“You’re lucky you’re wearing this,” she clicked the tip of his sword to the breastplate, “or I would have broken your sternum.” He stared at her, wide-eyed. “Or ribs,” she continued, “or both.”
Then there was absolute silence, save for the man’s panting.
Gandrett lowered the blades, took both hilts in one hand, then held out her free one for the mountain of a man. He grunted but took it and, to his credit, let her lift him without any scowling.
Her back protested as he let her haul his full weight, but she didn’t let it show. She tugged until the man was back on his feet then handed him back his weapons and turned to Lord Tyrem.
The lord was studying her with vivid eyes, as was the rest of the room.
Gandrett felt Nehelon’s stare on her but didn’t turn until the slow clap of hands from the back of the room caught her attention.
From the shadows by the door, a handsome young man dressed in black and gold strolled up to the table, his boots clicking on the stone floor, and gave her a long, deep look with a pair of curious, emerald eyes.
“There is nothing more beautiful than an artfully accomplished victory,” he said as he stopped right in front of her.
Gandrett held his stare, hand casually slipping closer to her sword.
“Oh, I am not going to fight you,” he whispered and leaned forward, close enough for his breath to touch her cheek. Then he turned on his heels and joined Lord Tyrem at the table, taking the seat across from Lady Brenheran.
Gandrett watched him settle down, his tall figure folding into the carved wooden chair, his wavy, black hair, short enough to end at the gold-embroidered collar of his jacket, dancing as he leaned back and glanced at her over his shoulder.
In the silence that followed, Nehelon prowled to Gandrett’s side and said to the lord, ignoring the young man’s stare, “Did I promise too much?”
Lord Tyrem only leaned back in his own chair and stared. It was his wife who gave Nehelon a nod of approval.
“Show Miss Brayton to her chambers,” she ordered, and Nehelon inclined his head, beckoning Gandrett to follow him. But she didn’t move.
“I understand, Lord,” she gritted her teeth at the word, “that you have paid the Meister handsomely to get me out of training early in order to help you with a mission that has failed before.”
Lord Tyrem’s gaze chilled, his features hard, making him look like an old man. To her surprise, the pointed glare wasn’t meant for her but for Nehelon, whose features hardened equally as the gaze hit him, his back straightening as if he was tensing to attack—with words rather than his swords or magic.
“It seems you’re more talkative abroad than you are in your own court,” the young man in black noted with a grin.
Nehelon and the Lord Brenheran ignored him.
Gandrett bit her tongue. What Nehelon had told her about the mission… she realized it hadn’t been for him to tell. And he had told her anyway. He had told her what the mission was and that it had been unsuccessful for several years. As for the how—it was only that detail he had left her in the dark about. That, and about everything else.
“The nature of your mission, Miss Brayton,” the lord said between gritted teeth, “is a matter to be discussed in private.”
Gandrett felt them. The eyes on her. Nehelon’s weighing heaviest of all.
Lord Tyrem clapped his hands, “Out, everyone out.”
In an instant, the courtiers were on their feet, marching for the door with variations of disgruntled expressions on their faces. Some of them awarded her a cold look on their way out.
When only Lord and Lady Brenheran were left alongside with the black-dressed, black-haired young man, Lord Tyrem Brenheran eyed her for a long moment, again measuring her as if he wasn’t done with his verdict.
“Sit,” he ordered, and Nehelon grabbed Gandrett by the arm and pulled her into a chair far enough from the three nobles that even the length of her sword couldn’t reach them. Gandrett let him.
To her surprise, the Fae male remained standing behind her, probably there to keep her in check in case she got any ideas—
“Eat,” Lord Tyrem offered and gestured at the fruit platter to her left.
With a slow hand—slow enough not to startle anyone, or trigger Nehelon’s alarm bells—Gandrett picked up a piece of the same fruit she had seen the lord had eaten before and shoved it into her mouth.
Delicious. Juicy. It was simply delightful. She had never eaten anything like it. An explosion of sour and sweet…
It was only when the young man three chairs left from her raised his brows that she realized there was liquid dripping down her chin. She halted, eyes darting for a napkin and finding none within her reach.
The young man picked up a piece of cloth embroidered with the crest of House Brenheran and handed it to her with a pitying smile. “They train you well in combat,” he said, his eyes wandering to her chin then her hair, her dirty clothes, and at last, to her hands greedily clutching a second piece of the nameless fruit. “But that’s about everything they train you in.”
A low chuckle rose from behind her, and she felt the urge to turn and stomp onto Nehelon’s Fae feet.
But she cooled her temper and said with the friendliest face she could muster, “Better savage and alive than sophisticated and dead.”
Gandrett could swear Lady Brenheran was suppressing a smile, but her features smoothed the moment Lord Tyrem spoke again, “Miss Brayton.” He straightened in his chair, resting his forearms wrapped in sleeves of burgundy velvet with buttons of gold on the table. “You were summoned here for the sole purpose of retrieving my son—” His eyes darted to the side at the young man who had called him father. “—my eldest son, Joshua, from my enemies.”
Gandrett fashioned a surprised face as she pulled the napkin from the young man’s hand and wiped off the juice, hoping that it was convincing enough that Nehelon wouldn’t get into trouble. For some reason she couldn’t quite understand, she cared.
“That,” Lord Tyrem continued, “is the mission that has failed before as Nehelon has described it so well.” A cold glance at the Fae male behind her. “That is the mission he has failed at before would be the correct way to put it.”
She could feel Nehelon tense behind her.
“That’s why I made sure we have the best weapon we can in order to get back Joshua. There is a reason why the Meister picked her.” His tone was different from how he had spoken to her—neither the cold, clipped words, nor the heavy ones that had slipped him at Elste. Here, inside these polished stone halls, his voice was an intricate texture of sound and meaning. Gandrett wanted to turn in her chair and see his face, discover if it had equally changed or remained the same as what she had studied during the long journey from the priory. “I fought her at Everrun, and I can attest that she is the best. You have seen her demonstration. She can defend herself. She can fight the strongest of your guards. She—” he paused, all eyes but Gandrett’s on him, “—she even defeated me.”
Gandrett felt a tug on the corners of her mouth and suppressed a smile. She had.
“Now it’s only about getting her to be…” He searched for words. “To be acceptable for Denderlain court.”