“This stone-faced routine isn’t necessary. I know the pain is excruciating.”
“If my rolling around on the ground and crying would make things easier for you, by all means I will oblige.” It finally sank in. He had won and lived, and so did she.
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “We’re lucky his sword was so sharp. The cut is very clean. If you give me an hour or two to recover, I will heal this. Was it necessary to let him slash you?”
Argh. “Yes, it was. He was very good, and I didn’t have a choice about it. Since when are you a connoisseur of martial arts?” He was actually arguing that he was a lesser swordsman. How did it even make sense?
“Since my life started depending on them.”
“The next time I’m in a fight for my life, I’ll be sure to ask your advice, my lady.”
“If you do, I’ll advise you to not throw away your sword.”
He almost growled, but it would’ve frightened her, and he held himself in check. An infuriating, impossible woman.
She tied the final knot and wrapped white tape around the bandage. “What’s next?”
“We go upstairs.”
“Very well.” She leaned toward him to tie a sling around his shoulder. Her hair brushed against his cheek. Desire stabbed him, sudden and overwhelming. His irritation only made him want her more.
Charlotte slid his arm into the sling and put the kit back into the bag. “If you promise not to get yourself cut or skewered with anyone else’s sword, I promise not to faint.”
Delightful. “I’d be a fool not to take that generous offer.”
They started up the stairs, agonizingly slow.
“Did you really think I would win?” he asked.
She turned to look at him, gray eyes so beautiful on her lovely face. “Of course.”
Richard imagined stepping forward, pulling her to him with his uninjured hand, and kissing her right there on the stairs. In his mind, her lips were warm and inviting. In his mind, she loved it and kissed him back.
His mind was a place of many dreams, most of them dead and abandoned. She’s walking next to you, he told himself. She saw the true you, and she’s still willing to care for you. Enjoy what little you have while you have it.
They made it into the hallway. A faint light painted the floor under the door on their right. Richard pointed at the wall by the door. Charlotte pressed her back against it.
He kicked in the door, spinning to the side. Bullets peppered the opposite wall, biting chunks out of the plaster. He’d seen the inside of the room for a fraction of a second, but it was enough: a red-haired woman sat behind a desk and a tall man stood next to her, armed with one of the Broken’s guns. Richard yanked a throwing knife out of the sheath on his belt, thrust himself into the doorway, and hurled the blade. The knife bit into the gunman’s throat. The man stumbled back and fell.
The woman stared at him with cold, clear eyes. She had a heart-shaped face, with the high, contoured cheekbones bluebloods often found desirable. Her flame red hair coiled around her head in a complex braid. Her tunic was silk, cut in what was assuredly the latest style. An oval pendant hung from her neck on a thin gold chain: a pale, aquamarine stone the size of his thumbnail. She looked to be near Charlotte’s age.
Behind her were two large windows. Rows of shelves supported an assortment of books on the right wall while a large white limestone fireplace occupied the left. An arithmetika, a magic-powered calculator, sat on her desk, next to stacks of paper. No weapons appeared to be in the vicinity.
“We found the bookkeeper,” Richard said. “Come inside, Charlotte.”
She walked into the room. She saw the dead gunman. Her eyebrows rose briefly, then Charlotte sank into the nearest chair.
“If you had a knife, why didn’t you throw it at the swordsman downstairs?”
“It would’ve been a waste. He would’ve knocked it aside.” Richard nodded at the woman. “Place both hands on the desk.”
She did so. Delicate fingers, adorned with thin gold rings studded with stones. Wealth and taste were sometimes unlikely bedfellows, but in this case, they were clearly bosom buddies. A familiar anger flared in him.
“You’re wealthy, probably well educated,” he said. “Juliana Academy, perhaps.” Juliana’s was considered the best place for blueblood girls with money to receive their education. He’d became very familiar with Adrianglian school selection for Lark’s sake. He shouldn’t have bothered. His niece shot down all of his careful choices.
“Winters College,” Charlotte said. “Her tunic perfectly matches the shade of her eyes. Juliana’s encourages more creativity.”
The woman arched an eyebrow and looked Charlotte over, pausing on her dirty, bloodstained clothes. His urge to injure her shot into overdrive.
“And where did you study, if I may ask?”
“I had personal tutorship from one of the first ten,” Charlotte said, her voice glacially cold and cutting with scorn like a knife. “Don’t try to belittle me; you’re hopelessly outclassed. I see shortcomings in your every single aspect, from your lack of taste to your rotten morality. You’ve involved yourself in the basest of crimes. You facilitated murder, rape, and the torture of children. Your conduct is unbecoming a peer of realm.”
He almost winced.