Chapter Nineteen #2
The linen was returned to the tray, and then he pulled his tunic over his head, his bare torso illuminated by the afternoon sun.
His body had been honed by exercise and training.
Smooth tanned skin, arms corded with strength, taut abdomen ridged with muscle that disappeared into the top of his leggings.
He might have been a sculpture, each curve of his body released from its imprisoning stone by a crafter with the gods’ own skill.
The shape of his body was none of my business, but I couldn’t look away.
I didn’t want to look away. Whatever haze remained from the dream burned away at the sight of him, beautiful and strong.
I wondered what it might be like to touch that muscle, to trail fingertips down his abdomen…
and watch his reaction. Would it be the same wicked smile he’d worn in the carriage while returning to the stronghold, or the dark-eyed stare he’d given me in the caravanserai, when a dance had felt like something much more intimate…
And then he turned away to take a clean tunic from the tray, revealing a back that narrowed from the broad sweep of his shoulders to his waist and the curve at the bottom of his spine…and the dozens of scars that marked it.
Long, straight scars, much too regular to have come from training or a battle. Even from up here it was clear they’d been made intentionally. Someone had wanted to hurt him. Someone had hurt him.
That shook me from my reverie, and had pity and concern welling up. The scars weren’t new; they hadn’t been suffered recently. Had it happened when he was in the army? Or at the hands of one of his brothers?
Pitying a Lys’Careth didn’t feel comfortable. Pitying a man who—I had to admit—had been kind to me felt even worse.
“Hey!”
The voice rang out behind me, and I hadn’t even heard anyone approach. That was how absorbed I’d been in staring at the prince.
I cursed silently, put on my most na?ve expression, and glanced back to find the tallest man I’d ever seen.
He would have been head and shoulders over Wren.
His hair was the orange-red of a good sunset, long enough to wave across his forehead.
A day’s growth of auburn whiskers lined his jaw.
The skin beneath it was pale. He wore a blue tunic belted over leggings, and his eyebrows were arched and suspicious.
“Who are you?”
“A guest of the prince.”
“What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” I challenged, narrowing my gaze.
He didn’t so much as blink at the question. He had the shoulders of a soldier, and I didn’t think he’d be swayed much by the question, but it was worth a try.
“I heard the sound of fighting.”
I heard the footsteps behind me now, the soft tread of boots on grass proof that the now-shirted prince and Galen were strolling up the hill. The latter looked irritated. The former looked amused and satisfied.
I made my face completely blank. He couldn’t know what I’d been thinking.
The prince glanced at me, then the redhead. “Trouble?”
“I’m not sure, Your Highness,” the man said. “I found this girl. She said she’s one of your guests.”
“Did she?” the prince asked, with no sign of recognition on his face.
“I heard fighting, and thought I should ensure it wasn’t…assassins.”
“Ah.” His eyes sparkled. “And did you see any…assassins?”
“I saw nothing,” I said, all innocence.
I think we both knew this was another kind of battle. Combat between fighters skilled at pretending.
“Thank you for minding our security. This is Red, our training master.”
I smiled at him. “I can’t imagine where you got your name,” I said, and his grin was broad and friendly.
“Red,” the prince said, “meet Fox.”
“Fox,” the man said in a way that made it sound like he’d heard the name before. “You’re the thief.”
I looked at the prince, brows raised.
“Red has saved my life several times,” the prince said. “I trust him.”
“Assassination attempts?”
“Or accidents, or tests, or whatever my father decided to call them,” the prince said. “If the princes were going to fight, he wanted the fight to be good.”
“What a—” I began, and had some creative insults in mind. But then I remembered the company. “Unique form of training.”
“Well covered,” the prince murmured.
I glanced at Galen, who was sneering at me, lip curled. “You’re a thief?”
“Among other things.”
He made a sound of disgust. “Scoundrel.”
“I’m a bond servant and I do what I have to do. The laws of Carethia made us scoundrels. Blame the Lys’Careths.”
“I don’t steal.”
“No, you’re a killer by trade,” I pointed out. “None of us are clean.”
That had him pressing his lips tightly together, which I took as a victory.
“If you’d both just give us a moment,” the prince said.
Red gave me a nod. Galen gave me a look, and they both ambled back down the hill.
For a moment, the prince and I looked at each other, something heady and dangerous shimmering in the air around us. A corner of his mouth lifted with masculine pride.
“Is there anything you’d like to say?”
He probably wanted me to tell him that I’d liked what I’d seen, or that his body was absolute perfection.
Both of which were true, but there was no way in Oblivion I was going to admit it.
I considered giving a silly response, but there was an opportunity here, and dangerous times meant a girl had to take advantage.
“Yes. Teach me something.”
“What do you want to learn?” Red asked when the prince and I had joined him and Galen on the training ground.
Reeds shushed at the edges of the river as they moved in the breeze.
Horses munched leisurely in a tall pasture on the other side, the palace’s eastern wall visible behind them.
A reminder of the limits of our freedom.
“We’re not teaching you how to fight,” Galen muttered.
“I don’t want to learn how to fight. That’s Wren’s job.”
“So what do you want to learn?” Red asked.
I considered. “How about how to disarm someone?”
“Red will teach you how to disarm a man with a sword,” the prince said. “And in exchange…”
“What?” I prompted.
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll think of something.”
“I’m not agreeing if you don’t specify.”
Red bit back a laugh.
“I promise on the crown that what I ask won’t hurt or endanger you or your friends.”
That he’d begun to understand me so well put an itch at the back of my neck. It felt like a vulnerability. And gods knew I didn’t need more vulnerabilities.
“All right,” I said. “Show me how to disarm someone.”
“Galen,” Red said, “if you’d help us.”
Galen’s lip curled, but he stepped forward obediently while the prince smiled behind us.
“Pretend you’re attacking me with a blade,” Red said.
With a little more pleasure than not, Galen obediently extended the short sword toward Red.
“Your first instinct may be to duck, or to move backward, or to run,” Red said. “Run if you have to.”
“It’s one of my favorite things to do,” I assured him.
“If running isn’t an option—if the attacker’s too close—you should step into the blade.”
“No. I’m not doing that.”
“Not the pointy bit. Pivot to your right, putting your back momentarily parallel to the blade, and a step farther away.” Red demonstrated. “Then finish that turn, and you’ll be at your attacker’s elbow.”
Red popped his fist against Galen’s elbow. Galen’s arm jerked, and the sword clattered to the ground. Resigned, Galen sighed and picked it up again.
“Nice trick.”
“You want to try?”
“Sure. With maybe a little adjustment.”
Galen went back to his position. I stood in front of him. Galen advanced and, as Red had done, I pivoted. To make my work harder, Galen kept his elbow at his side.
I kicked the spot behind his knee. He stumbled, caught his balance, and glanced back at me again. But he kept the sword in hand.
“Well,” I muttered. “That didn’t work.”
Galen’s grin was feral. All teeth and pride.
“Go again,” Red said.
We reset. This time, when Galen came at me, I didn’t move. He stopped with the blade an inch from my chest, and I heard shuffling from both Red and the prince.
“Why didn’t you dodge?” Galen asked.
“Didn’t need to.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re going to hand me your sword.” I held out my hand.
“Why in the names of the gods would I do that?”
I opened my palm, revealing the leather cord I’d slipped from his wrist when I’d kicked his knee. Good thieving, my father had said, was about guiding a mark’s attention.
“Because that’s how you’ll get this back,” I said.
“What the…” he said, holding up his wrist to ensure it wasn’t a trick. He looked back at me, and there was a meaner look in his eyes now. “You stole it.”
“I distracted you and took it. I’m more than willing to give it back. In exchange for the sword.”
“I’m not giving you my sword.” His body was stiff with anger.
“Then admit I bested you.”
“You know, I don’t think His Highness would mind a bit of beheading, just for morale.”
I rolled my eyes. “You aren’t going to kill me. If you really wanted me dead, you could have thrown me to the bandits.”
“But then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of doing it myself.”
I curled my lip. “Wren is a lot like you.”
Galen frowned. “A soldier?”
“A violence enthusiast. Do you want this or not?”
He probably wanted to poke me with the sword. But he was a man with a strong sense of honor—if usually aimed in the wrong direction. After a moment, his shoulders dropped. “Fine. You bested me.”
“Thank you,” I said, and offered him the bracelet. He snatched it back and turned away to reattach it.
“You meet the most interesting people,” Red murmured to the prince, his gaze narrowed in puzzlement as he watched us.
“I really do,” the prince said.
“I didn’t know the pivoting trick,” I told Red with a smile. “Thanks for the lesson.”
Red put his hands on his hips. “To be honest, I’m a little worried about what it will be used for.”
“I don’t look for trouble,” I said. Not really. “But I’m a servant. Some people think that means we aren’t worthy of respect or decency. This could save my life someday.”
“In that case, I hope you never find yourself needing to use it.”
“I should let you get back to work. Thanks for the lesson.” I smiled at Galen. “And use a square knot on that cord. Makes it harder to steal.”
He growled like a dog, and my heart swelled with joy.