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

us pretty hard. Still, least I’m able to choose the man I marry, whoever he’ll be,” said Adelei, and she smiled broadly at Garret.

He leaned over, picked up her glass of wine, and gave it a sniff. “Eh, wine’s wine to me, but its good business, I hear. Profit to be made for them that provide to the highborns.”

“Indeed. My da’s been wanting to expand some, ship some goods to Shad and further out. I figured if I could maybe meet His Highness—”

Garret leaned back in his chair, the feet scraping against the inn’s floor. Conversation around them ceased, and the innkeeper stopped cleaning the glass in his hand. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Why ever not? I mean, I’m sure everyone must be dying to meet him—”

“That’s just it. Dying. Take my word for it, milady. Keep away from that monster. It was nice meeting you.”

When he stood to leave, Adelei called out, “Wait. I don’t understand—”

As he passed, he leaned close to her ear and whispered, “The man is a mean bastard. When I said there be dangerous folk about, I was talking ’bout him. Just–just don’t bother with the likes of him. Not if you want to see your daddy again.”

He nodded to her and left the inn, his ale unfinished.

Damn.

Every time she ventured out into the city to gather information, the scenario went the same way: pretend to be someone else, ask about the prince, person freezes up and leaves by way of a warning. And that was if she was lucky.

Some people got up and left the minute Prince Gamun was mentioned.

The wedding approached and so far, Adelei had no way to stop it. Not without breaking the treaty and sending them into civil war.

Maybe I’m asking the wrong people. Maybe I need to hit the slums.

Or maybe I’m in over my head.

Weeks had passed since her encounter with Garret at the inn, and while Adelei was no closer to finding the answers she needed, at least Margaret had made progress in her lessons to defend herself. Albeit slow progress.

The princess stabbed the hay figure hard in the chest and spun around to face Adelei, grinning. “I did it,” she called out.

Adelei nodded. “Now we work on a moving target.”

Between some hand-to-hand training, where Adelei tried in vain to teach Margaret how to escape, the two sisters met as often as Margaret’s schedule allowed to focus on work with small daggers. Margaret’s eye-hand coordination hadn’t improved. She still threw candles in wide arcs and completely missed hitting Adelei, but she could stab a stationary hay man. Adelei sighed and picked up the chain mail across the chair.

She didn’t like the heavy armor, but with Margaret’s aim, she needed it. Last thing I need is for her to stab me. And knowing her, she’ll try by complete accident.

Adelei pulled the hay man out of the hay bale and carried him by the pole. “Okay, Your Highness, same plan. Only this time, I’ll be moving.”

At first, Margaret stood still—dagger gripped between her fingers as she watched Adelei pace back and forth. It wasn’t until Adelei shoved the hay man near Margaret’s face that the princess jabbed the blade forward. The thrust lacked drive enough to do more than bounce off the head, and Adelei didn’t give Margaret time to recover. She kept ramming the figure closer to the princess.

When the figure’s stick arm touched Margaret’s shoulder, she squeaked. The dagger struck the air twice before the hay man knocked Margaret in the head. “Look at my feet,” Adelei said as she moved. “If I step forward with my left foot, chances are, I’m going to move left. Strike left.”

Margaret wiped her sweaty brow with her bare arm. “This is impossible. I can’t watch your feet and the straw man at the same time. No one can.” The princess retreated to a hay bale, and Adelei leaned the target against the wall. She stuck her head outside the practice room door.

“You,” she called to a guard. “Come here for a moment.”

The man was easily twice Adelei’s size at the shoulders. When Margaret spotted him, she stumbled over the hay bale. “You can’t possibly wish for me to fight him.”

“Arm yourself, guardsman.” Adelei withdrew her dirk. Margaret let loose a sigh, but Adelei tsked. “Watch our feet.”

The guard looked down, and Adelei tapped his sword. “Not you,” she muttered. “You, I want to attack me.”

“Master?”

“Her Highness needs to watch our feet, so attack me already.”

He couldn’t have been more than five years past her twenty, yet he eyed her with a weariness that spoke either of fear or wisdom. If it were the former, he kept it well-hidden as he watched her shift her weight from side to side. At first, all they did was scrutinize each other. But after a few minutes, his impatience got the better of him.

The guard led with his right foot. Adelei could have trapped his blade in the slit at her dirk’s hilt but instead leaned to her left and parried. She read the surprise on his face and waited for his next strike. His shoulder straightened as he met her gaze, and he tried a quick feint before attacking again on her left. She sidestepped to the right and held her dirk up to his throat. The lack of space left him little room to maneuver, and while his sword brushed her armor, he lacked the leverage to do any damage.

Rather than press further, the guardsman released his sword. If you were under my command, I’d smack you six ways to Sathday for dropping your weapon. Adelei nodded at him, and he grabbed his sword before retreating.

“So, what did you see?” she asked Margaret.

Thought lines bunched up across her brow. “When he attacked, his feet led on the same side.”

Adelei nodded. “Not everyone will. A real pro might not, but most fighters do. Or if not with their feet, they lean with their shoulders.”

“But how can you watch that and