Part 70 (2/2)
But he had never liked Duster.
They drew a single breath-watchers, and combatants alike-as if they were one thing, audience and performers. And then Duster began to move toward him. She didn't dance the way Carver did; she didn't s.h.i.+ft her position, make the position itself unreliable. She didn't smile, she didn't crack a joke; these things she couldn't have done anyway.
But she showed none of Arann's hesitation, was marred by none of Jewel's. When she at last struck, she struck up, from a low stance, and she moved d.a.m.n fast. Rath parried, a glancing blow that sent Duster's arm just off to the side; he continued his single motion toward the base of her throat, and she threw herself back before his stick's point could make contact.
Rath nodded. ”Good.” And then it was his turn, and he showed her no mercy at all. Which was good; Duster wasn't much for mercy. He hit her; she swung round, and caught his sleeve, slicing it open. But he'd given her that; he caught the underside of her jaw and sent her reeling. She staggered back, blade still in her hand. He gave her nothing; she found the s.p.a.ce in which to ground herself before he was on her again.
But she managed to back up enough, managed to make contact again, this time with his forearm; there was blood, and Jewel stopped breathing. Rath didn't notice. Duster didn't.
When he switched from right to left hand, she was prepared, and in the switch, she backed up suddenly and threw the knife. Rath parried it, but only barely, and it flew to the side, landing on the ground behind him.
Duster stared at him, and he stared back, but he made no further move. ”What do you have left?” he asked her quietly.
”Another knife.”
He nodded as she pulled it. But he lifted a hand. ”Enough. I wanted to take your measure, and I believe I have it. I will train you,” he added. ”It may mean you have less time to spend in reading and writing.”
Duster spit. So much for reading or writing. But she looked-almost happy. Almost.
”Duster, Jewel, I would like to speak with you in my room. Carver and Arann, you may return the room to its previous state.” He paused and then added, ”Clean up.”
They didn't wait to be told twice.
”Lord Waverly,” Rath said, bending over the map, ”lives here.”
Jewel whistled. ”That's on the Isle,” she said.
”Yes. For that reason, his domicile is unsuitable for any encounter we may plan. It is guarded, and you will not be able to cross the bridge to the Isle without being noted. But he does not spend all of his time in his home, as Duster is well aware. Of the men whose names you gave me, Duster, I believe Patris Waverly is the most driven by his own desires, and the least cautious.
”We may lure him out of his dwelling with the right incentive,” he added quietly.
Duster said, ”And that?”
”Jewel.”
Jewel startled.
And Duster said, in a cold, even voice, ”What do you mean?”
”Finch would be better as bait; she is, I think more to his liking. But-”
”No.” Jewel's voice was cold and clear. To Jewel's surprise, Duster's was just as cold, and the word she spoke was the same.
Rath smiled. It was not a friendly smile, but it was genuine. To Duster he said, ”So, you have some limits. If Finch was the only way-”
”No.”
”Good. I do not consider it wise, although I believe if you asked it of her, she would do whatever it was you required.”
”Don't ask.” Duster again. Jewel had fallen silent, watching Rath and listening to the words. He was testing, now. She wondered if they had just pa.s.sed or just failed; it was a test of resolve.
”I will, of course, respect your wishes in this,” he said, his tone very formal. ”But I must ask why. I believe she is the most suitable, and the most likely chance you have of success here.”
Duster's eyes were black; they glittered like . . . like the eyes of the men who had held her captive. She opened her mouth to speak, frowned, bit the words back. ”She's suffered enough.”
Jewel was staring at Duster. At words that she would have bet would never leave Duster's mouth, even if she was also certain they weren't the first words that tried. ”Her parents sold her,” Duster added. ”And she knows it. She'll always know it.
”I won't sell her that way.”
”And yours?”
”Mine died,” Duster said with a shrug. ”I don't remember them. I grew up in the Mother's temple until I was old enough to run away so they couldn't find me. We can do it without Finch. I can look helpless, if I have to.”
At that, Rath raised a brow. ”And Jewel?”
Duster shrugged. ”Up to her.”
And Jewel understood then that Duster considered her an equal. It was a compliment, of sorts.
”Jewel?”
”I'll do what I have to. I owe her that much.”
”Good. I have taken the liberty of procuring clothing, but clothing alone will not be enough. If the two of you feel you are ready-and determined-I will begin negotiations with Patris Waverly.” He pointed at a different spot on the map. ”Do you recognize this?”
They both shook their heads. ”It's in the older holdings, but near the Merchant Quarter. It is there that you will meet Patris Waverly when you are ready.” He rose. ”Duster, you fight well enough; I believe you are capable of killing should the need arise.”
He turned and looked at Jewel. ”But you, Jewel Markess, have not yet been tested.”
”I'll do what I have to.”
He said nothing for a long moment, and it was not a silence she liked. ”Then come,” he said at last. ”There is a man you should meet; he will teach you about the art of disguise. It is not as simple as clothing; you could dress as the Princess Royale and you would be spotted in an instant as a fake.”
He opened the door, and Jewel was aware that this opening was different. But she followed where he led, Duster in tow. Wanting to see the future. Wanting not to see it. Torn between these things, as she would so often be.
Chapter Twenty-Two.
WAs.h.i.+NG HAIR IN the Winter was about the last thing on Jewel's mind. It was a waste of wood, a waste of heat, a waste of time-with her hair. But she didn't say much because she didn't have the chance to slide any of her words between Duster's curses. Rath looked slightly unamused, but mostly bored, which meant he expected no better of Duster. Duster failed to notice; Jewel didn't.
The clothing he had taken the liberty, in his own words, of securing was neither too fine nor too poor-but it was a dress. Well, two dresses. Duster was livid.
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