Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (29 page)

“I know. You
’re too good and stubborn to leave a woman home with a child that needs more than one parent tending to it.

Do I tell her?

Did he really, truly want to confess that he felt as though something bad were about to happen—that regardless of the fact that he was now home and sleeping at night with his arms around the woman he loved, there seemed to be a cloud of dread hovering over his life, constantly showering him with drops of unease and striking him with blows of fury? It was any wonder how he’d managed to maintain such control over the past few weeks, especially with Miko’s death and Odin’s sudden and irrational disappearance, so to want to cave into his weaker inhibitions at that moment seemed perfectly reasonable and almost necessary.

A thought occurred to him shortly after he looked into his wife
’s eyes and saw what appeared to be a twinkle of unease, a thought so horrible that he wanted to scream at the very idea of it.

Had he cried since the whole ordeal had begun?

It’s not good to keep things bottled up,
his father had once said, during a time in which his temper had begun to overwhelm his life and control every aspect of him.
Scream, my son, for the things that pain you so, but never raise your hand to strike another during a moment of weakness.

“Nova?” Katarina said.

“Yes?” he asked, blinking, clearing his eyes of the vision of the past to look directly into his wife’s face.

“I want you to teach me how to use a sword.”

What?

Had he heard correctly?

“You’re joking,” he laughed, unsure whether or not his ears had deceived him. “You have to be.”

“No, hon. I
’m not.”

“Why do you—“

“If worse comes to worst and something happens, how am I supposed to defend myself if I have no idea how to do it?”

“You
’re a woman. You shouldn’t be wielding a sword.”

“Who says” Katarina asked. “Some men, the law, the royal court or even the
king himself?
You should know better than anyone else that just because someone thinks someone is weaker than them doesn’t mean it’s true. What about Carmen? Is she not a woman?”

“Yes, but—“

“But
what,
Nova?”

“She
’s a Dwarf.”

“That makes no difference. She knows how to fight, how to
defend herself
and
kill
someone who’s trying to
kill
her. What would happen if the castle was sieged and you weren’t there to protect me? Or if you died? What would I do if some monstrosity ran toward me and I didn’t know how to defend myself? Run?”

“That won
’t happen.”

“Whether it will or it won
’t, I don’t care. I’m not going to be one of those women who run around screaming and waiting for a man to save them. I want to learn how to fight, and if you won’t help me, then I’ll find someone who will.”

A breath of air escaped Nova
’s chest.

What do I say?

Common rationale led him to believe that it would be best for his wife to remain ignorant of such things—for her to not know how to use a sword just as well as she could a simple cutting blade—as in his heart and mind he believed that women need not worry for such things because they should always have no need for fear, as there would be a man to protect them. However, his better intuition told him that even if he didn’t want his wife to be pressed into any sort of danger, it might be best if she knew how to defend herself.

If
the castle were sieged and he killed in battle, Katarina could easily be taken hostage.

God knows what brutes will do.

A woman caged, a tortured, a gagged, bound and stripped naked for her pain and their pleasure—that could be Katarina had he not the inclination to show his wife how to fight.

With a slow, deep breath in, then out of his chest, he stepped forward, wrapped his hands around his wife
’s upper arms, then bowed his head until their foreheads touched.

“So,” Katarina whispered, reaching up to brace her hands along both sides of his ribcage. “Will you teach me?”

“You’re sure about this?” he whispered back.

“I
’m sure.”

“If that
’s what you want, I’ll do my damndest to teach you how to fight like the best of them.”

Later that afternoon, after the sun fell and the pages retreated for their afternoon lessons, Katarina stood on the sparring grounds holding a wooden sword and buckler. Hands braced at her hips, his weight guiding her stance to bend her knees and allow her momentum, Nova waited a to ensure that she would not falter, then walked around her and a fair distance away before nodding for her to come forward.

“Keep your arms bent,” he said, flexing his forearm to demonstrate his point. “Shield to the chest, sword at your side. You don
’t want them stuck out straight for someone to cut them off.”

“I figured as much,” Katarina laughed, stepping forward and waving her sword out in front of her. “Come at me!”

“Any good warrior should know that you never attack first.”

“Why? Not willing to make the first move?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Says who?”

“Says everyone who knows anything about swordfights.”

“One of us is going to have to make the first move,” Katarina said. “So I guess that
’s going to be me!”

The woman raised her sword, screamed, then threw herself forward, weapon flying through the air and sailing right toward Nova
’s face.

He ducked.

The sword skirted down the edge of his spine.

He barely had time to roll out of the way before the wooden tip of the weapon slammed into the ground.

She’s faster than I thought,
he mused, panting, almost unable to believe the strength and dexterity his wife had shown.

He knew nothing of her physical past, whether or not she could raise her hands in a fight or throw something at a target and hit it perfectly, for she had never once claimed to have hit another person or throw a knife and hit a target
’s perfect bulls-eye. In that regard, they were two complete strangers, a man and a woman passing each other in the street without so much as a second glance, but that seemed not to matter. In that great, precise moment—when Katarina raised her sword and once more slammed it onto his shield—she could have been the grand master of sword fighting in the entire western world.

“Come on!” she cried, throwing her sword forward and swinging her buckler out in front of her. “What
’re you waiting for?”

“Nothing
,” he replied.

What he wanted to say, regardless of the fact that his nerves were ablaze, was that he
was
waiting for something. A simple slip of the wrist, a misplaced step, a lack of coordination or a false hold on a needed stance—anything could alert him to a weakness he could easily exploit.

Come on,
he thought.
Do something.

How could he expect his wife to fail, especially in a situation where h
e was training her how to fight?

“You
’re slipping,” she said, knocking him out of his reverie just in time for him to raise his shield and block a thrust. “How do you expect to win if you can’t stay focused?”

“Who said I was trying to win?” he grinned.

In response, Katarina brought the hilt of her sword down onto his buckler as hard as she could.

A metallic echo rang along the inner edges of the shield.

The sound stabbed into Nova’s ears.

He grimaced.

What felt like thousands upon thoughts of flies seemed to buzz within his head.

“You thought I couldn
’t do this?” she laughed, raising her shield to block one of his own returning blows. “What do you think of me now, husband?”

“This makes me love you even more,” he laughed.

“What the hell’s going on?”

Nova turned his head.

Katarina struck him upside the head hard enough to knock him to the ground.

What?

At first, he couldn’t understand what had just happened or how he ended up in the dirt. Head spinning, eyes out of focus, ears ringing like his head had just been placed inside a bell struck with an iron hammer—he allowed his vision to clear and the sound to die down before tilting his head back just in time to see a man step into view.

“We were sparring,” Katarina said, allowing her arms to fall slack at a side.

“What woman thinks she can wield a sword?”

“I do.”

“You
do?” the man laughed. “Who do you think
you
are?”

“My wife,” Nova said, accepting Katarina
’s hand as she reached down to pull him up. “Back off, buddy.”

“Back off yourself,” the man replied. “I
’m the weapon master and what I say goes.”

“What you say
goes?”
Katarina asked. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Don
’t talk back to me, bitch.”

“Hey!” Nova cried, throwing his sword and shield on the ground before stepping forward. “Nobody calls my wife a bitch.”

“I do.”

“I oughta kick your motherfucking ass you pathetic little pussy.”

“He’s not worth it,” Katarina said, casting her own armaments aside and stepping out of the sparring ring. “Come on, Nova. Let’s go. We don’t have to deal with this.”

“I shouldn
’t have to deal with this either!” the man called back as Nova and Katarina made their way from the training grounds. “If I see either of you back here again, I swear I’ll have you reported!”

Nova shook his head.

Though in his heart he knew such a thing would never go unpunished, especially under the king’s jurisdiction, he knew more than well that arguing with a nobody would do neither him nor his wife any good.

“You shouldn’t let this get to you,” Ketrak said, frantic to calm his raging daughter as she tore her way through the room and opened each and every drawer in sight.

“Yeah,” Nova sighed. “He
’s just a dumbass, that’s all.”

“Just
a dumbass?” Katarina asked, throwing her hands in the air when Nova tried to approach. “No, Nova, Father! This is absolutely ridiculous.”

“I
’m not saying it isn’t, but—“

A knock came at the door.

Shit.

Could the new weapons master have reported them so quickly after they had left the premises?

In a short, spontaneous moment of anxiety, grief and nerves, Nova balled his fists at his sides, tightened them until his knuckles popped, then stepped toward the locked door.

“Should I open it?” he asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Ketrak replied.

Katarina had nothing to add.

A short moment after he realized neither member of his family would say any more, Nova set his hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath.

All right,
he thought.
One… two…

He opened the door.

No one stood outside.

“What the,” he began.

“Uh,” a voice said. “Hello?”

Nova turned his head down to find Carmen standing at his feet, hands in the air and a frown on her face.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” the Dwarf continued, lowering her hands before steadying her posture when she began to sway as though in tune to the ocean, “but I was passing by and heard some arguing going on, so I thought I’d check on it.”

“We weren
’t fighting,” Nova said. “At least, not about anything that’s happened between the three of us.”

“Care to let me in?”

Nova stepped aside and ushered the Dwarf in with a simple nod of the head.

“So,” Carmen said, turning her head completely around to face
Nova as he closed and locked the door. “What’s going on?”

“It appears as though the castle
’s new weapon master has a thing against women wielding swords.”

“What?” Carmen frowned.

“He called my wife a bitch.”

“A bitch?”
Carmen growled, reaching down for the mace at her side, which she drew without any hesitation whatsoever. “Nobody calls my friends that! Let me at ‘im! I’ll bash the fucker’s balls in!”

“I
’m not so sure about that part,” Ketrak chuckled, reaching down to press his weight onto the Dwarf’s shoulders. “No need to get so riled up there, little lady.”

“I
’m not a
little lady,
sir. For your information, my name is Carmen Delarosa, Drake Slayer of Ehknac, and I care not what men think when it comes to the mistreatment and the abuse of women.”