“Touché.”
He brings his sword up to tap my blade. “Which brings us back to the point at hand. We need a larger practice area.”
I snort. “What will we do in a larger cell?”
“You will back me into a corner even faster.”
Unable to help myself, I laugh. “It would be most convenient if I were to trust you to return to the oubliette like a dutiful sheep to its pen once we had finished our practicing, but I am not a fool, Jackanapes. Especially since your story has more holes than a beggar’s cloak.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, your concern for the duchess is most unmercenary-like. The captain of her armies knows your name. You have not been killed nor ransomed. And you are such an ardent follower of Saint Camulos that you believe he would send someone to help you. If you have such a heightened sense of your own importance, why shouldn’t I?” I do not tell him of the letter. I am not ready to reveal what I have learned.
He comes at me fast, pressing hard in a flurry of blows that take all of my concentration to block. “Mayhap the confidence you speak of comes from knowing that whatever life throws my way, I can wrest some sort of victory from it.”
He is so concentrated on pressing his attack that he creates a small opening for me to duck and spin to the side, allowing me to get out from under his guard. “That may very well be true,” I say, “but I also know that when one strikes too close to the truth, people react defensively. Your own fury gives away your secrets.”
“Your keen sense of observation only enforces my conviction that you are not who you say you are. But to answer your incessant question, I am the fourth son of an impoverished minor Breton lord who sold my services as a mercenary.”
I want to crow with satisfaction. I knew it! “Why would you fight as a mercenary and not under your family’s coat of arms?”
A sour smile twists his lips. “Clearly you have never met my family.”
For some reason my mind goes back to our conversations in the dark, conversations I have forbidden him to speak of, and think of the heart wounds he spoke so knowledgably about. “So it was not your mercenary company, but your family that refused to pay ransom?”
He shifts to his right and tries to find an opening on my left, but I block it. “If there were any ransom demands sent, that would be the most likely reason it was not paid.” He picks his words carefully.
“Why did they not simply kill you once the ransom price was refused?”
He hesitates, and in that hesitation, I can feel all the lies he is considering. “I do not know why I was chosen for such hospitality.”
That is a lie. It has the shape and feel of truth, but smells off in some way. “Why are you really here?”
“I already told you.” His eyes meet mine, challenging me to remember.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did. Before. In the dark. On your third visit here.”
“This is my third visit,” I tell him through clenched teeth.
“Ah, perhaps I am mistaken.” He smiles smugly, and I want to smack it off his face.
Instead, I begin a new attack, backing him against the wall. “Since you dreamed that you already told me, you should have no trouble repeating your answer now.”
There is a long moment of silence except for the rapid tapping of metal on wood. Finally, he speaks. “I saw something. On the battlefield. The commander overseeing the route and subsequent surrender summarily executed two nobles to whom he had given quarter. That is the only reason I can think of that I have been imprisoned. But why he did not just order me killed, I do not know.”
And there is the truth. I can feel the hum of it in his words. My mind reels. “But that goes against all I have learned about how the game of war is played among the powerful.”
“Precisely. And why not just kill me and be done with it? Furthermore, who would take a mercenary’s word against the king’s general?”
“It is a mystery within a mystery within a mystery,” I murmur.
“You are wise to be mistrustful,” he says, his voice serious. “But I would have you know this. I would never endanger the only person who has shown me kindness and humanity in the last twelvemonth.”
His words are as surprising as they are sincere, and catch me unawares. Surely that is the only reason his wooden blade is able to slip inside my guard and rest ever so gently against my collarbone.
My heart quickens. Even though he holds a rough practice weapon, he is also a seasoned soldier and could undoubtedly use it to kill me. It would be ugly, and far more painful than a sharp metal blade, but it would do the job. As I stare into his shadowed face, I become aware of all the things in this room he could kill me with—his wooden sword, the knotted rope, even his large, powerful hands. Furthermore, he is willing me to see that he could have overtaken me at any time and has chosen not to.
Well, he thinks he can overtake me, but he does not know who or what I truly am. I whip the stiletto from its hiding place, intending to bring the point of it up to rest against his throat. But he is quick—far quicker than I guessed—and knocks the knife from my hand so that I am left defenseless with his wooden blade still pointed at my gullet.
We share a long moment of silence. “It seems we have come to an impasse.”
“No impasse, my lady.” He removes his sword and takes a step back. “Simply an understanding. Here. Let me show you how to recover from such a move.” He retrieves my knife from the floor, hands it to me, then spends the next half hour showing me how to send my knife spinning into my other hand with a mere flick of my wrist.
I am impressed, in spite of myself. “Do you have more tricks like that you can show me?”
“A dozen, at least.”
He could not have dangled sweeter bait in front of me. The allure of having an array of such tricks and skills at my disposal to demonstrate to the convent just how ready I am, or to use in the service of the new queen, is irresistible. Besides, moving to a larger room—increasing the risk he presents—will be excellent training for the road.
?Chapter 45
ow that my destiny is calling me, it is nearly impossible to sit still. I am eager to be away from here—on the road to my greater purpose.