CHAPTER 33
Your first defense is always to scream and run away,” Everard said.
After our trip to the Ribs, Solentine had delivered me back to the house.
My plan was to go back to my room and work.
There was a passage from the book written in Sareso I wanted to reproduce.
But Everard had decided it was a good time to teach me how to use a dagger, and now I was in the courtyard.
The day was lovely. Ragged clouds floated in the sky, and sunshine dappled the yard. The sunlight played on Everard’s dark hair, sliding over his harsh, handsome face. The wind was blowing east, and the air smelled of salt and ocean.
“Don’t go toe-to-toe with your attacker, especially if they are larger than you,” Everard said. “Make noise, draw attention to yourself, and try to gain some distance.”
I nodded.
“We’re going to assume that you tried to run away and failed.” Everard nodded at the three knives waiting on the table to the side. “Pick the one that seems the most comfortable.”
I studied my options. The first knife was single edged, with a six-and-a-half-inch, slightly curved blade and a short wooden handle.
The second knife looked like a classic, straight-edged Ka-Bar.
My dad had one that looked just like it, except his was larger.
This one was a smaller version, lighter, with a six-inch blade.
The third was a traditional, double-edged dagger, the same blade I had stabbed into the Butcher’s corpse.
I took the dagger and pulled it out of its leather sheath. It was slender, light, and very sharp.
“Good choice,” Everard said. “Put it back in its sheath.”
I sheathed the dagger and faced him.
His eyes turned cold. He advanced. Menace rolled off him in waves. He moved like someone who hunted and killed people, and some animal instinct inside me recognized him as a predator and screeched in fear.
I took a step back.
He kept coming.
I took another step.
Another.
My legs hit the wine tree table. Nowhere left to go.
Everard loomed in front of me. His hand snapped out and clamped my neck.
The breath caught in my throat.
He didn’t squeeze. He just held me, but the urge to frantically flail and kick myself free gripped me.
My heart thudded in my chest. In some books I’d read this would’ve been a sexy moment when the hero used this opportunity to demonstrate his hot, possessive ways and gently caress the heroine’s neck, but nothing about this was sexy.
It was scary as hell, and the panic inside me convulsed like a feral cat caught in the loop of a dog catcher’s pole.
Everard held still. “Deep slow breaths.”
I was shaking. Not with fear but with suppressed fight response. I needed to hit him and claw my way free. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. I knew it, but my instincts were screaming in blind terror. This had to be some kind of reaction to trauma. Kair Toren had done this to me.
“Breathe, Maggie.”
I forced myself to take a slow shuddering breath.
“Good,” Everard said. “Again. Deep breath.”
His voice was reassuring and steady, but he still looked terrifying, as if one man were talking and a different man had his hand on my neck.
“Good. You’re looking for calm. Calm and cold.”
I breathed. The electric prickling on my skin faded slowly.
“Got it?” he asked.
I swallowed and felt my throat tense against his hold. I nodded. Talking was beyond me right this second.
“Don’t raise your arm. Don’t look at the knife. Keep looking at me.”
I stared into his green eyes.
He pulled me toward him. “Stab.”
I jammed the dagger in its sheath at his body.
“Lower.”
I jabbed again.
“That’s the spot. Most men will be taller than you. Jab here and you will hit the femoral artery. If you do it right, they will bleed out before they can do any real damage. I’m still holding you. Keep stabbing.”
I jammed the sheath into him again.
“Where is the woman who smashed the Butcher to a pulp?”
That mix of rage and panic that had driven me into a frenzy inside the Butcher’s lair bubbled up. I stabbed him four times in a single breath, fast and hard.
“Just like that.” He released his hold on my neck and took a few steps back.
The air rushed out of me. I tasted metal in my mouth.
“If you can’t get away, look them straight in the eye as they’re coming. Men who hunt women want to see the fear in their eyes. A professional paid to grab you off the street will also look at your face to make sure they have the right target.”
The handle of my knife was sweaty. I wiped it on my skirt.
“You’re going to look straight at them, so they hold your gaze, and when they put their hands on you, you’re going to stab. Clover will add padded pockets to your dresses so you can carry your blade without a sheath. Don’t bother taking the dagger out. Stab right through the dress.”
I nodded.
“Here I come,” he warned.
He started toward me again. I forced myself to stand still.
Everard grabbed me by my shoulder and yanked me to him. I stabbed his thigh three times, and he let go.
“Good,” he said.
It felt like I had run a sprint.
“Let’s do it again. This time, thrust, and drag the knife to the left, giving it a twist as you pull it out. Just a slight turn will do.”
Will came out the door carrying a ham.
“That’s for you,” Everard said. “To practice.”
Will winked at me.
It would be okay. This was just practice, and I was safe. No matter how uncomfortable Everard made me, I could end it at any moment by stabbing him.
“The hardest part of fighting with a knife is commitment,” Everard said. “You must make the decision to hurt someone, and you must commit completely. You get one chance at a good thrust. If you fail, your attacker will kill you.”
I had learned that lesson already from Lecke on the Estret Bridge.
My mouth felt dry, so I had to force the words out. “Commitment isn’t a problem for me.”
Everard smiled. The grin lit up his face, and the menacing predator melted away in an instant.
“No, I imagine not. It’s getting you to stop that’s the problem.”
I had never thought of myself as a violent person.
I had gotten into a couple of school fights, once in elementary school and once when I was thirteen, but neither time was I the aggressor.
Nothing in my twenty-six years had indicated that when pushed into a corner, I was capable of beating a human being to a bloody pulp.
Maybe Solentine was right, and this was inside of me all along.
It just never had a chance to come out because my life used to be blissfully peaceful.
I had never appreciated how safe I was until I came here.
If I somehow found a way back, could I even return to my life?
Would I be able to slide right back in where I left off or would it be like trying to hammer a square peg into a round hole?
“We’re going to do this again, and this time, you’re going to run away,” Everard said. “Remember, thrust until you get free, then turn and flee. Don’t try to finish me off. Don’t kick at me while screaming obscenities. Stab and run.”
I gripped my knife. “No promises.”
Osor dor mi Damaes. Re braste ca . . .
Or was it re braste c?? It could be read either way and something was telling me that there should’ve been a squiggle above the a to indicate that, but there wasn’t one in the books. Maybe they didn’t bother with it . . .
“Yes, Kaiden?”
He blinked in the doorway with my study door half-open. “How did you know I was there?”
I pointed at the candle on the table. The evening was really dark tonight, so I’d added it to my two lanterns.
“The flame moved when you swung the door open. You’ll have to do better if you want to be sneaky. Do you need something?”
“Lute says someone named Digi is here with her bodyguard.”
“Here? At our front door?”
He nodded.
Crap. Everard was in the basement, having another private meeting with one of his retainers. I had no idea how he would react to finding the stepdaughter of the man who had killed his mother on our doorstep.
Damn it.
“Lute says he has a rag Clover used to mop the floor, so if we need for Digi to wait, he’s got the rug handled.”
Oh for the love of . . . Apparently, Lute didn’t just hold grudges, he cuddled them and tucked them in at night.
“Tell him to show them to the meeting room. And ask Clover to brew some of that fancy tea; it would be lovely.”
“Yes, my lady.” He gave me a mock bow.
“And don’t tell Everard. I mean it this time.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And be less of a smartass.”
He grinned and took off.
I blew my candle out and headed down the stairs.
The meeting room was a new addition to the house.
Gathering in the kitchen for private meetings worked well, but we couldn’t exactly bring strangers there.
Meeting them outside by the wine tree was fine during the day, but not in the evening or during bad weather.
I didn’t want random people in my office either, so we had cleared out one of the larger rooms, put a simple table in there with some chairs, and designated it as the meeting room.
Digi waited for me in one of the chairs. The large woman who had almost stabbed me with a spear stood behind her chair watching Gort, who leaned against the wall. Apparently, he was my designated protector for this meeting.
I nodded to everyone. “Calm winds and tranquil sky.”
“Warm sun and safe harbor,” Digi responded.
I sat in a chair.
Digi wore a hooded robe that hid her from top to bottom.
Her hood was down now, revealing her hair, which was pulled back into a simple ponytail.
Her clothes under that tattered robe were probably plain.
She hadn’t wanted to be recognized. Her bodyguard was wearing one of those generic Rellasian cloaks, the kind you could buy for a couple of dens at any market.
How did they find me? I’d expected Digi would make contact eventually, but not that soon. Did they track the mordok somehow? Or was it Darotha again? No, they wouldn’t know to look for her. It must’ve been the mordok.