The ringing of swords and grunting of men echoed in the training yard as Aellyn made her way into the square. She glanced around at the assembled soldiers and arms of her house with a sense of pride. She found a quiet corner and hoisted herself onto a thick stone railing to sit and watch the men at practice until Rom put in his appearance. The cranky old stoat was probably abusing a wayward lad from the barracks late to the yard, and she was glad to be largely immune to his ire.
Her delicate fingers tapped absently against the stone at her hips as her glinting green eyes scanned the yard. The tang of stale sweat stung her delicate nostrils, but it was a familiar and comforting scent. Her keen ears detected a soft footfall behind her and she turned with a thin black brow raised, her long black braid swinging over her shoulder, to see who approached.
“Rom’s not coming,” said the handsome young man that stood a couple feet away, arms folded carefully behind his back. There was a sparkle of humor in his amber eyes and a grin tugged at his lips. His short brown hair was rumpled and the stubble of beard on his chin added to his unkempt appearance. The faded black leathers he wore, not unlike her own but of far inferior quality, completed his roguish image.
“Good thing for you, then,” Aellyn replied primly. “You’re late.”
“No, my lady, I had business elsewhere this morning,” he responded with an affable smile as he vaulted the railing and came to sit beside her. “But I’m here now, and I can stand in for today, if you like.”
She gave him a sidelong glance, trying to guess what game he was playing. Surely he had some trick in mind, but she couldn’t fathom it. “Just what sort of mischief are you up to, Conrad?” She finally asked.
“My lady, you wound me!” He exclaimed. “I merely thought that in Rom’s absence you’d still like to partake in your daily sparring, and volunteered my services. I know I’m a poor substitute, but I would do my best for you,” he said solemnly, a plaintive look on his face and a hand to his heart.
She scoffed.
“Oh, come on,” he said with a coaxing smile, “I’m not so bad.” He nudged her playfully with his shoulder.
She harrumphed, but stood. “Alright then. Let’s see what you’ve got.” And she stepped toward the yard.
“I beg, go easy on me, my lady, I don’t have your years of experience,” he grinned wolfishly at her departing back as he stood to follow her.
“Mock me while you can,” she shot back over her shoulder as she pulled matching swords from a nearby rack and moved to an open space in the practice yard, turning to face him and dropping into a ready stance, blades out to her sides.
“No mockery intended, my lady,” he said seriously, stepping up to face her and drawing the sword and dagger he kept sheathed at his hips. “You’ve been training longer than I’ve been drawing breath, and your skill is well known. Few but Rom would face you willingly, and I suspect you’ve more to teach me than I could ever hope to teach you.”
A small twitch at the corner of his mouth and the light of merriment in his eyes betrayed him. She growled and lunged, right sword leading, and when the expected parry came, she kept their blades entwined and spun, dancing nimbly behind him and bringing her other blade to bear. Instead of being skewered as she’d hoped, his dagger caught her darting blade and turned it cleanly aside. As he did, he stepped back sharply, bumping her backwards and giving himself space to turn and face her squarely again, his dagger flashing toward her face as he turned, forcing her back further still. An infuriating grin played across his lips. She fumed silently, but refused to be drawn in by such cheap and blatant provocation.
When no retort came, verbal or otherwise, he realized she wouldn’t be so easily riled. Impressed despite himself, he took the initiative and pressed an attack of his own, all trace of a smile gone from his face and his brow furrowed now in concentration. Their blades sang as they clashed, coming together in a flurry of blows. Their shifting feet stirred a cloud of dust around them in the dry sand of the practice yard as they circled and lunged.
“Out of witty remarks, Conrad?” She asked, blade snapping forward swiftly to kiss his tanned cheek and drawing a thin line of blood forth before he managed to swat it away. She pressed her advantage now, stepping in close again and bringing both blades to bear. With a few quick, precise flicks, she managed to knock his dagger out wide and send his sword skidding across the sand. Stepping closer still, she bumped him forcefully with her body and he felt his foot go out from under him, caught by her heel, as he was pushed back. He landed in an undignified heap at her feet.
She stood above him, looking down her nose at him with a dark brow raised in challenge, the barest hint of a grin playing at her lips. The first flash of her well-known humor he’d spied that morning.
“You have me, my lady,” he chuckled wryly. “But I have your purse.” His brilliant smile was dazzling as he held the small pouch up triumphantly and shook it, the coins within jangling.
“Dead men seldom have opportunity to spend their ill-gotten gains,” she pointed out, tapping the flat of her blade to the underside of his chin to emphasize her point.
“True enough,” he granted with a sigh. She sheathed her blades and reached for her purse. Taking it, she turned to tie it back on her belt where it belonged. “Now what should I do with this, I wonder?” He asked curiously, inspecting the shining silver necklace dangling from his fingers with great interest. Her eyes widened in shock and a hand went instinctively to her throat. He grinned. “I suppose you’ll be wanting this back, then?” With a glare, a sharp kick to his leg was the only answer she gave. He laughed. “Help me up and it’s yours,” he promised, extending his free hand to her.
“It’s already mine,” she shot back, but took his hand and hauled him from the dirt just the same. Once upright, he held the necklace out to her, his face a picture of innocence. She snatched it from him impatiently and reached up to fix it about her neck once more. She looked at him thoughtfully. “How did you do that?” She finally asked, her lips pursed as she regarded him warily.
“I could show you, if you like,” he answered seriously. “But not here. In private. I can’t have everyone learning my tricks now, can I?” He nodded his head to the side, and she realized they were being watched with keen interest by the other men in the yard, though she had no idea how long they’d been observed. With her attention now firmly on them, the men scrambled to look busy, resuming their own practice with comical alacrity.
“In private then,” she conceded, turning her attention back to him. “Where?”
“Your chambers?” He asked slyly, leaning in.
“Try again.”
He sighed. “The library? We don’t need much space, just somewhere we won’t be observed.”
“The library is fine, I think. My cousin is often there, but even so, I can ask her to give us the room for a short time. When?”
“Now, if you like, my lady,” he responded quickly. “Or any time that suits you. I am at your service.” He bowed low before her. She could sense no mockery in him now.
“Now, then,” she said and turned to leave the yard. He straightened and followed dutifully behind her.
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