Chapter 5 #2
“All those scenarios are simply games of wit. Sometimes, yes, it’s about strength and power.”
“But more often the outcome depends on who is the cleverest rather than on the hand you’re dealt,” Veru finished.
Kadam laughed. “Precisely.”
“And did you train your princes in strength, stealth, or smarts?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
“So, did your young tiger princes on this other world successfully accomplish these tests as well?”
The man blinked. “Now, I never said—”
“You didn’t have to. I may be young, but I’ve traveled much of the empire, and my parents have taught me to observe people and question them well. I’ve never seen the type of fabric you’re wearing or heard your accent before.”
“Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean—”
Veru held up a hand. “There is also much to be learned in what a man doesn’t say.
When I ask certain questions, and you hesitate or choose your answers carefully, it tells me you are hiding information.
Then I sort out the information you do tell me from the missing pieces and put together the puzzle.
You don’t belong here, do you, Anik Kadam? ”
Veru was proud of herself for watching and choosing her words so carefully.
She’d always been outspoken. Too much so, according to her mother.
Perhaps being a tiger and not having a voice had been good for her.
It had given the tsarevna the opportunity to observe rather than blurt out her first impression.
She’d also learned the benefit of a second pair of eyes.
There was great value in working with a partner, even if there was the occasional disagreement.
The man paused and sipped his tea, but his eyes were twinkling.
“It’s all right if you don’t want to tell me, you know. I don’t need you to confirm it. You answered the way I would have.”
He lowered his cup and smiled. “You are quite bright, my dear. What a leader you’ll be.”
The light in Veru’s eyes dimmed at that comment, and she looked away. “I’m not meant to be the next tsarina. It needs to be Stacia.”
The man cocked his head. “Why do you believe that?”
“No one will listen to me or take me seriously. They just want to marry me off and flounce me around in big dresses.” Veru looked down, picking at the fabric of her skirt.
“Much like this one,” she said with a grimace.
“All they want is a pretty doll to auction off to the most advantageous suitor. That’s not who I want to be. ”
“And why do you think all they will see is your outward appearance?”
“It’s all most people see.”
“Maybe. But character runs deep. You can show them more.”
“It’s useless. The men just drool all over my skirts, and the women are so busy hating me or destroying me with gossip that they can’t see the good I can do.”
“That is a problem,” he agreed.
“So you understand, then. It needs to be Stacia.”
He grunted. “I think everything will be clearer once you finish the tasks you need to accomplish here. I find that if you let problems sit for a bit, just like tea, the leaves settle, and you can see to the bottom. Then you often discover it’s not as difficult to sift through as you first believed.
It’s the constant stirring that’s the issue with most things.
Let’s just worry about one thing at a time, shall we? ”
Veru sighed. “Fine. Tell me what I need to do so I can get on with it.”
“I can see you feel determined as to your future.”
“I do, but that isn’t really something you need concern yourself with.”
“I disagree. My role is to help all of you become your best selves. The concern I feel for you is natural, I assure you.”
“Just not as natural as it might be for your own princes.”
“Perhaps not yet,” he agreed. “But don’t disregard my experience simply because I’m still learning about all of you and your world.”
Veru gave the man a long look and sipped her tea. Then she took a several long gulps, draining the mug, and said, “It’s no sbiten, but I suppose any man who grows these sour . . . what do you call them?”
“Lemons,” Kadam said with a grin.
“Right, lemons, and pours enough sugar in the mug to sweeten them up knows enough about balance to teach me something.” Veru dipped her finger into her mug and lifted out the slice of lemon, squeezing the remaining juice between her fingers and smelling the rind. “Do you have a knife?” she asked.
He reached into a bag and handed her a small knife with an ivory handle.
She unclipped the sheath and slid it out.
The blade was sharp and well cared for, and it fit in her hand as if it had been made for her.
Veru twirled it around and between the fingers of her dominant hand, getting the balance of the blade.
Then she set the slice of lemon on the edge of the mug and began flicking the knife back and forth between her hands, picking up her speed.
Though she favored her left hand, she’d long ago taught herself to use both hands with equal skill.
Her father and various weapons masters had trained both sisters in how to shoot all manner of archery weapons and use various types of swords.
Her sister preferred swords as her weapon of choice, but Veru had always favored daggers.
She carried at least twelve on her person at all times, including a few hidden within her boots.
She even had specially made leather gloves that concealed small knives that she occasionally wore to state dinner parties.
One never knew when a spy might slip in undetected.
Of course, her mother always stationed guards, but there was nothing like the kiss of cold, hard steel against the vulnerable pulse point at the wrist to make a girl feel safe.
Veru would always grin when a man would try to corner her and kiss her wrist, only to discover he was pressing his hot lips against sharp metal instead of her soft skin.
As she twirled the knife, lost in her thoughts, Kadam watched her practice her skill.
His fascination with her technique soon turned to awe and then stunned appreciation.
He knew she was only playing, but she was good.
No, she was more than good. She was adept.
Deadly, even. She might have even given Deschen a run for her money.
Before Kadam realized her full intentions, the knife was at his throat and she was behind him, her arm wrenching back his forehead to expose the length of his neck.
He clicked his tongue, chiding himself for losing focus, for being too soft.
Just because he instinctively knew she wouldn’t hurt him didn’t mean he should let his guard down.
After all, even a caged tiger can scratch.
He blamed his age. He needed to do better if he was going to mentor these young people and find a way back to his own.
Closing his eyes, he centered himself and breathed in, then let out a long, slow breath.
Veru asked nothing, and Kadam said nothing.
Instead, reflex took over. It had been a long time, but Kadam still possessed the basic skills he needed to overcome an enemy.
Quickly, he maneuvered himself under her arm, disappearing before she even had a chance to tighten her hold.
He grabbed her wrist and twisted it quickly, hard, so the knife flew from her grip.
Deftly, he plucked it from the air before it fell to the ground and tucked it into his belt, before flipping her by using her own wrist. Her feet flew over her head, but she managed to twist in the air, landing on one foot and kicking him in the head with the other.
Kadam turned away in time, so the worst of the blow was deflected.
She bent to pick up a large stick and launched a new attack, which he easily deflected with his bare arms, eventually tossing her branch aside. When that was out of reach, she pulled a burning branch from the fire and brandished it at him.
“Why do you seek weapons instead of fighting hand to hand?” he asked. “I find it oddly curious. You’re obviously capable. And yet you go out of your way to seek something to use against your attacker.”
“And I find it curious that you’d rather talk than fight,” Veru retorted.
Kadam knocked away the burning branch and grabbed her hand, easily shifting her weight and tossing her over his shoulder. She fell with a thump on top of a still-sleeping Danik, who spluttered awake with confusion.
“Hey, now. What’s happening? Where’s the fire? Don’t step on my instrument.”
He pushed Veru off and leaped on top of his domra, shielding it from harm.
“Nobody fell on your precious guitar,” Veru said sulkily as she rose to her feet and patted away the dust from her skirt. When she tripped on a torn hem, she cursed under her breath, ripped off the offending edge, and wrenched up her hair into a ponytail, tying it with the torn fabric.
“It’s not a guitar,” Danik said, yawning while rubbing his chest where Veru had landed a moment before. “Why were you two fighting, anyway? Was it about breakfast? Did he not save me any? If not, then you have my permission to kick him again.”
“It wasn’t about your breakfast. We haven’t even eaten yet.”
“Indeed,” Kadam replied, returning to his various bags. “We were about to start cooking when the tsarina offered to demonstrate her skill with knives.”
“She did? And I missed it?” Danik said. “At least breakfast is still on the table—or rock, as it were.”
“Exactly,” Kadam replied with a chuckle. “Here, lad. You can help me with the porridge.”
“You didn’t miss anything,” Veru said crossly, wrenching her skirts across her lap as she sat by the fire again. “And I’m a tsarevna, not a tsarina. You got the word wrong.”
Kadam smiled over the pot as he poured in the dry porridge. “My mistake. I’ll try to remember that.”
Danik ate his entire bowlful and half of Veru’s, then began inquiring about lunch. “Don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry. I hope you brought enough to last awhile.”