Amaskan's Blood by Raven Oak (the best e book reader .TXT) 📗

she crossed the threshold into the room of women that made her skin crawl.

“Where is Lady Millicent?” Lady Angelina asked, and all eyes returned to Adelei.

“She didn’t feel well so I escorted her to her rooms. Carry on, ladies.”

While the others returned to their sewing, Lady Angelina’s gaze met Adelei’s. While she didn’t make the connection Lady Millicent had, she studied every false line painted on Adelei’s face. How long I can carry on this facade, I don’t know. Too many people seem preoccupied with my appearance.

Adelei returned to her seat on the dog bed in the corner, a brief prayer on her lips. Let me survive this long enough to ask my questions of my master. If too many people put together the clues, this is going to be the shortest lifelong job in the history of the Order.

She expected swords. Big, metal things with sharp edges for butchering people. Or maybe some throwing knives like the ones Master Adelei carried. Or that horrid dagger Adelei had used against her. When Margaret followed Adelei into the practice room after tea, she’d expected at least some weapon or another. But what she got was a room full of furniture.

While the quality left much to be desired, the layout felt familiar, and Margaret pursed her lips together as she spun about the room. “I thought you wished me to learn self-defense.”

“I do.”

Margaret picked up a familiar-looking candle from a short table. The purple candle still held the dent from earlier that morning, and she rubbed her finger across the indention. “This is my candle. From my bedchamber.”

“It is.”

“You were in my room. Who gave you permission to enter my room—” Adelei wore a look that stilled Margaret’s tongue, the same look she’d worn earlier when she’d held the dagger against Margaret. “My apologies, Master Adelei, but I don’t understand. How is this candle going to help me defend myself against an assassin?”

“It probably won’t, at least not against a Tribor or some other assassin. But if you’re attacked by someone else, it might save your life.”

Margaret returned the candle to the table and crossed to a chair by the open window. “Wait—this room. It’s set up like mine. It’s not my belongings,” she said and crinkled her nose at the well-aged, well-used pieces. “But the layout is like my room.”

Adelei nodded. “I want you to get familiar with how to escape from rooms you’re commonly in, as well as those you aren’t. Take that candle for instance.” When Adelei picked it up, she hefted it like a ball, and before Margaret could move, the candle came hurtling at her. Margaret covered her head with her arms and tucked her shoulders in closer to her body. When nothing made impact, she cracked open one eye and then another.

Master Adelei’s hands were empty. Puzzled, Margaret turned to her right where the thunk had sounded. A large splotch of purple wax stuck to the wall in a clump, while the rest of the candle lay misshapen on the floor. “That could have hit me.” she shrieked.

“Not in my hands. I knew exactly what I was doing when I threw it.” Adelei waited a heartbeat, then turned her back to Margaret.

“What are you doing?” Margaret leaned over to see around Adelei, but the Amaskan’s hands were hidden in her pockets.

The woman’s feet shifted on the stone floor, and she held something in her fist. “Your Highness, be honest,” she said as she faced Margaret. “If an enemy came, you’d be unable to fend them off at present. King Leon has done you a great disservice in not having you learn more self-defense. It’s not enough for you to know how to run, though that’s a good start. You have to know how to defend yourself.”

“So you said.” Margaret gestured to the room. “But there aren’t any weapons here.”

“You’re surrounded by weapons.”

Margaret frowned. “Are you expecting me to carve a sword out of a table?”

Adelei kicked the wobbly chair beside her. “You could, but there’s no time for you to learn sword work—”

“Good. It’s too manly a sport anyway.”

They were the wrong words. Margaret barely caught the shift in Adelei’s stance as the woman came at her, dagger in hand. “Wait, stop,” she cried, but there was no time. Her feet stumbled over the footstool behind her, and she fell on her rump beside it.

The dagger’s edge quivered near her chin, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “Closing your eyes won’t save you. Won’t make you any less dead. Now get up.”

When she opened her eyes, Adelei sat in the rickety chair from before. “Your first mistake was not running.”

“But—”

“Your second mistake was not using the chair beside you. Kick it at me, so I stumble. Throw it at me. Wood in the face hurts.”

“But the chair will break.”

The Amaskan sighed, and Margaret bit her trembling lip. “Stop thinking of this furniture as important. It’s all garbage—stuff the Stewart was throwing out. It’s here for our use, so use it. Besides, in a real attack the assassin won’t care two pennies for your precious candle. Use whatever you have to escape. If you’re dead, it won’t matter anyway.”

This time when Adelei rushed Margaret, she had more warning. At least this time I know she’s not going to kill me. I don’t think. Lost in thought, she barely had time to kick the chair. It moved a scant foot, and she hopped on one leg. “Ow.”

Adelei rolled her eyes. “You’re going to have to toughen up, Your Highness. Do you participate in any sport? Hunting? Riding?”

“I ride my pony in the spring. And when the Duke of Ceras visits, his lady and I play paille-maille. Have you heard of it?”

“It goes by mai-dur in Sadai. You hit little balls through arches on the ground, correct?” asked Adelei.

Margaret clapped her hands together. “Yes. Most of the other sports are too rough, but paille-maille is genteel enough.”

The Amaskan stood before Margaret and grabbed her hands. “These are