Chapter 10
Ten
Casimir gives a faint cough. “Ah, Stavros, this wasn’t quite what I had in—”
The former general jabs his finger in the courtesan’s direction. “It was your idea. I wouldn’t think you would have your sensibilities offended by a woman’s bare limbs.”
Bare limbs. He doesn’t want me getting totally naked, just taking off the dress so I can move more easily in my underclothes.
It’s still ridiculous. I didn’t even want to linger in the college for more than an hour today.
But I’ve spent the past three days getting yanked in all kinds of directions I wouldn’t have chosen, and this is one thing I know I can do all on my own.
It’d be worth a bushel of gold to knock the cocky expression off this asshole’s face.
From his sharp grin of anticipation, I can’t tell whether the massive man is getting off more on the idea that I will accept his challenge or that I’ll fold. Either way, he expects to prove me a weakling.
Like it hasn’t taken plenty of guts just walking into this den of snakes.
I tweak the skirt of my faux-silk dress, considering the coverage beneath. The last thing I want is any of these men noticing the unmarked skin between my breasts.
Not having dedicated oneself to a godlen and accepted their brand at twelve isn’t an executable crime like the riven magic that prompted my decision, but it’s rare enough that the godless are viewed with suspicion.
I’d rather not raise any questions about why I’ve forgone the standard ritual and shunned the gods’ favor.
But the short, sleeveless shift I have on is made of the same densely woven cotton as my drawers. The neckline rests just below that of the dress, which only skims my collarbones.
Unless one of Julita’s men takes a mind to yank the collar forward and peer down my chest, I’m safe.
I wouldn’t assume that’s impossible if I was here alone, but they know Julita is watching too. I can’t imagine any of them manhandling me too badly while I’m hosting her in my body.
I match Stavros’s confident, nonchalant air. “Fine.” Then I reach behind myself to loosen the laces.
Casimir slips over to assist, leaning close enough that the warmth of his graceful body tickles over me with a whiff of honeyed sandalwood. “You really don’t have to do this. He’s being a prick.”
“A prick who wants to know what I’m supposedly hiring on.” Stavros swipes his hands together and props himself against the desk as he watches. “Let’s not take too long about it. I do have other things to do, Thief.”
My jaw clenches. “I apologize for not having the gift of being able to send my clothes into thin air with the snap of a finger.”
Benedikt guffaws. “Now that would be a talent worth having.”
Ignoring the gazes trained on me, I step away from Casimir and shimmy out of the loosened dress.
As it pools around my boots, leaving me in my underthings and the plain petticoat that would never have passed for a noble’s if anyone had been able to see it, Stavros gives his head the odd twitch I noticed when we first met and narrows his eyes.
Maybe noticing that my arms, while gangly, have plenty of wiry muscle packed onto them that was previously hidden by my sleeves. Maybe re-evaluating his assessment just a tad already.
Then Casimir inhales sharply. “What happened to you? Who did this?”
He reaches a tentative hand toward my back but stops a few inches shy of the skin.
Oh. Right. I’m so used to my scars that I didn’t consider how they’d be visible at the top of my shoulder blades.
“It was a long time ago and not a big deal,” I say curtly, but Stavros is already striding over.
He makes another twitching gesture with his head before peering at the mottled ridges that protrude from beneath my shift. “Those look like whip lashes. That’s not a typical punishment for stealing.” His tone darkens. “What worse crime did you commit?”
Of course he’d assume that.
I make my voice as hard and cool as I can.
“It wasn’t a whip, and it wasn’t punishment for a crime.
” At least, not in the way he’s thinking.
“My mother was very enthusiastic with a belt. Like I said, it was a long time ago. There are reasons a person ends up fending for themselves on the streets. Can we continue?”
Casimir looks sick as the implications sink in. Stavros’s mouth tightens, but after his gaze slides over my back again, he eases aside.
Can he tell the difference between a whip and a belt when he looks closely?
I don’t really care how much he believes me. Mostly I want them to stop looking at the evidence that I’m not totally unbreakable.
Julita’s obviously caught on too, maybe more clearly than any of the men, since she’s seen how I live in full detail. Gods, Ivy. Your parents did that to you? I can’t imagine—I didn’t realize—
“It’s fine,” I say softly, just to her, not caring what the men make of the statement.
Benedikt lifts his chin toward the white ribbon tied around my upper arm. “What’s that for?”
An image flashes through my mind of the length of white rippling through Linzi’s hair as my little sister scampered through our yard. I brush my fingers over the worn fabric with a pang through my chest. “Just a memento I like to keep on me.”
To make sure I never forget what I am, even if I don’t want anyone else finding out.
I glance toward the thin belt tucked under the waistline of my shabby petticoat. “Should I strip my weapons too, or am I allowed to keep those as part of the test?”
Alek lets out a strangled sound, but Stavros takes the question in stride. He touches the pommel of his short sword. “Let’s keep it to one each. It wouldn’t do to give you an unfair advantage.”
He’s returned to his cocky tone that walks the line between teasing and outright mockery. He thinks my question was funny, does he?
I undo the tie on the petticoat and let that fall too. Then I reach for the small sheaths on the belt, the same beige as the fabric of my undergarments to blend in.
One knife, two knives, tiny enough that they barely added any bulk to my hips but sharp enough to gut a man.
I set those on the nearest shelf in front of the dusty leather volumes there and then bend down to retrieve one slightly longer blade from each boot.
I kept my favorite in my left hand while I set aside the other.
Benedikt breaks into chortling laughter. “She carries more metal than you do, Stav. Oh, I do like this one. Julita picked well.”
I don’t think picked is the right word, Julita remarks, and pauses. But it’s hard to imagine getting a better companion for this situation. Kosmel must have smiled on me.
I don’t bother to correct Benedikt. My attention remains on my theoretical opponent.
Stavros has marked my show of disarming with a twist of his mouth that looks as though it’s not sure whether to become a grin or a grimace. When I meet his eyes, he lets out a brief chuckle and draws his sword. “Is that all?”
“As much as it was worth bothering with in that dress,” I say, rolling my shoulders. “Am I suitably on display for your evaluation?”
I’d imagine all four of these men have seen women in much greater undress than my current state. I’m only slightly less covered than if I were in summer peasant garb. I’ve been much more undressed with more than one man before, albeit under very different circumstances.
Still, my skin shivers under the rake of the former general’s gaze. I resist the urge to peek down and confirm that my lack of a godlen brand isn’t somehow blazing through my shift.
This might not have been my wisest move ever. But I can’t back down now.
“It’ll do,” Stavros says. “Let’s see how well you can use that toy.”
Without any further warning, he lunges.
Thankfully, I know better than to trust a noble or an arrogant asshole to play fair. I’ve been tensed for attack since the moment I grasped my knife.
The former general might be fast for his size, but I’m faster—and there’s not a whole lot of me for him to grab. I whip to the side and duck under the sweep of his prosthetic hand.
As I dart behind him, he yanks his massive frame around to face me again. He waggles his arm with the prosthetic. “You’re lucky. I’m equipped for keeping up appearances right now, not for a fight.”
I snort. “I’m not sure why it matters when you didn’t come close to touching me regardless.”
Benedikt and Casimir have pulled back to the edges of the room. Alek retreats from the desk, his lips pursing beneath his mask. “Do we really need to do this here?”
“I won’t damage your precious archives, scholar,” Stavros says. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon enough.”
Oh, he thinks so, does he?
He springs forward again with a little more respect, feinting to one side and pivoting in the other direction. I have to skid across the floor even lower to avoid a blow, but I slide by close enough to rap the grip of my knife against his muscular calf. “First blood.”
Symbolically, anyway.
Stavros mutters a curse, but a fierce light has come into his eyes that’s almost giddy. It gives him a maniacal air that sets off a peal of warning through my nerves.
He gives his head that odd tiny shake again, and I frown at him. “What are you doing when you twitch your head like that?”
His grimace-y grin widens. “Let’s stay on topic.”
Of course, Julita knows. It’s because of his battle injury. It messed with his sight. He can’t fully focus on anything for more than a second or—
I miss the rest of her answer and any chance to ponder the implications of the former general being partly blind when Stavros barrels forward.
It’s clear in an instant that he was holding back before. I hope to the gods he isn’t even now.
He jabs left and right, shifting on his feet to block my escape, corralling me into a corner. I’ve never faced an opponent like this.
My heart thumps faster. I flick out my knife to deflect a swipe of his sword that would have sliced open the bare skin above my shift’s collar if he wasn’t going to temper the strike. The impact reverberates through my bones.