CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Shadow
I WAKE CURLED UP ON the cave floor. I sit up slowly, expecting to be stiff and sore, but I don’t actually feel too bad. I slept well, considering the conditions, and Cal’s salve is doing wonders.
I find him outside gathering sticks for our fire. I clear my throat. “Good morning.”
Cal’s shaved his scruff and washed himself in the stream, and looks much healthier than the day before, almost like a new person. “There she is, our lady of perpetual sleep!” he says, smiling broadly.
I bristle at the dig, but recall that I lobbed similar ones at him before. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“There’s only so much that salve will do. Sleep will heal that arm faster,” Cal says without looking at me. He works on organizing the sticks. “And I was enjoying the peace and quiet.”
My nostrils flare. “Well then, I’ve given you that. Don’t you think we should get moving? We’ve lost a lot of time already and—”
“It will be awfully hard to play the part of a noblewoman with a gaping wound on your arm,” he says, motioning toward my injury.
It does look pretty bad when I take the leaves off. Aside from the gash, which runs the entire length of my arm and is dark blue and angry-looking, there are bruises on both arms and my legs, and probably elsewhere as well. I can feel sore spots all over my body. But he doesn’t know about those. “How so? I can wear long sleeves.”
“There are also scratches on your hands. And a bruise on your cheek. Women of high birth don’t walk around like that. How would you explain yourself? There aren’t many opportunities for that type of injury when you spend your days getting laced into elaborate costumes and sitting for tea. Everyone would want to know how it happened. They’d want a story. It would draw quite a bit of unnecessary attention.”
He’s going to lecture me about the behavior of highborn ladies? “What do you know about how noblewomen behave? Besides, I’ll just say I fell while riding, or something like that.”
“It will draw attention no matter what. Attention we do not need. You want to be my apprentice, that’s your first lesson: Don’t draw attention. Our very existence will cause gossip as it is. If you give them anything else, even the slightest tidbit, they’ll run with it. Make up all kinds of stories. Start asking questions.” He locks his eyes on mine. “And by the way, I know plenty about how noblewomen behave. I was raised at the queen’s court. As I recall, you’re the one who grew up on a farm.”
I blink a few times. He’s right, of course, and I can’t argue otherwise. “And what of it? Are you saying I’m too common to play the part of a noblewoman?”
Cal puts his hands up. “Nobody could ever say you’re common.” He laughs at his own remark.
I feel my jaw clench and decide to change the subject. “Maybe we should head out to the spring to catch some fish for breakfast.”
“I still have biscuits,” Cal says.
“I’ll consider one of those stale biscuits once we’re on the verge of starvation. I don’t even know where those things have been, nor do I want to.” He doesn’t respond to me. He continues picking up sticks, and sets to work rekindling the fire.
I want to say more, but I know I shouldn’t pick a fight. As much as I hate to admit it, I need him until I’m recovered and there may be things I can learn from him. “I’m going to go wash up,” I say, turning to walk down to the spring.
It’s a short distance before I find a semi-secluded spot where the pool cuts behind some trees. I’m glad for the privacy, but before I can dip a toe in, my aunts’ faces appear in my mind, distorted as if they’re watching me through glass.
They’re using the orb to look for me.
I quickly blink them away and the vision of them scatters. Though they saw me, I doubt they can pinpoint where I am. I don’t want them to catch up with me and drag me back home, or worse, to the palace, but I can’t help being pleased that they’re searching for me. As guilty as I feel for the worry I’m sure I’ve caused, it’s nice to remember they care so much.
When I’m certain they’re gone from my mind, I finally strip off my dirty clothes. The shirt is tricky, though, and unfortunately I can’t ask Cal to help me. I slip out my good arm first, carefully peeling the garment over my head, then down the injured arm. It’s still sore, but the wound has become more pink than blue, so it’s healing well. I wrap my arms around myself until I get all the way into the water, just in case Cal is watching.
The water is cold. I shiver but force myself to walk in up to my chest. It’s bracing at first, but soon the clear water feels amazing. I lean my head back and soak my hair. I reach up to touch it, expecting to find long hair spread out around my head. I almost forgot it’s so short. No soap, so I just scrub my scalp as best I can. That alone makes it feel better.
I put my head back in the water and listen to the muffled sounds below, water running gently in my ears, the soft swaying of aquatic plant life and small trout, turtles zipping through mazes of their vines.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Cal to my left, sitting on a rock near the shore, fashioning a long, thin stick into a fishing pole. At first he isn’t paying any attention to me—he seems determined to find us a decent meal. But then he glances up and catches my eye. Though we are frozen for a mere moment, the warmth of his gaze washes over me like a wave. He raises an eyebrow, a challenge, and I decide I don’t care. Let him look.
I slowly make my way back behind the trees and drag my clothes into the water and scrub those off too, laying them out on a few large rocks. Hopefully they’ll dry in the sun while I swim for a while longer.
When I put my damp clothes back on, they’re cold, and stick uncomfortably to my thighs and torso. Cal is still fishing; I can hear splashing noises as he wades deeper into the water. I walk back to camp and add wood to the fire so I can crouch close to it to get warm. Cal returns a few minutes later holding up a good catch, several shiny silver fish hooked on his line.
I can’t help but smile.
He roasts them over the fire and we eat them with the biscuits from his bag. “They’re fine. A little crunchy, but fine.” He shrugs.
I hate to admit it, but he’s right. The biscuit is awfully hard, but not too bad if I let it dissolve in my mouth a bit before chewing. With the smoky flavor of fresh-caught fish, it’s practically a feast.
After we finish eating, Cal picks up a stick and begins using it to trace a circle in the dirt. He stands back and looks at it, then tosses the stick aside. “Grab your sword, Lady Shadow.”
“Why?” I ask, suspicious. Even though it’s amusing to be called that, I’m not quite sure what to make of the invitation.
“Time for practice,” he says.
I laugh. “I don’t need practice.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be my apprentice?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then you need practice. You’ve been lucky so far, but you can’t rely on throwing rocks and hiding in trees.”
“You forget you’re speaking to a mage. And what about the dire emergency of letting my arm heal?” I say, teasing.
“If you knew anything about sword fighting,” Cal says, “you’d know that in a situation like this”—he tosses me a sword—“you’re supposed to use the other arm.” I catch it in my left hand.
I suppose I asked for this.
“Now, when using your nondominant arm, you want to . . .” He comes at me, swinging the sword. An attempt to take me off guard. But I come right back at him, holding him off. His eyes widen when I do.
“Clever,” he says, stepping away. “I thought you hurt your dominant arm.”
“I did.” I grin.
He narrows his eyes.
“I’m trained to use both.” I shrug, though it hurts my arm a bit.
We skirmish for a while, and he teaches me a few moves and counterattacks, and even with my injured arm, I’m able to pick up the lessons. He’s a good teacher, surprisingly patient, and takes the time to explain the thinking behind each parry. “Once you have a foundation, it will come naturally,” he says.
He proposes a duel to show him what I’ve learned, and even though I fight my hardest, he disarms me in a flash, and holds two swords at my chin. He is quick, deadly, and merciless. I saw it during our escape, but his arrogance these past few days has distracted me. It’s been too easy to forget the man I am dealing with. I can’t help but tremble at sword point.
“Hey,” he says, drawing them back quickly. “It’s just a game.”
I take a deep, shaky breath. I thought I was good enough for the Guild, but if this duel is any indication, the truth is maybe I’m not. Maybe I’ll never be the fighter that he is.
He throws the swords down. “That’s all for today.”
His weapon hits the ground and I find I can suddenly breathe again. I’ve come back to myself. “Okay. Your turn.”
“My turn? For what?”
“Lessons. If we’re going to be posing as aristocrats from Argonia, then you have to learn how to behave at a royal court.”
“As I’ve already explained, Lady Shadow, I’ve spent a lot of time at court. I’m already well-versed in the art of bowing and keeping my mouth shut.”
“Ha! But have you read Crumpets and Cravats?”
“Sorry, no, my missions for the queen don’t leave much time for novels.”
“Well, when you’re an aristocrat, nobody expects you to keep your mouth shut. Quite the opposite. The more interesting you are, the more they’ll like you. But the art of communication is about so much more than talking. For example: What does it mean when someone bows to you, but they only bend at the waist?” All those lessons with Missus Kingstone are turning out to be useful after all.
“Easy. You outrank them but you’re only titled, not a royal.”
He’s right. “That was just to get you warmed up. How about . . . ? Oh, I know. You’re invited to a masked ball. A woman—a countess, let’s say—is standing across from you. She flicks her fan open, twice, then puts it away. What does that mean?”
“What does that mean?” he echoes. He thinks for a moment and then shrugs. “That she has no use for her fan.”
“It means she’s irritated with your presence and wants you to go away.” I want to enjoy my victory, but the smile on his face is perplexing.
“Excellent!” he says, and begins to laugh.
I rap his knuckles, as learning the complicated language of a woman’s fan is a serious endeavor. “Here’s another. I’ll keep it simple. Same woman. But this time, she takes out her fan, flicks it open once, fans herself briefly, then closes it in her right hand.”
“She’s saying, ‘Bring me a glass of water, peasant.’”
“No, of course not! That’s two flicks and a twist.”
“You don’t say!”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “I was joking!”
He blinks.
“Actually it means she’s open to conducting an affair with you.” I wiggle my eyebrows for comic effect. “Probably happens to you often.”
“So you admit you find me handsome, then?” He smiles, and the sun hits his dark eyes so I see there are gold flecks in them. He knows how handsome he is; he must. It is one of the qualities that make him so good at his trade. No one could suspect that someone so handsome would also be so merciless.
I turn to put away the remains of our meal so he won’t see me blushing. “No, of course not. I mean, not that you aren’t. I’m sure a lot of people think so.”
“Do they now,” he says. I can feel him smirking.
“You’re pretty fair yourself,” he says as he walks away. I pretend I didn’t hear, but I’m smiling anyway.
CAL’S HERBAL PASTE IS like magic on my arm—it’s almost back to normal in a single day—but we decide to spend one last night before continuing our journey. It’s safe here, and we both need the rest. We use the morning to continue our sword-fighting lessons, and in the afternoon we catch a few more fish. Cal goes off to bathe at the spring while I stay back at camp and prepare our meal. He returns with his hair wet and his skin glowing, and I can only imagine how the courtiers will swoon when he arrives at the court of Montrice.
Today he hasn’t been half as irritating, which I find rather irritating.
Once it’s dark, I curl up near the fire, drowsy and content, wishing we could spend a few more days here just like this, with nothing to worry about but training and catching fish.
Cal settles in across from me, his gaze trained on the fire. I haven’t had a chance to study him like this before, without worrying about being caught staring. He has a small scar near his left eyebrow, and a dimple in his right cheek that only appears when he smiles.
We watch the fire in silence, the two of us sprawled in our makeshift beds of leaves, next to each other. “Do you know any stories?” he asks. The expression on his face is so earnest, I know he can’t be teasing me.
“Do I know any stories,” I repeat, and pull my knees to my chest. My mind begins to wander, and before I know it, I’m telling him the story of Renovia, the one my aunts used to tell me at bedtime, when we were warm and safe in our cottage in the Honey Glade. It’s their favorite story, about the mage Omin and a queen and the love between them that established the ancient kingdom of Avantine, glorious and grand and full of magic and light.
I let myself get lost in the story, imagining my aunts gathered around me in bed. They seemed so big when I was so little and the way they spun this tale always left me in awe. At the end of it, Cal looks up at me. He is studying me the way I had studied him. “I know that story too,” he says. “You tell it well.”
Then without saying another word, he lies back and turns away so I can no longer see his face.
“Good night,” I say softly.
A moment passes before he responds. “Good night.”