Spellbinder
Page 81
Sid forced a smile. “I can do that. This is your busy time of day. Go back to your customers.” As Leisha lingered with a frown, she added, “Don’t worry about me.”
“The night market is well lit and perfectly safe,” Leisha said finally. “Just don’t wander down to the docks.”
“Thank you.”
Sid made good her escape. Quickly she made her way to the night market and threaded through the growing crowds, searching for the metal smiths. She found them clustered at the other end of the market.
Perusing their stalls, she looked through the array of weaponry. There was everything imaginable on sale—swords, maces, pike axes, throwing stars… now that would be handy to learn… bows and arrows, and knives. Plenty of knives, and in all sizes and shapes, housed in a variety of scabbards.
The vendor of one stall watched her for a few minutes, then approached with a smile. “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“I don’t want something too big,” she told him. She held up a small knife in a square piece of worked leather. “What’s this?”
“It’s for your arm. Look.” He helped to wrap the leather around her forearm, threading a leather thong through loops and tightening until the knife fit snugly along the inside muscle.
“Oh, I like that.” She held up her arm to study it. Her tunic had long sleeves. When she shook the sleeve down over the scabbard, the knife was completely hidden from sight. The hilt lay downward, close to her wrist.
Reaching for it with her other hand, she drew it. Sheathed it again. Drew it, and sheathed it. There was a satisfying snick when the knife hit home in the scabbard. It was well constructed, so the knife wouldn’t slip out by accident.
The vendor grinned. “Smooth as butter, eh?”
“It is.” She drew the knife again. “My only question is, should I buy one or two?”
He took her seriously, as he should. “Are you good at knife work with both hands? Because otherwise, there’s no point in wasting your money. Those are good blades, and they’ll cost you.”
She narrowed her eyes as she considered. She didn’t have any knife work with either hand, but she was predominantly left-handed with most things. “I’ll stick with just one.”
“Aye, that’s a smart choice. You can always come back for another if you change your mind.”
“I will, thank you. How much is it?”
He quoted a price that made her swallow, but the handiwork was of clear quality, and with some haggling, she got him to go down a little in price. Paying him depleted her stash by quite a bit.
If she survived for very long, she was going to have to play for money again, soon.
If she survived. If she were attacked, and if she told the truth after she killed him.
If, if, if.
Had this all come about because of her prayer to Lord Azrael?
Maybe. Maybe she would never know. Maybe they had skirted along the edge of calamity for so long, something like this was inevitable. All she really knew for certain was that she had gone through enough, and she wasn’t going to be a victim any longer. Not if she had anything to say about it.
As she turned away from the vendor, she wore her new purchase. Now where should she go?
The answer to that question, when it came to her, seemed inevitable. She should go back to the music hall, of course.
She walked up the road to the castle. At the gate, the guard glanced at her indifferently. She recognized him from previous trips. He asked, “Back twice in one day?”
“I need to practice,” she told him.
He waved her through, and she made her way to the music hall.
The evening wasn’t late enough for the inhabitants of the castle to have settled for the night. She passed clusters of people, some of whom smiled and nodded to her, while others studied her curiously.
Back in the large, familiar room, she left the doors open, lit a fire in the fireplace, and also lit several candles in nearby candelabras. Picking the lute up from its cradle, she plucked at the strings and adjusted the frets until she was satisfied with the tuning.
Would he come? Did he dare?
If he did, and she killed him, it was going to look premeditated. There was no hiding the knife she had strapped to one arm, or taking back what she had said in the inn.
So be it. This was now the pair of dice she had to throw.
Settling on the footstool, she began to play, easily, gently, the kind of songs one might choose to play for practice, if one needed to practice. Angling her head, she listened for sounds outside the door.
She heard people pausing to listen, comment to each other, and then move on. Nobody stepped inside the hall to disrupt her at her music. That was okay. She wasn’t in any hurry.
Then there was a single pair of footsteps that stopped outside the doors. They didn’t move on.
Like the afternoon, a shadow passed over her again, and the light from the fireplace and the candles dimmed. A dark, gentle voice whispered, He will be faster than you, and stronger. Be ready.
She caught her breath. Now she knew for a certainty Lord Azrael had heard and responded to her prayer.
She had set her telepathy earrings aside, so that Morgan couldn’t distract her from her purpose if he found her. Still, she reached out to the dark voice, whispering back, I’ll be ready.
The darkness settled around her like a cloak of shadows. It was a hell of a thing to know a god had taken the time to notice you. Her fingers shook, and she had to concentrate fiercely to steady her playing.
Valentin walked into the room, and unhurriedly, he closed and locked the doors behind him. Taking in deep, steady breaths, she told him, “You’re not welcome here.”
“I am welcome wherever I choose to go in this place,” Valentin responded. “You speak above your station, musician.”
Strolling toward her, he looked the epitome of Light Fae entitlement, confident, arrogant, and relaxed.
Anticipatory.
Her muscles tightened. He was not the only one who was anticipating the encounter. She murmured, “If you don’t leave now, this will turn out badly for you.”
“So much cockiness for a human,” he said, circling around her. “How could you possibly think this might go badly for me? I am stronger, faster, and far older than you. I am trained and experienced.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she gritted her teeth and set the lute aside. While not her instrument of choice, it was still far too beautiful to allow it to be ruined. Standing, she turned to face him.
“The night market is well lit and perfectly safe,” Leisha said finally. “Just don’t wander down to the docks.”
“Thank you.”
Sid made good her escape. Quickly she made her way to the night market and threaded through the growing crowds, searching for the metal smiths. She found them clustered at the other end of the market.
Perusing their stalls, she looked through the array of weaponry. There was everything imaginable on sale—swords, maces, pike axes, throwing stars… now that would be handy to learn… bows and arrows, and knives. Plenty of knives, and in all sizes and shapes, housed in a variety of scabbards.
The vendor of one stall watched her for a few minutes, then approached with a smile. “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“I don’t want something too big,” she told him. She held up a small knife in a square piece of worked leather. “What’s this?”
“It’s for your arm. Look.” He helped to wrap the leather around her forearm, threading a leather thong through loops and tightening until the knife fit snugly along the inside muscle.
“Oh, I like that.” She held up her arm to study it. Her tunic had long sleeves. When she shook the sleeve down over the scabbard, the knife was completely hidden from sight. The hilt lay downward, close to her wrist.
Reaching for it with her other hand, she drew it. Sheathed it again. Drew it, and sheathed it. There was a satisfying snick when the knife hit home in the scabbard. It was well constructed, so the knife wouldn’t slip out by accident.
The vendor grinned. “Smooth as butter, eh?”
“It is.” She drew the knife again. “My only question is, should I buy one or two?”
He took her seriously, as he should. “Are you good at knife work with both hands? Because otherwise, there’s no point in wasting your money. Those are good blades, and they’ll cost you.”
She narrowed her eyes as she considered. She didn’t have any knife work with either hand, but she was predominantly left-handed with most things. “I’ll stick with just one.”
“Aye, that’s a smart choice. You can always come back for another if you change your mind.”
“I will, thank you. How much is it?”
He quoted a price that made her swallow, but the handiwork was of clear quality, and with some haggling, she got him to go down a little in price. Paying him depleted her stash by quite a bit.
If she survived for very long, she was going to have to play for money again, soon.
If she survived. If she were attacked, and if she told the truth after she killed him.
If, if, if.
Had this all come about because of her prayer to Lord Azrael?
Maybe. Maybe she would never know. Maybe they had skirted along the edge of calamity for so long, something like this was inevitable. All she really knew for certain was that she had gone through enough, and she wasn’t going to be a victim any longer. Not if she had anything to say about it.
As she turned away from the vendor, she wore her new purchase. Now where should she go?
The answer to that question, when it came to her, seemed inevitable. She should go back to the music hall, of course.
She walked up the road to the castle. At the gate, the guard glanced at her indifferently. She recognized him from previous trips. He asked, “Back twice in one day?”
“I need to practice,” she told him.
He waved her through, and she made her way to the music hall.
The evening wasn’t late enough for the inhabitants of the castle to have settled for the night. She passed clusters of people, some of whom smiled and nodded to her, while others studied her curiously.
Back in the large, familiar room, she left the doors open, lit a fire in the fireplace, and also lit several candles in nearby candelabras. Picking the lute up from its cradle, she plucked at the strings and adjusted the frets until she was satisfied with the tuning.
Would he come? Did he dare?
If he did, and she killed him, it was going to look premeditated. There was no hiding the knife she had strapped to one arm, or taking back what she had said in the inn.
So be it. This was now the pair of dice she had to throw.
Settling on the footstool, she began to play, easily, gently, the kind of songs one might choose to play for practice, if one needed to practice. Angling her head, she listened for sounds outside the door.
She heard people pausing to listen, comment to each other, and then move on. Nobody stepped inside the hall to disrupt her at her music. That was okay. She wasn’t in any hurry.
Then there was a single pair of footsteps that stopped outside the doors. They didn’t move on.
Like the afternoon, a shadow passed over her again, and the light from the fireplace and the candles dimmed. A dark, gentle voice whispered, He will be faster than you, and stronger. Be ready.
She caught her breath. Now she knew for a certainty Lord Azrael had heard and responded to her prayer.
She had set her telepathy earrings aside, so that Morgan couldn’t distract her from her purpose if he found her. Still, she reached out to the dark voice, whispering back, I’ll be ready.
The darkness settled around her like a cloak of shadows. It was a hell of a thing to know a god had taken the time to notice you. Her fingers shook, and she had to concentrate fiercely to steady her playing.
Valentin walked into the room, and unhurriedly, he closed and locked the doors behind him. Taking in deep, steady breaths, she told him, “You’re not welcome here.”
“I am welcome wherever I choose to go in this place,” Valentin responded. “You speak above your station, musician.”
Strolling toward her, he looked the epitome of Light Fae entitlement, confident, arrogant, and relaxed.
Anticipatory.
Her muscles tightened. He was not the only one who was anticipating the encounter. She murmured, “If you don’t leave now, this will turn out badly for you.”
“So much cockiness for a human,” he said, circling around her. “How could you possibly think this might go badly for me? I am stronger, faster, and far older than you. I am trained and experienced.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she gritted her teeth and set the lute aside. While not her instrument of choice, it was still far too beautiful to allow it to be ruined. Standing, she turned to face him.
