Sweetblade

by Carol A Park

Perhaps it was that it was still a bit surreal. Perhaps it was that she didn’t want to think about it more than she needed to.

  All she needed to know—better, to desperately hope—was that when her training was complete, she would no longer be the girl who curled in upon herself night after night, trying to drive away the pain, who let her own blood to control it, who distracted herself with fantasy to ignore it.

  She would be something else entirely, but she would, at least, be the master of her own mind and emotions again, as Elidor was.

  She tapped her pen against the table and sighed. This was a coward’s way, but she couldn’t go back to the apothecary to decline Boden’s overtures in person. There had never been hope of Elidor allowing such a relationship.

  Not that she was worthy of it. Boden deserved a woman untainted and whole. Not one who couldn’t control herself, who could barely function, who crumbled at the merest mention of her lost family. Certainly not one who bled herself each night in an attempt to quell her own pain.

  Her reasons, on paper, were twisted half-truths in an attempt to soften the blow, and she didn’t want to face his questions—or even his disappointment.

  “Your new training will begin today,” Elidor’s voice said from behind her.

  She jumped and put a hand to her chest. She hadn’t even heard him approach. “Your masters have agreed?” She tried to surreptitiously slide the paper under her elbow. It wouldn’t be the first time she had sat at the table writing, and she hoped he would ignore it.

  “Obviously, or you would already be dead. Now, your first lessons… What is that?”

  She cursed herself. Her attempts to be surreptitious had only resulted in him taking note of her movement. “Um…just a note.”

  “A note,” he repeated flatly. “To whom?”

  She felt like a schoolgirl caught being inattentive. Except she had no doubt the consequences would be worse than a sharp rap on the knuckles and her note read for the whole class to hear.

  No, lying would not serve her. All he had to do was take the note and read it. “To the apothecary’s apprentice.”

  He pressed his lips together, and she hurried on before he could speak. “He made it clear he was interested in pursuing a courtship, and I needed to decline. Of course.”

  Elidor, as she had expected, held his hand out for the note, and she reluctantly gave it over.

  He flicked his eyes over the paper. “Is this the same apothecary that I specifically instructed you not to visit again?”

  He was not merely scolding her. His eyes were hard and his voice was cold. If he could channel the elements, like she had heard some Banebringers could do, she imagined she would be able to feel the chill wafting off him like a block of ice.

  Now that she was officially under his tutelage, would he punish her physically for her disobedience?

  That thought, too, remarkably engendered little more than a cringe. Nothing physical could match the darkness that had swallowed her, a darkness of her own making. She already punished herself daily for her mistakes; what was one more lash?

  Frankly, she wasn’t sure what had come over her this morning. She found herself raising her chin, looking him in the eye, and quipping, “Yes, Dal. But I’m afraid they had the best ingredients.”

  Peculiar mood notwithstanding, she quailed under his sharp gaze.

  “This is not a profession with which one plays games,” he said. “What I said then is doubly important now. You will not defy me again, in this or anything else.”

  She pressed her lips together. “No, Dal.”

  He laid the paper back down on the table. “Send your note. It will suffice to explain your foolishness.”

  Was that it? She hardly dared ask, with such luck, but she did need to know. “Where should I obtain my supplies from now on?”

  But he didn’t seem bothered by the question, perhaps because it was practical. “Do you have enough right now?”

  She had more than enough. She had bought things she didn’t need just for an excuse to visit the apothecary. But no more. A pang of regret hit her, and she pressed it away. She couldn’t allow such feelings to master her anymore. “Yes.”

  “Good. Advise me when you need more, and I will answer that question.” He didn’t wait for a response to continue. “As I was saying, your first lessons will be in basic combat, which I have delegated to one of our trainers. I hardly have the time to waste on a neophyte.”

  Ivana picked up the paper tentatively, folded it twice, and held a bar of wax over a candle flame. “Fighting? I thought your type of work was best done through stealth and trickery.”

  “Indeed,” Elidor replied, “but what will you do should you get caught?”

  “Run?”

  “And what will you do if someone has seen your face and shouldn’t have? What if you encounter resistance? Leaving someone merely maimed is not an option. How will you know where to place the knife for maximum effectiveness? How long and where to grip the throat for suffocation? How—”

  Ivana held up her hand, starting to feel sick. “I understand your point.” She caught a drop of wax on her letter and sealed it. “Should you be discussing these things so freely with Da Veryna about?”

  “I turned her back when she arrived early this morning. She is no longer in my employ.”

  Ivana blinked. “What? Just like that? No warning, no nothing?”

  “Her presence is a liability with your new station.”

  “She’s worked for you for five years!”

  “What relevance does that have?”

  “It’s just not—” Polite. Ivana tried a different tactic. “Who will keep the house for you?”

  “You will. It is time I received some return on my generosity.”

  The thought of taking over housekeeping duties was not appealing, but Ivana could hardly protest. The truth was, as often as he was gone, she would mostly be looking after herself.

  “The kitchen is open to you. You may go to the market and prepare meals for yourself whenever you wish; I will inform you in advance when I will be present as well. You will also keep our rooms clean and handle the laundry. I trust your mother taught you the basics of all these things?”

  “I am capable of doing the work,” she said stiffly. “However, do I need to remind you that I am still totally dependent on your charity? I have no additional money with which to buy food.”

  His eyes flashed. “I’ll give you a monthly allowance to cover your necessities. Do you have any more uninvited observations, or may I continue?”

  His unkind comments and tone used to hurt her; now, her reaction to them ranged from her own irritation to incredulity. If nothing else, living with Elidor had toughened her skin.

  Today, she dared to provoke him when he was already irritated. “Yes. How long will it take for me to master elementary skills?”

  “That depends on the degree of your ineptness. At a point I deem appropriate, I will take over your combat training. Then, we will introduce ‘stealth and trickery,’ as you call it, into your schedule. You will also continue to improve your apothecary skills. Is there anything else you must know at this moment?”

  “When do I begin?”

  “This morning. Change into something appropriate.”

  With that, he left—with no guidance as to what “appropriate” might entail. She guessed it wasn’t a frilly dress and dancing shoes, if indeed she had even owned them.

  Da Veryna had bought her several changes of clothes shortly after Ivana had arrived, one set of which was a pair of trousers, a plain shirt, and boots. She donned these, feeling not at all prepared for whatever the day might bring.

  Elidor took her to a large field littered with groups of men, some running, some doing other exercises, some sparring, and most being yelled at by stern older men.

  It was awfully busy for their purposes.

  “Where are we?” she whispered to Elidor as they paused at the edge of the field. It was early, both in the morning
and in the spring season, and the words came out of her mouth in wisps of steam.

  “The training grounds for the Cadmyrian army.”

  She blinked. “Should I be training so openly?”

  “Who is the master?”

  “I was just—”

  “Sometimes the best disguise is the one you flaunt,” Elidor said. “Llyr is fully capable of maintaining the needed discretion. Now, silence.” A man—presumably the aforementioned Llyr—older than Ivana, but younger than Elidor, had spotted them and was now sauntering in their direction. Despite the cool morning air, his shirt was already soaked with sweat.

  He didn’t grasp Elidor’s arm in a friendly greeting, but a smile plucked at the corners of his mouth. “Dal,” he said. “You’re having me waste my time with a girl?”

  “If I thought it was a waste of time, I wouldn’t be here,” Elidor said, which was the closest he had ever come to complimenting her. “You have her every morning until I deem her skills adequate. The sooner, the better. Don’t waste my time.”

  The man inclined his head, and Elidor turned to leave without so much as a nod or grunt toward Ivana. In seconds, she found herself alone and face-to-face with a strange man, who was now looking her up and down with far more scrutiny than made her comfortable. But she stood her ground, resisting the urge to shrink away from him or try to hide her body with her arms, as she had from the irksome man in the apothecary. She had decided to train under Elidor, and she would do whatever it took.

  “In my opinion, you’re far too sweet for this sort of thing,” he said, finally meeting her eyes. “But Elidor wouldn’t have taken you on at a whim, so I suppose we’ll see what comes of it.”

  Too sweet? He could tell that by sizing up her body?

  Oh. That was exactly what he meant. She bit her lip, her face burning.

  “First point of order,” he said. “Next time, bind those melons of yours.” He looked pointedly at her chest. “They’ll only get in the way.”

  She locked her jaw. She never liked comments on her appearance. But he was right. She hadn’t thought of it.

  Still, his distasteful attention was reminiscent of the immature boys in her hometown, right down to his choice of words. Her initial discomfiture churned itself up into indignation—the ire of the naïve girl who had once defended her sister’s honor; the righteous fury that had been stripped away by her own shame.

  And for the first time in a long time, she felt more alive, more aware, less surreal, and more herself, or whatever was left of her.

  He cracked his knuckles. “Now,” he continued. “You ever hit someone?”

  “Once.” She folded her arms across her chest. “A boy who commented one too many times on my melons.” Actually, it had been the comment about her sister’s that had snapped her, but no need to get into that.

  He grinned. “Good. Give me everything you’ve got.”

  She didn’t need to be told twice. She lashed her fist out, as she had once before, but instead of connecting with his face, it connected with his palm. The next thing she knew, he had grabbed her entire arm and hurled her to the ground.

  Her back hit the packed dirt, and the force of the impact stunned her. She lay staring up at the sky, lungs struggling for air.

  He crouched next to her, balanced on the balls of his feet. “Gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart.”

  She finally drew in the needed breath, sat up, and shoved him over. He tipped backward for an instant, off-balance. “Then why don’t you stop fooling around and actually train me, smartass?”

  He brushed himself off and stood up. “Feisty. I like that in a woman.” He winked. “My name’s Llyr. You would be…?”

  “Ivana,” she muttered.

  And she hated him. With every fiber of her being. He was the representation of every immature, irritating male in her life who had made her so self-conscious about herself that she had fallen for the first man who had made her feel comfortable in her own skin.

  That was a sudden self-revelation. Was that what had happened? Was that why she had given in to Airell so easily? Because of her own insecurities?

  So much more the foolish mistake.

  No more. She would meet Llyr’s challenge, and she would win.

  Imprudent

  Ivana held her cloak tightly around her and squinted into the blowing rain. She was glad that she had an excuse to wear the oiled cloak today. While as of yet, no one else had noticed her growing abdomen, she could see it when she looked at herself in the mirror unclothed, and she was self-conscious about it.

  She clutched the cloak even harder. She had told her parents she was at the inn today, working a double-shift because someone was ill. Then, wanting to give herself plenty of time to make the trip to Eleuria, do whatever it took, and get home before anyone noticed, she had spent a bit of the money Airell had given her to hire a carriage.

  She’d told the driver to drop her off here, outside an inn, ashamed to reveal where she was going. So she caught the attention of a man hurrying down the street.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m looking for the apothecary?”

  The man raised his head long enough to point down the street. “You’re almost there,” he said. “On the corner of the next intersection.” He hastened away, no doubt eager to get out of the rain.

  She swallowed and continued on until the building he referred to came into view. Sure enough, the apothecary’s sign hung outside, dancing with the wind.

  She smoothed her hair and pushed open the door.

  A tiny bell tinkled, and a kindly-looking middle-aged woman looked up from behind the counter, where she was looking through a shallow box of vials. Her creamy tan skin wasn’t nearly dark enough to be a native Fereharian; more likely she was from one of the three central regions.

  She gave Ivana a warm smile. “Good morning, dear,” she said, then glanced through the store window. “Though I don’t know if it could rightly be called good, yes?”

  Ivana looked around the shop. It wasn’t the first time she had been in an apothecary. Her own town, Tian, had a modest one she frequented, fetching ingredients for her father and his experiments.

  But Eleuria was much larger than Tian, and the apothecary was more impressive to match. Shelves and shelves held meticulously labeled ingredients in bottles and bundles and vials—some she had never even heard of. She was so fascinated, she almost forgot why she was here.

  She turned back to the woman. “I-I’m looking for Da Patli,” she said.

  “Then you’ve found her,” the woman said. “What can I do for you? An order of medicine?” She winked. “A love potion perhaps?”

  Ivana stared at her. She wasn’t in the mood for jests, and certainly not jests about love.

  The woman’s smile faded, and she studied Ivana for a moment. “I see,” she said. “A different sort of customer then. Come with me.”

  Ivana didn’t know how the woman knew why she was there, but she didn’t have time to explain before she was forced to follow her behind the curtain into the back of the store.

  A girl around Ivana’s age was there, poring over a ledger.

  “Are the boys still out?” Patli asked her.

  “Yes, Mama,” the girl said.

  “Good. Mind the front for a bit and see that I’m not disturbed.”

  The girl bobbed and then disappeared back through the curtain.

  Patli browsed another set of shelves, still meticulously labeled, but instead stacked with small and medium boxes and crates. She selected one that had been shoved to the back, opened it, and then put the lid back on and tucked it under one arm. “Follow me,” she told Ivana.

  Again, Ivana obeyed. The woman led her up a narrow flight of stairs, and they emerged into a small kitchen—no doubt part of Patli’s living area.

  Patli gestured to a chair at the kitchen table.

  Conscious that her cloak was dripping all over the floor, Ivana slipped it off and hung it on a coatrack next to the t
op of the stair, and then she sat, feeling increasingly uncomfortable by the moment.

  Patli set the box down on the table. “You’re with child?

  Ivana flushed. “Yes, Da. I-I was told y-you could…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence.

  “You were told correctly,” the woman said briskly, her kind demeanor gone. “Does the father know you’re here?”

  She could barely squeak the words out of her throat. “He’s the one who sent me.”

  Patli’s mouth turned downward. “Of course he is,” she muttered. “Well. How far along are you?” Her eyes slid over Ivana, as if to make a judgment for herself.

  “I think no more than five months.”

  “You have payment?”

  Ivana put the purse she had been clutching in one hand on the table.

  Patli took it and shook the coins out of the purse. One eyebrow rose. “Let me guess: Gan Gildas’ eldest?”

  Ivana’s mouth went dry. She nodded. “How—?”

  “He’s the only one of them who is so wealthy he doesn’t even care that he gave you triple what I ask.” She turned away to start pulling ingredients out of the box.

  “Only one of them, Da?”

  “Damn nobles.”

  Ivana didn’t want to hear this. She had hoped, even up until this moment, even when Airell hadn’t returned since the day she had told him about the pregnancy, that he hadn’t been what Izel had warned her about, that he hadn’t been what she had feared, near the end.

  Yet she couldn’t help it, like pressing on a new bruise to see if it still hurt. “I’m not the first to come to you bearing his seed, I take it.”

  Patli was at the stove now, heating water, and she turned around to regard Ivana. Pity entered her eyes, interrupting her now-brusque manner. “Poor soul,” she said. “Is that a revelation to you?”

  That moment was the first time Ivana knew what it was to hate herself.

  It shouldn’t have been a revelation. She should have seen, should have known. She had, on some level. She just hadn’t wanted to believe it.

  She should have known better.

  Patli sighed and turned back to the stove. She tapped a bit of powder from a vial into the now-boiling water.