Swordheart

by T. Kingfisher

“Thank the gods. It was a gift from Malva’s mother.”

  “I see the lack of taste is hereditary.”

  “I fear I don’t have a full triumphal dinner,” said Halla apologetically. “Bread and cheese and jam, mostly.”

  “I have brought a dinner,” said Zale, brandishing a covered dish. “I don’t know what it is. The widow who lives across from the church pressed it on me and told me to tell you that she’d give you the recipe.”

  “Good enough.”

  She found winecups for the three of them and they all sat down at the table. Halla kept looking around the house and thinking, This is mine, but the thought seemed so absurd that she had to drown it in sips of wine.

  “What will you do now?” asked Zale.

  “Oh! Goodness, I…you know, I don’t know?” Halla set down the winecup, startled. “I mean, I’ve been so focused on getting to this point that I barely thought about what comes after this.”

  “Understandable. You don’t need to decide right away,” said Zale.

  Halla nodded, glancing at Sarkis. “I suppose it will take a few days to sort the house out here. Bartholomew of course will get first pick of the artifacts, and I’ll clean out some rooms. After that, I thought maybe I’d go see my nieces, if Sarkis doesn’t mind.”

  Sarkis looked up, startled. “What? Mind?”

  “Well, I mean…I assume you’ll insist on going with me…”

  “I am certainly not letting you go traipsing about the countryside by yourself.” His skin crawled at the thought. Halla would probably trip and fall on a bear. She would undoubtedly then ask the bear questions until it forgot to eat her, but he didn’t think his nerves could take it.

  “Right. So would you mind visiting them?”

  “I go where you go. Wherever that may be.”

  “Which is why I’m making sure you don’t mind where we go!”

  Zale hid a smile behind their wine.

  “It is not my place to mind or not mind,” Sarkis said.

  “I think perhaps I will turn in,” Zale said. “This is most excellent wine, and too much more will go to my head.” The priest rose and nodded to Halla and Sarkis. “And it will be good not to sleep in a wagon again.”

  “I am looking forward to it,” said Sarkis.

  “You didn’t sleep in the wagon anyway,” said Halla, as Zale left the room. “You slept on top.”

  “Yes, and sleeping indoors will be a welcome change.”

  “I thought you slept on rocks and snow all the time.”

  “I didn’t say I enjoyed it.”

  The sound of the priest’s laughter drifted down the hall after them.

  Halla looked suddenly worried. “Oh dear. I didn’t clear out a bedroom for you.”

  “It is no concern. I will guard you.”

  She grumbled, but rose. He padded after her as she went to the linen closet and pulled out a pile of quilts. “Here. If you plan on sleeping in front of the door again, I’ll make you a bedroll.”

  He accepted an armload of cloth and said, with absolute honesty, “It had not occurred to me to sleep anywhere else.”

  Chapter 44

  Halla led the way to her bedchamber, then paused. It was going to be very cramped with Sarkis on the floor.

  “Oh,” she said, almost to herself. “I don’t have to sleep in there, do I?”

  “It is your house now,” Sarkis said. “You may sleep in any room that you wish. You may sleep in the garden if you so desire.”

  “That’s quite all right. Maybe tomorrow I’ll sort something out. I’d want to change the sheets, though.” She opened the door to her old room.

  It seemed even smaller than she remembered, but so familiar. An emotion gripped her suddenly that she hardly recognized—the opposite of homesickness, perhaps. Home. I’m back home.

  She stopped in the doorway and Sarkis nearly ran into her back. He was a warm, solid wall behind her and somehow his presence felt like home too.

  She lit the tiny lamp by the door and sat down on the bed with a sigh of relief.

  Sarkis set down the blankets and the cups.

  “You brought the wine,” she said, amused.

  He smiled as he handed her the cup. “It’s important to celebrate the victories. They are too few in life.”

  She took the cup and their fingers touched briefly. Her heart squeezed in her chest and that was stupid, they touched plenty of times on the road, there was no reason to feel that way about so small a touch.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind going to see my nieces?” she said.

  He gave her an impatient look. “I am your guardsman. I don’t mind. I serve.”

  “But you’re not!” she said, frustrated. “Or you’re not just—I mean, you’re not a servant. You’re my friend. At least, I thought we were friends…”

  She hated how small her voice became at the end. She hated how much whatever he said next would matter.

  She’d gotten back her inheritance. She had everything she wanted…except, apparently one thing.

  This is a terrible thing to want.

  Sarkis took a step forward and took her face between his palms. His dark eyes were even darker than usual and there was something in them she didn’t recognize.

  “Halla…”

  No one had ever said her name like that. He looked at her steadily. He was too close to her, surely, as close as he had been when he had kissed her, and she wished that he would do it again.

  And then it occurred to her that she was a widow, and it hardly mattered now, and without quite knowing how it happened, she kissed him.

  Wait.

  What am I doing?

  What if he doesn’t…

  His lips were warm and tasted like the wine they’d been drinking. Halla reached out aimlessly with her hand, to push him away or pull him closer, she didn’t know. He caught her fingers in his, so she did not get a chance to find out.

  Wait, what?

  The kiss started tender and undemanding. It didn’t stay that way for very long. His free hand slid up the back of her neck and his mouth opened over hers.

  What am I doing we can’t do this I want to do this but I can’t this is…this is…

  …wonderful.

  Heat erupted in her belly and a pulse began to beat between her legs. She could not remember the last time she had felt like this. Or the first time, for that matter.

  It was not until he sat down on the bed, pulling her down beside him, that she came to her senses.

  “No,” she said, pulling back. “No—we can’t—I can’t—”

  He stopped at once. She thought she’d startled him. His fingers were still interlaced with hers. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I misjudged, clearly. I did not mean to give offense.”

  “Offense!” Halla groped for her winecup. “Oh gods! No, not offense. You’re the first person who’s been interested in…well, in a long time. I’m grateful.”

  “Grateful?” He looked appalled. “Grateful for what? That I have eyes?”

  She made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob and was so horrified at the thought she might cry that she took a large swallow of wine and choked on it. Sarkis pounded her on the back while she gasped.

  “I’ve been rejected before,” he said, once she could breathe again. “You don’t need to drown yourself to convince me.”

  “No!” Oh gods, he had it all wrong. She shook her head violently. “No, no. I’m not rejecting—it isn’t you.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that one before, too. Truly, lady, it’s all right.”

  Back to lady again, and not Halla. Damn it all.

  “No, no! It’s just—my husband—” She put her hands to her forehead. White Rat help her, she was blushing. “I mean, he’s dead.”

  “I’m aware, yes.” A line formed between Sarkis’s eyes. “I’m sorry. You loved him very much, then?”

  “What? Oh god, no!”

  Her vehemence seemed to have astonished him. He stared at her, clearly baf
fled, and then she saw something dark and chill rise in the back of his eyes.

  “Did he teach you pain?” he asked softly. “I’ll kill him.”

  “He’s already dead.”

  “Do you think that will stop me? Give the word and I’ll hunt him across the great god’s hells and tear his soul out through his bowels.”

  “That should not be necessary.” She couldn’t help it, she was amused despite herself. The notion of that poor, weak little man deliberately hurting anyone, let alone doing anything that would enrage Sarkis. “Oh dear.” One shouldn’t stifle a giggle over one’s dead husband, but here she was. “No, he wasn’t cruel. Truly. Just…um. Not very interested.”

  The darkness went away. She was glad to see it go. Sarkis lifted her hand to his lips. “A man would have to be half-dead not to be interested in you,” he murmured against her fingers.

  “Flatterer.”

  “I am utterly sincere.”

  “Well.” She shrugged. “I don’t think it was me in particular. He just wasn’t interested in that sort of thing in general. No by-blows, no complaints from the servants. Two minutes in my bed every few weeks, doing his duty.”

  “Two minutes!”

  “I don’t think it occurred to him to take longer. Or um, that he was capable, really.”

  Sarkis shook his head. “I don’t blame any man for not enjoying bedsports, but why marry and condemn his wife to the same?”

  “Oh, as to that…” She topped off her wine. “He had no choice in the matter. Aunt Malva and her sisters were cut from the same cloth. His mother was determined to see him wed someone. I’d no money, but I was…” She trailed off, staring into the wine. “Biddable,” she said finally.

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  She chuckled. “Well. I was young. And…”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

  “…young.” She took a swallow of the wine. “They knew, I think, that he had problems. I don’t think they expected him to consummate the marriage at all, so they were careful to choose someone who wouldn’t go calling for an annulment. Someone poor. But on the off-chance that he did manage…” She slapped her hip. “A good breeder. Strong hips.”

  Sarkis wisely said nothing to this.

  “Fertility runs in the family, you see. That’s why we’re poor. Too many mouths. But nothing came of it.” She set the winecup down with a click. “Then the fever carried him off, a few years later. And I haven’t dared…not since then. In case I did catch pregnant.”

  “You didn’t want a child.”

  “And have someone else living as precariously as I did?” Halla shook her head. “Silas would have turned me out. He was a decent old man and he liked his comfort more than respectability, but there were limits.”

  Sarkis looked at her steadily.

  “And I didn’t want a child,” she admitted. “Never have. Too many around when I was growing up. Five of us, all climbing over each other and making an unholy racket. And you know how that ended up.” She shrugged.

  “I’m sorry.” He pulled her back against him, hand moving on her hair. Unlike his earlier urgency, there was nothing but kindness in the touch. Halla sighed, both comforted and regretting the loss.

  More the fool me. A handsome man looks at me for the first time in years, and I panic like a novice nun and kiss him, even knowing better.

  “Are there no herbs among your people to prevent conception?”

  Halla scowled. “There are. I even tried some once.”

  “And did they not work?”

  “I suppose it depends on your definition of ‘worked.’”

  He waited.

  “I vomited for four days.” Halla shuddered at the memory. “In that sense, they were marvelously effective, since I couldn’t get far enough away from a bucket to try conceiving anything.”

  Sarkis’s chest twitched against her back as he choked down a laugh. “I am sorry.”

  “It’s all right. Years ago.” She leaned back against him, relaxing into the sensation of warm muscle against her back.

  He was still stroking her hair. It was soothing and yet the spark of desire she’d been feeling steadfastly refused to go out. Foolish. You should have known better.

  “So you’ve let no one into your bed since then? For fear of getting a child?”

  Put like that, she felt like a coward.

  And because no one was particularly interested, she added mentally, but that seemed like an even worse thing to admit.

  “Well…”

  “Is that the only reason, then? You can tell me the truth, if you find me repulsive. I’m not going to force myself on an unwilling woman.”

  She sat up, appalled. “Of course it is! I mean I don’t! I—otherwise I would—yes, in a heartbeat. You’re very…very…” She tried to think of a word and failed. “Very,” she added, somewhat anticlimactically.

  Sarkis smiled. “That was the word I was waiting for,” he admitted.

  “What, ‘very’?”

  “‘Yes.’”

  The kiss this time started as innocent as the first one, but ended a good way from that. His tongue slid along her lips and Halla felt herself shaking.

  When they broke apart, he had both hands cupped around her face again. “I’m no longer entirely human,” he said. “I doubt you have to fear bearing my children. But as there is a great deal of daylight between doubt and certainty, we won’t risk it.”

  She blinked at him. “What?”

  “Two people,” he said, sounding amused, “can do a great many things to bring each other pleasure that don’t end in children.”

  “They can? I mean, you do hear things, but it always seems to end with someone catching pregnant.”

  Sarkis snorted. “Because you mostly hear it from lusty young men who can’t keep more than one thought in their head at a time.” He drew her down beside him, tracing the line of her neck with his fingers. “Whereas I am several hundred years old, and if being in a sword has taught me anything, it’s patience.”

  His breath in her ear was very warm. She was having a hard time thinking.

  “I can show you,” he whispered. “If you want me to.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  No use dithering, thought Halla, a bit dazed. Roll up your sleeves and get to work.

  Undoubtedly that wasn’t what her mother had meant, but at the moment, she didn’t care.

  “Show me,” she said to Sarkis, and he did.

  Anyone listening outside the bedroom door might have heard the following conversation over the next few minutes.

  “Sarkis?”

  “Do you not like that? I’ll stop if you don’t.”

  “No, it’s lovely. I have a question.”

  A sigh. “Of course you do.”

  “Why do you think men like women’s breasts? As opposed to—I don’t know, shoulders or feet or—”

  “Some men like feet.”

  “What?”

  “Feet. Some men are extremely fond of women’s feet.”

  “Really? Like that? Why?”

  “People are complicated.”

  “You’re not like that, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Because I have ugly feet.”

  “Everyone does. Human feet are inherently ugly. Your breasts are exemplary, however.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve never been told that I had exemplary breasts before.”

  “I maintain that your countrymen are idiots.”

  “Are you saying that if I wandered around the Weeping Lands, I’d be complimented on my chest? Because honestly, that doesn’t sound entirely positi—mmmf!”

  Some moments later: “You did that so I’d stop asking questions, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sorry. I’m nervous.”

  “I gathered.”

  “I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s not like the time
s I lost my virginity.”

  A long, long pause. Then, wearily: “I’m going to regret asking. I know I’m going to regret asking. But…times?”

  “Well, you know he had some problems in the bedroom. He couldn’t really stay focused, if you know what I mean. So it took him about a week and I think three tries to actually…you’re beating your head against the headboard. Are you all right?”

  “If he lived, I would burn his lands and sow the fields with salt for the indignity.”

  “Awww. That’s sweet…wait. Was that supposed to be sweet?”

  Another, heavier sigh.

  “Halla. I need you to do something for me.”

  “Yes?”

  “For the next ten minutes, the only words I want you to say are ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ ‘Harder,’ ‘More,’ and ‘There.’ And if you don’t like what I’m doing, ‘Stop.’ Can you please do that for me?”

  “Sure. I mean, yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  The conversation after that involved fewer words, and, eventually, more gasping. Halla eventually began crying out Sarkis’s name, too, but he didn’t mind at all.

  Chapter 45

  Sarkis held Halla in his arms, listening to her breathing, and felt well pleased with the world.

  He had spent a long time inside the sword, only coming out when his wielder needed an unkillable weapon or an untiring guardsman. It had been a pleasure, these last few weeks, to live as a man again, instead of as a weapon. To eat food and walk as a man, to sleep, however lightly, in the world instead of inside the blade.

  And last night, to make love to a woman.

  It had been a near thing. He had badly misjudged the shape of her fears. Which should probably not surprise me. If I have learned anything about Halla at all, it is that she never comes at anything from the direction I expect.

  But this fear, at least, he was able to soothe. And after that…well.

  Taking off another person’s clothes was generally sensual for about thirty seconds and then devolved into a confusion of hooks and buttons and lacing. Sarkis eventually gave up trying, dealt with his own armor, and let Halla wriggle her way loose.

  She covered her breasts with her hands, looking embarrassed and defiant all at once. The bodice had left two long red lines along her sides. He ran his fingers down one and she squirmed.