My sister gave a thoughtful smile. “I suppose. He did teach us both well, after all.”
He. Sebastian. Our stepfather.
He had come striding out of Balsturan Forest three years after my father’s death. I had been seven at the time; Christiana four. Our mother had kept him at arm’s length at first, but time had won her over, and the trapper had become our second father.
It quickly became clear, however, that Sebastian had once been more than a trapper. Trappers didn’t know how to pick a lock and evaluate a fine wine, how to fight with a rapier and dance a galliard, how to speak the thieves’ cant and practice court manners. Sebastian had known all this and more, and he’d spent as much time teaching these things to Christiana and me as he had maintaining his trap lines and repairing our home. Our educations had been distinctly divided, with Christiana learning the courtly graces (mostly) and myself learning the darker skills (again, mostly). I could cavort my way through a pavane if necessary, and Christiana was an acceptable hand with a small rapier, but our familiarity with each other’s studies had crossed only when Sebastian needed an extra set of hands to help teach something.
My mother hadn’t understood why he insisted on teaching us all of these things, since we lived in the wilds and not the city, but Sebastian had only smiled his slippery smile and said-as he always had-that there was more than one kind of education. Besides, if our chores got done, who was to care? Our mother had merely shaken her head and made sure we got time for ourselves.
She had died six years later, and Sebastian had been killed a handful after that. Left with a two-room cottage in the woods and little desire to stay, Christiana and I had eventually found our way to Ildrecca and put what Sebastian had taught us to use.
Unfortunately, we’ve gotten into the habit of using our educations against one another in the intervening years. I doubt it was what Sebastian had had in mind.
Christiana set the candelabra on a small table in the middle of the room, then moved over to her bed, placing its richly covered expanse between us. She began removing her rings, setting them on a bedside table.
“I was beginning to think your man would never get that forgery done,” she said. “What kept you?”
“Business.”
“A poor excuse, but typical. Still, I’m glad you’re here.”
I let out a single, dry laugh.
Christiana looked at me askance. She had turned away, placing herself in profile. “You’re in a splendid mood tonight, I see.”
“I get that way when people try to kill me.”
“I thought that was an occupational hazard for you.”
My voice caught in my throat. “Sometimes. But this wasn’t Kin business.”
She had begun removing a web of gems and silver thread from around her neck but stopped when she heard the change in my voice. She turned, and the look of aristocratic indulgence faded from her face. Christiana’s eyes became sharp. Languid grace turned into steeled suspicion.
“Drothe?” Her voice dropped a notch and slid to the back of her throat. “Why are you here?”
I gave no answer, since I wasn’t all that sure myself. All I knew was that the rage inside me was demanding action-vengeance. I stood up and began moving toward her.
“I suggest,” she said, “you sit back down and we talk about this.”
I shook my head. “Not this time, Ana. We talk my way.”
One of her fine eyebrows went up. “I see,” was all she said. As I came around the corner of the bed, Christiana began edging back.
I laid my hand on my rapier. I was only a handful of paces from her now. “This has to end,” I said.
“Same as always, dear brother.” The corner of her fine, painted mouth turned up. Christiana raised her voice. “Josef!”
I was moving before she got to the second syllable, had my left hand to her throat just as she finished. I shoved Christiana back over the night table and up against the wall. By the time the doors to the bedroom opened, I had the dagger from my forearm sheath at her cheek.
“Mistress!” Josef shouted. It didn’t sound like he was alone.
Christiana and I were close, nearly pressed up against each other. The heady smell of perfume filled the air between us, her own spicy scent just discernible beneath it. I could feel the vein in her neck pulsing fast beneath my palm, see the flush as it spread across her skin. My own heart was pounding in my ears.
“Tell them to leave,” I said, my voice almost a gasp.
Christiana locked her gold and blue eyes with mine, set her shoulders against the wall, and straightened her back as best she could. She did not struggle. Instead, I felt something sharp against my stomach.
“No,” she said.
I glanced down and saw a dagger in her left hand. Its handle looked remarkably like part of the decorative carving on her headboard. A quick glance to my right showed me where the disguised blade had been moments before.
I put enough pressure on my own knife to dent her skin, but not to cut. “Send them away, Ana.”
She glanced at my dagger. “Poisoned?” I turned up a corner of my mouth in answer. “I think I’d like them to stay,” she said.
I heard hushed voices talking behind me.
“Best get out, Josef,” I said, my eyes still on my sister. “Unless you want to be looking for a new position come morning.”
Christiana let out a light laugh. “You wouldn’t,” she said to me. “You never could.”
My grip on her throat tightened. She gave a small cough, but the mocking light in her eyes remained.
“And you,” I said, “always would. Without a second thought.”
Her shoulders rose, fell. “What can I say? I’m a bad girl. I never listened to Sebastian.”
“Your loss,” I said.
“Maybe.” Then some of the steel faded from Christiana’s eyes. “But not this time, Drothe. Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”
“I doubt it,” I said, sounding more certain than I suddenly felt.
“Fine,” said Christiana. I felt her dagger move away from my stomach, saw Christiana toss it on the bed. “Fine. If you want to kill me, get it over with. I’m tired of waiting on you-either do it or take your hands off me.”
Her face was set, her chin raised in defiance. But I could feel her trembling, see the soft edge of doubt that marred her iron stare. She was afraid. And that was when I knew; Christiana was too good a liar to let weakness show through her facade-only the truth could cause the cracks I saw there. If she’d sent Tamas after me, she would have anticipated this possibility and been ready with a better lie, a better excuse. And she damn well wouldn’t have given me the satisfaction of seeing her afraid at the end.
I looked from the dagger on the bed back to my sister. It had been too easy; too obvious. That wasn’t Christiana’s style-we were too much alike in that regard. And the magic-even she knew better than that.. ..
“Decide, Drothe,” said Christiana.
I still had my hand on her throat and a frown on my face when someone put a sword to my back. I let them pull me away from her.
My sister’s eyes turned soft in that moment. “Sometimes,” she said, “you’re incredibly stupid, Drothe.”
I had to agree with her.
“How dare you!” shouted Christiana.
I winced at the noise. My head had begun hurting again shortly after the guards pulled me away from her. Each word caused an accompanying throb at the base of my skull.
“How dare you think me so simple, so naive, so… unskilled as to have an assassin come after you in my own livery?”
“I’ve already apologized,” I said. “Now, will you stop yelling?”
“I’ll yell all I want!”
I pinched the bridge of my nose with one hand even as I wrapped the fingers of my other around the chair arm to keep from throttling my little sister. All of a sudden, not killing her seemed like the wrong choice.
I was in the high-backed chair again. After disarming me and piling my weapons on the bed, the guards-excuse me, “footmen,” as my sister preferred to call them-had all but thrown me into the seat. Christiana had then dismissed them. She didn’t want the hired help hearing what came next.