The Privilege of the Sword (43 page)

“Oh. So you did. Some time ago.” Ferris chuckled. “I imagined, my dear, that
you
had withdrawn, having taken my advice and thought better of it.”

“Well, I haven’t. So now I must ask you: will you take the fight yourself, or do you have a champion?”

The crowd had been silent. Now Michael, Lord Godwin, resplendent in blue and gold, stepped forward saying, “Ferris, my house swordsman is of course at your disposal.”

“You’re very kind, Godwin, but I have a man with me, if someone will but send for him.”

Lord Godwin looked at the newcomer, and then he looked again. “You are Tremontaine’s niece?”

“I’m afraid so. But he’s not the challenger, you’re not to think he is. I’m—I’m fighting on another’s behalf. Someone Lord Ferris has deeply offended.”

“I understand,” said Michael Godwin gravely.

Lady Godwin put her hand on her husband’s arm. “There’s to be no fighting in the music room. Out in the courtyard, I think, and people can watch from the steps.”

“What about the garden?”

“Too muddy, still, I think, don’t you?”

Artemisia’s mother tried to hold her back, but she thrust her way to the very front, where the balustrade overlooked the stone courtyard of the Godwin townhouse. Her heart was throbbing not unpleasantly in her chest, and in her throat. She wished Lydia were by her side, but Lydia was back against a pillar with Armand Lindley’s protective arm around her.

Ferris’s house swordsman was a handsome man, long-limbed and graceful. He bowed to his patron, to the assembled company, and to his opponent. Katherine bowed once to them all, but Artemisia felt the extra flourish of her sword was all for her.

The man standing behind her said, “Good god. Kitty.”

“Talbert,” his companion drawled, “don’t tell me you know the chit. Who is she?”

“It’s my sister,” said Gregory Talbert. “Or was. I really don’t know.”

Artemisia wanted to make sharp retort, but the business was going forward. “To the Death,” Lord Godwin asked, “or First Blood?”

Ferris was standing in the yard, next to a hitching ring. “Oh, hardly to the Death; it’s not that kind of matter. First Blood will more than suffice.”

Artemisia hated him all over again. But Katherine nodded assent and saluted her opponent, and then all her care was for her friend. Katherine Talbert was so small and compact next to Ferris’s lanky swordsman. How would she even be able to reach him with her blade?

Clearly her opponent thought the same. He circled her lazily, eyeing her stance with a mocking eye, then started twirling the tip of his blade in her direction like a tease, a provocation. She ignored it, though; she followed his movement, but her blade was still. He made a couple of half-passes at her, and her wrist shifted only slightly.

Katherine’s face was taut with concentration; his showed disdain. He stamped and thrust, trying to spook her. Someone laughed. She didn’t move.

“Five royals on that girl,” a man said, but another muttered, “Not here.”

Ferris’s swordsman made a beautiful move, a twist and turn, darting like a hawk’s flight straight to the heart of the stocky little figure. Her frown deepened. She shifted her weight, shifted her blade, and ran a deep gash up her opponent’s arm. She looked extremely surprised.

The swordsman yelped inelegantly. His blade flew from his hand. “Blood!” shouted Lord Godwin, and servants ran forward to help the wounded man.

If it had been Katherine’s blood, Artemisia thought, I would have bound her wound with my own handkerchief. As it was, she was balling it in her fist, thinking,
I’ve won. I’ve won.

“Lord Ferris?” Michael Godwin nodded to his guest. “Will you withdraw?”

“From this gathering, most certainly, by your leave,” the Crescent answered. “But from the city, no.”

“Are you sure?”

“The matter was of no great importance. I will take my seat in Council tomorrow, as always.”

“Are you sure, my lord? If it is more convenient for you to be elsewhere at this time, we can make other arrangements.”

The Crescent Chancellor drew himself up. “Godwin, do you seek to convene the Court of Honor in your stableyard? I said this matter was not such as would dictate my absence. I will be there tomorrow.”

“Forgive me.” Michael Godwin bowed slightly, and led his lady back indoors.

Although they would have liked to stay, the other guests followed Lord Godwin’s example, leaving Katherine Talbert quite alone in the courtyard, cleaning the blood off her sword.

Gregory Talbert lingered for a moment on the stairs, watching his sister as she busied herself with her terrible weapon. Had she seen him? She did not look up. Should he speak to her? It was against the rules. And what would he say?
Well done, Kitty; we are so proud of you
? He should never have said she was his sister. He hurried away.

Artemisia’s mother seized her wrist in an iron grip. She made her go through the motions of thanking their hosts and bidding them good-bye, pleading a headache and far too much excitement for a young girl’s first day out after a long illness. But when they got in the carriage, she slapped her daughter hard.

“You slut! You fool!” Lady Fitz-Levi burst into tears. “Oh, who’s going to marry you now?”

And indeed, the next day Lord Ferris’s offer was quietly withdrawn, and the contract dissolved.

chapter
III

I
RETURNED TO
T
REMONTAINE
H
OUSE TO FIND MY
uncle the Mad Duke sitting in the library, shredding things. There was a huge pile of ripped-up pages in front of him, and he was fiercely attacking more with a paper knife.

He looked up when I came in. “Old books,” he said, “worm-eaten. Theo said it needed doing; I decided to help.” The brandy decanter beside him was nearly empty. “How did it go?”

“Well,” I told him. I tried to be nonchalant, but it was hard. All the energy from the fight was still with me, converted by my triumph to cheerful bounciness. “Better than I expected. He didn’t take me seriously, so he didn’t have a chance. It was just like St—just like he taught me: when someone tries a flashy move, look for what they’re covering up and take it as an invitation. I got First Blood in about five moves.”

“Well, don’t get too smug. The next one might take you seriously, and then where will you be?” I lunged at a wall. “Don’t you dare hurt my books.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Didn’t they have food, the Godwin musicale?”

“I didn’t ask. Nobody offered. I left. Why don’t
you
ever have a musicale?”

“I did, once. She bit me.”

I laughed.

“And Lord Ferris?”

“He left. I think the wedding is off.”

“Good work,” he said, and drained the decanter. “Marcus!” My friend appeared. “Get this champion a sandwich.”

I started to follow Marcus down to the kitchens, but he turned to me and said, “Don’t come down; I’ll bring you something. Do you want me to tell Betty you’re back? She can draw you a bath.”

“Not now,” I said, “she’ll only fuss. Let’s go out to the gardens. It’s a lovely day. I want to tell you all about my fight.”

“I don’t want to hear all about your fight. You hit someone with your sword, and he didn’t hit you, that’s all I need to know. Fish pond?”

“Meet me there.”

Carp flitted amongst the weeds. I took a big bite of the bread and cheese he’d brought. “I like it up here,” I said. “The Hill is much nicer than Riverside.” Marcus’s cold was better, but he still wasn’t eating much. He rolled bits of my bread into pellets to chuck at the carp. “The air is healthier, too.” I took off my stocking so I could stick one foot in the fish pond. “Why don’t you want to hear about my fight?”

“I just don’t, that’s all. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not really interested in swordplay.”

“I am. Do you think I’m boring, then?”

“Hardly.” Marcus rolled onto his stomach so I couldn’t see his face.

I flicked my foot at the carp to keep them from the bread. I wondered if I could move without triggering their perfect flight. A swordsman, I thought, should be as quick to sense as a fish. “Who do you think is more interesting, the duke or me?”

“Now that,” he drawled languidly, “is just the sort of question
he
would ask.”

I nearly pushed him into the fish pond. “And that,” I said, “is just the sort of tone of voice he uses when he’s trying to get out of answering something.”

“Oh re-eally? And what do you suppose I might possibly be avoiding?”

He was doing it on purpose, but I went after him anyway. With one wet foot I flipped him over like a fish on a grill, and pinned his shoulders with my knees. “You tell me,” I said. “I don’t know what’s got into you, but if you think acting like my uncle is going to sweeten me up, you’re insane.”

“You’re the one who’s like him, not me.”

I gaped at him. “How can you say that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

I searched his face to see if he was teasing. I didn’t know how to read what I saw there. “You’re being ridiculous, Marcus.”

He pushed against my knees. “You’re hurting me.”

“I don’t care. You’re insulting me.”

“See what I mean? You don’t care about anyone else. You don’t even notice what they’re feeling, ever. You just care about getting what you want, and how you’re feeling. How much more like him do you want to be?”

“You rotten little—” I grabbed a fistful of earth and rubbed it on his face. “You take that back.”

Marcus spat dirt out of his mouth. “You’re not Tremontaine,” he said; “make me.” All that training, and I was so mad I just slapped him, hard, across the face.

With a sharp twist he was out from under me, eyes blazing. “You never, ever strike me again, do you hear me?”

“What do you want, then, a sword in the gut?”

He punched me. In the stomach. I doubled over, retching and wheezing in the new grass.

When I looked up, Marcus was sitting in a tree, well out of arm’s reach, looking down at me and swinging his legs. “You all right?”

I coughed and wiped my eyes. “You fight like guttertrash.”

“There’s a reason for that. You fight like a girl.”

“There’s a reason for that, too.”

Marcus stopped swinging his legs. “Peace. Can I come down?”

I looked up at him, successfully treed. My stomach still hurt, and there was a wretched taste in my mouth. “No,” I said meanly, lifting my chin. “I don’t think so. Not just yet.”

“You look like him.”

“You act like him,” I snapped. “You’ve got a nerve telling me
I
do, when you’re the one who says mean things like that. I never do; I’m always careful. I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You can be a total pig, Marcus, and you have been off and on for weeks, now. If I’ve done something to deserve it, I’ll say I’m sorry—but I won’t apologize if you won’t tell me what it is.”

“Don’t be silly,” he drawled affectedly. “What could you possibly have done? It is I who am to blame, I who annoyed you so much you quite rightly slapped me like a kitchenmaid, and I who consequently punched you most foully in the gut. You should report me to the duke. I should be punished, sacked, turned out of my place—”

“Stop being stupid.” Why was he refusing to be serious, all of a sudden? “He doesn’t care. You’re more like family to him than I am—” I caught my breath. Why hadn’t I seen it before? “You’re his son, aren’t you?”

Marcus hooted. “Oh, not you, too! No, of course I’m not his son. He bought me off the street, fair and square. You don’t pay money for your own flesh and blood, do you? Oh, wait a minute.” Marcus paused to consider. “Maybe he does. He bought you, after all.” He meant it to hurt, and it did. It felt like I was being stabbed. “You think I don’t know all about it? I was there for the meetings with the lawyers. I was there when he came up with the idea for your contract,” he taunted mercilessly. “I’m always there, so I hear everything. I heard him dictate all those letters to your mother. I heard how much she needed the money…” I picked up a smallish rock, and clutched it hard. “I probably knew the whole deal way before anyone told you about it. The whole household knew; Arthur Ghent was the one who wrote those letters, after all. We all knew about you before you ever came here.”

I clenched the rock’s edges sharp in my hand, but didn’t throw it. “He didn’t buy me,” I said. “It’s not like that.”

“Why not? You think because you’re his blood he cares more about you? He paid good money for us both, but at least I do useful work around here. You’re just a toy to him.”

“You’re not my friend.” The pain was real; I felt it in my throat, and in my chest, so I could barely get the words out. “I thought you were, but I was wrong.” I threw the rock in the fish pond. “I don’t know what you are, Marcus.” I started up the long path back to the house.

“No, wait!” He was out of the tree so fast his jacket tore. “Oh, lord…Kit, wait—” He caught up with me, started to touch my shoulder and pulled away as though it burned his hand. I kept on walking. “Will you at least turn around and look at me?”

I ignored him.

“Katie, please listen. I have a temper. It’s bad, it’s really bad, and I never lose it, but when I do, I just say things. I say things I don’t mean—I don’t even know what I’m doing, it just comes out, none of it’s true—oh, god, Kit, I wish I could cut my tongue out, I really do—please don’t walk away from me. Please!”