Her hand trembled, and honey wine sloshed over the edge of the carafe.

  “You ought to be dead,” he said.

  The carafe slipped from her fingers, and the amber liquid spilled across the table and into her lap. “Oh!” she exclaimed. She rose to escape the flow and then looked around frantically for a rag to mop the mess up with.

  Really? That was all she could think about? “I’m—I’m so sorry,” she said. “I… Is there a towel? I’ll clean it up—”

  “Forget the spill,” he snapped. “You can apologize for your clumsiness later.” He advanced around the table toward her, an
d she backed toward the door. “Did you not hear me?”

  “I-I heard you. I don’t know what you mean. You rescued me, I know I should have starved on the streets…”

  “Don’t play games with me,” he said. “I know you followed me last night, and I know what you saw.”

  He knew. He knew! How? And if he had known, why had he let her follow him? Why hadn’t he sent her back or—

  “I should have killed you then,” he said. “Should still kill you now.”

  He had locked the dining room door. She didn’t even have to try the handle to know that. She just knew. She had nowhere to go.

  Was this it then? The months of struggle, to end here, in some twisted nightmare version of her life?

  Perhaps it was better this way. What end did she see for herself after all? Some days, she was just so tired. “Then why haven’t you?” she said, meeting his eyes.

  For a moment, she thought he would. She even flinched back, certain he had a hidden dagger that was about to spill her blood as quickly as he had spilled the blood of those two last night.

  But then something changed in him. Irritation flickered across his face. His chest rose in a slow, deliberate breath. He stepped back from her and turned away. When he faced her again, his countenance was more relaxed. “I think you could be of use to me.”

  Her? Of use to an assassin? How, she couldn’t fathom, unless he had decided to make her his whore.

  Or translator. Maybe he dealt with Xambrians a lot.

  She was morbidly intrigued by that possibility.

  “Please.” He gestured to the table. “Sit down.”

  She skirted him warily and sat back down in a different chair, one where the wine wouldn’t drip into her lap.

  “In your education,” he said, moving on with complete ease, as if he hadn’t just told her that he had considered murdering her, “did you study the apothecary arts?”

  What was this about? “I wouldn’t say I studied it, but I know my way around the tools and common ingredients.”

  “So you could make tonics, if you had the recipe and ingredients?”

  “Well, simple ones, I suppose.” She halted, remembering who she was speaking with. “What sort of…tonics…are we talking about?”

  “You are perceptive. Very well. I can’t always leave a bloody mess, after all, or even an obvious trace of physical violence. I can purchase most common poisons, of course, but there are a multitude of formulas that aren’t made in advance and sold that might have use in specific circumstances. The ability to make precisely what I need, when I need it, at cost, without a trail, has advantages.” He smiled, but it was a mimicry; it didn’t reach his eyes.

  She blinked rapidly. “What is wrong with you?” she burst out.

  He raised an eyebrow, a normal gesture for him, which only increased her exasperation.

  “You can’t turn on and off being normal like changing your clothes and expect me not to notice.”

  The counterfeit smile faded. “I was merely trying to make you more comfortable.”

  “More comfortable.”

  “Yes.”

  “Dal, people aren’t made comfortable by chatting about methods of murder over breakfast. Not even with a smile on your face. Especially not with a smile on your face!”

  He pursed his lips. “Hmm.”

  She poured herself another cup of wine. Damn, she would need it. “And as to your question, I have never studied poisons in particular, and—”

  He waved his hand, staving off any further objections. “But you say you have some basic knowledge, and you’re obviously intelligent, therefore you are teachable.” He stood up. “My own library continues to be at your disposal, but I will also see what more advanced resources I am able to gather for your further study. My housekeeper says you’re bored, so the stimulation should—”

  “Have you considered that perhaps I don’t want to make poisons for you?” Ivana cut in.

  He paused.

  No, obviously he had not.

  “What’s to stop me from going directly to the authorities the moment you let me out of your sight?” she asked.

  He laughed. It wasn’t a warm, friendly sound. It was chilling. “I wouldn’t advise that.”

  “And why not? You’ll come after me?”

  “Foolish girl. The authorities are the ones who employ me. All that would achieve is giving them a reason to order your own death.”

  “Wait, so you do work for the government?”

  “After a fashion.” He tilted his head. “Does this comfort you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it feels less…criminal.”

  Elidor sat down on the edge of the table. “What is the difference between a soldier and a mercenary?”

  “Well…one is employed by the government, and the other hires their services out to the highest bidder.”

  “Mmm. And because the government tells the soldier to kill or pillage or destroy, that makes it…what would most people say…right? Surely, you don’t have such great faith in our Ri.”

  “No,” she said softly. “Certainly not.” She had personal experience with how cruel and calloused their noble rulers could be.

  “The innocent die because of political expediency, in war and intrigue. That girl may have been no threat to anyone but the power of some noble.”

  “You don’t know why?”

  “Does the sword know its master’s mind?”

  Ivana had no words to respond. How could he do that? How could he not care, not wonder, not feel?

  “An assassin is a specialized type of mercenary. I work for the government, which makes me merely a specialized type of soldier.” He held up his hand. “Don’t, however, mistake that for justice. You are of little use to me paralyzed by fear or moral dilemma, so if it makes you more at ease, believe what you will.” He stood up again. “Be prepared to start your new studies tomorrow.”

  Foolish

  Ivana saw Airell frequently over the next three weeks. He was as gracious and charming as ever and, contrary to Izel’s notions, never once stared at her breasts—though she might have caught him looking her over appreciatively once or twice.

  Well, he was a man, after all. What could she expect?

  He entered the inn as she was ending her shift one day. He gave her the smile she knew he reserved for her and slipped over to her side. “I have something for you,” he whispered in her ear. “Can you get away?”

  She flushed, her entire body tingling as his lips brushed her ear. “I’m almost done,” she said. “I have to finish changing the linens in one of the guest rooms, and then—”

  “Perfect,” he said, then winked. He walked back out without another word.

  She was mystified, but she shrugged and went to the closet to collect the linens.

  She had just entered the room when she heard a rapping at the window. She pulled back the curtains and was astonished to see Airell outside, grinning at her. He held up a box and motioned to her to lift the window.

  She giggled, glanced around, and did as he asked.

  He clambered in and hastened to shut the door.

  “Airell,” she said, feeling somewhat giddy at the subterfuge. “What if someone catches us?”

  “They won’t,” he said, and then he brushed her cheek with one finger. “Trust me.”

  She sucked in a breath. He had never touched her face before. Well, they had never been alone before, either, aside from the handful of times he had pulled her down a corridor to catch her unaware with a small trinket or flowers.

  She swallowed and smiled at him, trying not to make it so obvious that she was unused to this sort of rendezvous—and trying to hide the way her heart was pounding.

  He set the box on the bed. “Open it,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

  She lifted the lid gingerly and gasped. It was a dress—a dress precisely in the latest fashion she had seen in the clothier’s window some weeks back. It was—

  Well, it didn’
t seem so frivolous, coming from Airell. She picked it up out of the box and held it up. It was stunning.

  And…

  She laid the dress back down in the box and avoided his eyes. “I can’t accept this.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Why ever not?”

  “Airell, I know we’re pretending that we’re equals, but let’s be honest for a moment. Where would I wear such a thing? I’m not likely to attend any fancy balls anytime soon.” Not to mention, how could she accept such an expensive gift? What would her parents say?

  He ran a hand over his face. “Well,” he said. “Perhaps you’re right. But…” He hesitated.

  “What?”

  “Could you try it on for me? This once?”

  She looked down at the dress. What harm would it do to try it on? She would likely never have another chance to wear such a fine dress.

  She flushed and picked it up again. “All right. Just this once. Then you must promise me you’ll return it.”

  He nodded, and she stood and waited. “Would you, um…” She looked around. There wasn’t anywhere for him to go. “Turn around?”

  She couldn’t believe she was even suggesting that she change while he was in the room. But he wouldn’t look. He was a gentleman.

  “Of course,” he said, and he turned his back on her, pretending to examine one of the paintings on the wall.

  She turned her back to him as well, to be on the safe side, and hurried to shed her plain, common dress and don the new one. She smoothed the fabric and turned around. “It’s okay now.”

  He turned around, and for the first time, he looked at her, every part of her, openly and unashamedly, his eyes lingering on all the right places.

  Wrong places. Wrong places, Ana! Burning skies, what had come over her? But she warmed with pleasure at his gaze, as though he were caressing her with his eyes, and didn’t turn away.

  He finally looked back up at her face. “Stunning.”

  “The dress?”

  “No,” he said, moving closer to her. He met her eyes. “You.”

  He reached toward her, and her pulse quickened noticeably—he was going to kiss her! But instead, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her so she faced the only mirror in the room.