Shadowborn (Light & Shadow, Book 1) (15 page)

The guardsman was already waiting for us,
and not looking particularly pleased at his new assignment. I was
dismayed when Temar bowed courteously, minded me to return to
Miriel’s rooms after this lesson, and left at once, taking the
stairs two at a time. I stared after him, wanting to call him back
but not daring to do so.

When I looked back, I saw that Donnett was
giving me a once over. He was not impressed with what he saw, and
for a moment I saw myself through his eyes: a girl short for her
age, still round-cheeked, with the wide face of the mountain people
and her straw-colored hair drawn back in a braid. Her clothes were
too big, and she looked scared of everything she could see.

“
Jes’ like a noble, innit,”
Donnett said, sighing. When I frowned, he jerked his head to the
stairs. “Bringing me someone’s all tired out. Expectin’ me to teach
ye. Seven gods, this was a short straw. Do it for the Duke, he
said. And then ye, yer what he brings me, and all bruised
already.”

I opened my mouth to reply,
and he waved a hand at me to keep me silent. “It doesn’t matter,”
he said. “Yer never going to make a fighter. Ye, now,
ye
need to learn how
to
run
.”

It was strange, I thought later. All that
morning, I had wanted nothing more than to run away. I had not
wanted to learn what Temar had wanted to teach me in the first
place, and my complete failure to learn the very first thing had
given me a strange kind of hope. I was a failure, I reasoned. If I
wanted to run away, the Duke would not care very much. Better than
sticking around to face his anger when I kept failing at my
lessons.

Something in Donnett’s tone, though, made my
chin come up. Even having Temar watch me fail had not pricked my
pride like this. I flushed, and my eyes narrowed.

“
I’ll show you,” I said, in
my best proper accent. My voice was quiet, but cold. He raised his
eyebrows. It was not what he had expected from a weakling—he had
thought I would cry and run away—but he did not believe my words
yet.

“
Right, then. Hit
me.”

I looked at him suspiciously. That was all?
Hit him? But he did not seem to be joking. I readied myself, as
still as I could be, and prepared for a burst of blinding speed,
the sort which had always won me fights with the other servant
children. I was very fast, I thought smugly.

I opened my eyes to a view of the ceiling,
and Donnett’s grin.

“
Care to try again?” he
asked, and I did not bother to respond. Making use of what little
dignity I had left, I climbed to my feet and readied myself again.
And again, I ended up on the floor. After a moment of self-pity, my
curiosity got the better of me.

“
How did you do that?”
Wondering how was better than feeling sorry for myself,
anyway.

“
Yer like a pit bull,” he
said, snorting. “Anyone could see yer attack coming leagues away.
Did that fancy lad teach ye nothing?”

I turned my head and spat out some blood.
“Today was my first day.” At that admission, I could feel tears
stinging in my eyes, and I sat up and ducked my head to hide them.
When I had blinked them away, I pushed myself up. To my surprise,
Donnett clasped one of his big hands around my arm and hauled me to
my feet.

“
First rule,” he said
gruffly, ignoring my tears, “is to set ‘em off guard.” I looked up,
and saw that he was not playing. I nodded, and waited for more.
“That means, either ye get ‘em first, or ye take the hit and make
‘em think it’s not a fight anymore. Then ye hit ‘em when they let
their guard down.”

My fist shot out, and he blocked it away
from himself easily. I froze, trapped by his hand around my wrist,
but he laughed, and I saw that he was not upset at my
sneakiness.

“
Not bad,” he said. “But I
was sneakin’ up behind Ismiri scouts and stabbing ‘em in the back
before ye were even born. So let’s go again, and see if ye can hit
me.” Wearily, I spat out the rest of the blood and turned back to
face him. I had the thought that it was going to be a very long
morning. This filled me with such exhaustion that I tried something
Temar had told me at the beginning of his lesson: I tried to clear
my mind, and see only the next few moments.

One hit
, I told myself. That was all I needed.

When I pushed open the doors to Miriel’s
rooms, a few hours later, I heard all talk cease at once. Miriel
turned in a swirl of silk, and instead of crowing with laughter, as
I had thought she would, she merely lifted one eyebrow and shaped
her mouth into her mother’s cruel smile, as if this were the most
delightful costume.

“
Good gracious,” she
remarked sweetly. “Whatever happened to
you
?”

“
It’s nothing,” I said. I
moved my mouth as little as possible, but I could feel my lower lip
split open nonetheless. My right arm, so tender after Temar’s
lesson, was now in a sling. My nose had finally stopped bleeding,
but I knew that my right eye had been blackened, and I knew also
that there were at least a dozen more bruises covered by my
clothing.

Miriel did laugh at that, her delightful
little peal of laughter. Even studying the flat incomprehension
behind her eyes did not soften the sting of her mockery. “Nothing?
You look half-dead.” She tilted her head to the side. “You can’t
possibly accompany me about like that, you know.”

I made no response. Temar had been very
specific about my duties, and they did not include arguing with
Miriel. More, I knew enough to be sure that the Duke would learn of
any spat between me and Miriel, and that he would not be pleased by
it. So I merely bowed.

“
My Lady, is there anything
I can do for you before I go to my next lesson?” Head down, I
waited for the jest I knew was coming. Some jab at me, some witty
turn of phrase.

“
Well, perhaps you could
help my uncle’s servant hang the curtains in my privy chamber,”
Miriel suggested.

I closed my eyes briefly at the thought of
taking my arm out of the sling, but kept my head ducked so that she
could not see it. One part of me said that there was no point in
being brave. There was no point in pretending not to care, for
Miriel had known that this task would cause me pain. What was there
to be gained when she would see every little wince and know it for
the truth?

But another part asked, what was left for me
beyond pride? If I let Miriel crush me now, that would be no
victory. I would endure her spite either way. And if I gave way, I
might as well have let the Lady break me, I might as well tell
Temar that I had given up entirely. I was to be shaped perfectly to
Miriel, but I could not serve her if I were to crumple under her
cruelty.

So I bowed, and went to help the man with
the curtains, ducking my head out of the makeshift sling as I
walked. Miriel’s ladies gathered around her, twittering, and it was
only Miriel herself who spoke up to call me back.

“
Oh, don’t,” she said. “My
uncle would be displeased if I broke you so soon after he’d given
you to me.” If I could have, I would have turned the words on her,
reminded her of her own status, no better than mine; she was as
much the Duke’s tool as I was. But the words stuck in my throat,
and she landed the next blow as well: “Shall you take notes for me,
and act as my clerk?” she asked innocently.

“
If my Lady wishes,” I
said, through gritted teeth.

“
No.” Miriel laughed. “With
your penmanship, we should never remember what I had dictated!”
There was a ripple of laughter, nervous, from her maids. I bowed
again and waited.

“
Or perhaps you could dress
my hair for tonight’s banquet?” Miriel tossed her beautiful curls.
“You’ve been trained in that, yes? …no? Oh, how curious. Well, at
the least, you could advise me on my dress.”

There was no longer any point in replying. I
bowed, and Miriel glided towards me across the room, stopping when
we stood face to face.

“
You see?” she said
quietly. “You’re of no use to anyone.” No one could have heard her
words but me, and no one, seeing the sweet smile on her face, would
have guessed what she had said. “Run along to your lessons,” she
said, her voice carrying, and dismissed me with a wave of her
hand.

I bowed again and left to see Roine. I had
survived the encounter, and I had not hit Miriel. Or cried. That
was something.

“
These bruises will be
worse tomorrow,” Roine warned me, and I shrugged. I was so glad to
be sitting down, and that I was not being punched, that I cared
about nothing. That day’s lessons took place after another thorough
bath, and focused on mild pain remedies, the proper bandaging of
joints, and what herbs could be used in compresses over a bruise.
“Are you alright?” Roine asked, worried.

“
I just have to survive
this,” I said with a laugh. “If I can last through these
lessons...”

Neither of us finished the sentence. Neither
of us wanted to contemplate the thought of what my training would
lead me to do. I wrapped my good arm around myself and leaned
forward to study the herbs on the table, and Roine cleared her
throat and began her lecture once more.

Chapter 13

I do not remember those first few weeks
clearly. I remember that I was often in much pain, and that each
night I took a thorough accounting of my aches and my bruises,
which grew gradually less varied as I grew stronger. I would have
thought it best to ignore them, but Temar had made a lesson of
it.

“
The way you protect
yourself is a tell,” he said. “So. Each day, you will protect your
injuries, and you will do so in a way that keeps me from noticing
what they are.” I did not feel as if I made any progress in those
bouts, but near the end of the third week, I managed to score a
solid hit on Temar, and as he doubled over and tried to catch his
breath, he asked where my injury had been.

I could not help but laugh, a gurgle of
self-satisfied laughter. “It’s the arm I hit you with.”

“
That didn’t
hurt?”

“
Oh, it did.”

“
You’re learning,” was all
Temar said, but I knew he was proud.

From Donnett, I learned all there was to
know about army watch patterns and the way the Palace was protected
by the guard. The Royal Guard had their own patterns, he told me,
known only to them, but he was able to tell me where they drilled
and when, and once or twice I managed to sneak into the courtyard
before them and hide, watching closely as they sparred and marched
in formation.

The guardsman taught me the use of dagger
and short sword, laughing at the thought of someone my size using a
properly sized blade. He gave me a shield for a few practice
sessions, but warned me against use of it. All of our practice
sessions with a shield were devoted to footwork.

“
Little fellow like you
can’t afford to take hits,” he said, conveniently forgetting my
gender. Donnett was unnerved at the thought of teaching a young
girl how to use blades, and liked to pretend that I was a boy. “Any
hit you’re blocking with a shield is a hit you should have
avoided.”

More than hits and blocks, Donnett seemed to
know something about everyone. He was a guard, housed with soldiers
from every corner of Heddred, and when I asked him about a piece of
gossip I did not understand, or why a certain lady had snubbed
another, he always had an explanation. Intriguingly, Donnett even
seemed to know somewhat of Temar, although he refused to tell me
much.

“
Temar taught me to speak
like a northman today,” I piped, one morning, and Donnett only
shook his head and snorted.

“
He was always strange,
that one—even from a boy.”

"You knew him when he was young?" I asked,
surprised, and Donnett nodded.

"Aye, after a fashion,
though I doubt he remembers me. I saw him before the Battle of
Voltur. He was just a lad then, waiting on the Duke. Well,
he
wasn’t the Duke,
then, either. We all thought the Duke had a taste...” His face
colored, and he coughed. “Well, never you mind,” he said gruffly.
“It's not fit for young ears. But the lad’s still around, anyway."
No madder how I pleaded, he would not tell me more. But, he said,
if I would only shut up and listen, he would teach me to find out
everything I could ever want to know.

And so, slyly, he taught me to watch both
servants and nobles. Nobles could watch each other as closely as
they wanted, he told me, but they would never see what a servant
saw. The courtiers spent all day pretending to be one thing, and
that wore on them—it was the servants who knew the true self of
each courtier. A lord could tell things to his groom that he would
never tell his wife; a lady might tell her seamstress or her
hairdresser any number of court secrets, gleaned from watching her
husband. And so, the servants were the ones who knew every little
scrap of information, and traded the best pieces to the highest
bidder.

Donnett even taught me to sit in the corners
of the kitchens and watch, for the more cunning of the nobles knew
to duck through the kitchens to travel from one place to another.
It was as if they could not perceive the gaze of the servants upon
them, marking the sigils on their clothing and where it was that
they went. There was much to learn about which way the wind blew,
for a sharp-eyed girl, hidden in the shadows, might see a powerful
lord walk with his shoulders slumped, and all the telltales of a
downward slide about him.