Third Daughter (The Dharian Affairs, Book One) (6 page)

Aniri appraised her weapons, taking time to make her choice.

The table was spread with sabers, foils, and scimitars glittering in the cool yellow gaslamp light of the training room. Gleaming brass handguards and elaborate dark wood grips topped strong steel blades and curved bronzed tips. The Samirians were known for their metalwork, and these imported weapons were the finest examples of their handicraft.

Aniri pulled her leather fencing gloves up to her elbows, fastening the brass clasps in place, then selected the longest, most deadly scimitar. Its curved blade was perfectly balanced but still heavy. And definitely not for training. She unwrapped the scarf around her neck and let it pool on the floor—it would be sliced to ribbons if caught in the scimitar’s sweeping path.

Her hair was bound in a braid behind her, and the rest of her fighting wear was suitably formfitting with no stray clothing that might be entangled in her swordplay. Rugged canvas breeches tucked into her leg wrappings at the knee, and she had strapped a woven brass chest protector over her high-necked fencing jacket. There was hardly an inch of her skin showing, yet the entire ensemble moved and breathed with her. She warmed up by twirling the scimitar on one side then the other. She crept across the stone pavers of the training room. Her thin, leather fighting boots made no sound as she snuck up on the motionless steam-powered automaton that would serve as her opponent.

She slowly moved the point of the sword closer to the large metallic figure. It had a can for a head and arms of metal tubing, but it could be surprisingly quick once activated. She gently touched the tip of her sword to the brass button that sat over its heart and danced back as it came to life with a steaming hiss. It already held a large steel blade, nearly as hefty as hers. She gripped the scimitar in both hands as the machine raised its blade into a ready position.

With a scream she reserved for the training room, Aniri whirled and slashed, bringing the full force of her blow to bear on the automaton. It quickly blocked, the ring of their blades piercing the air. She pulled back, took a balanced stance on the balls of her feet, and raised the blade over her head, striking again. The machine shifted quickly and met her blade with a blow she felt through to her bones. Twice more she jabbed and the machine parried. Slowly, the tension of the morning’s garden meeting with Prince Malik eased from her shoulders. Every earnest word of that discussion kept replaying in her mind, despite her best attempts to disregard the barbarian’s entreaties. Each stroke against her mechanical opponent beat back the words echoing in her head.

Fencing shoes shuffled softly on the stone floor behind her. The person—probably Devesh—was still safely out of reach of her blade. She swung it around for another hacking slash at the automaton. This time she connected with its metal shoulder, and her blade bounced off, making her stumble. She grimaced, not wanting her final blow to be so ungraceful.

“I hope that’s Prince Malik’s face you’re imagining, and not mine,” Devesh said.

Aniri’s shoulders slumped, and she allowed the curved blade to sink slowly until the tip chinked on the floor. She wasn’t imagining Prince Malik or even her mother. The automaton was the perfect metaphorical opponent for the villain she faced—nameless, faceless, implacable in forcing her into a life she didn’t want.

Devesh moved quickly to stand close to her. He gently grasped her sword hand, holding the blade away, while he slipped his other hand around her waist. His warm fingers found the one unprotected spot at the small of her back. She drew in a breath at his boldness, but then his lips were on hers—a quick kiss which nevertheless pulsed through her body to the tips of her fingers. He pulled away again with lightning speed. A quick check of the servants at the far end of the room showed no reaction.

“You presume too much,” Aniri said when she regained her voice.

Devesh grinned wickedly. “Only as much as you allow.” With infinite gentleness, he tugged the scimitar from her grasp. “I would be foolish to presume any more when you are so heavily armed.”

He lifted the blade and examined the jeweled hilt. “I hope there’s no hidden meaning in the fact that you chose to train today with a blade that was famously used against the Samirians in more than one ancient war. I do believe this particular weapon executed my great-great-grand-uncle, the Duke of Indira.”

“That’s a complete lie,” Aniri said, her smile returning. “You were never related to royalty.”

“Your majesty crushes me!” Devesh clutched his heart in mock pain, stepped back, and whirled the blade in a circle that traced behind one shoulder and then the other. “But if you wish to train today, I believe less dangerous weapons would better serve your purpose.”

“My purpose?” Aniri’s shoulders bent again, the full weight of duty dragging them down. “I’m not sure I’m disposed to training today.” He had come fully dressed to be her instructor, wrapped in linen leggings, breeches, and a stiff, woven jacket under his ironwork chest protector. The many small touches involved in Devesh’s careful instruction always lit a fire in her body. A painful reminder of what she had to lose in this decision between heart and duty.

Perhaps that was Devesh’s intention.

“I judge the princess to be in need of a vigorous, yet more graceful sport at the moment.” He returned the scimitar to the weapons table and hefted a foil blade instead. It was a gift from her father when she first took up the sport. It was far too heavy at first, especially the brass handguard, but she took it as a challenge, and it made her strong. Devesh held the sword flat across his palms and made a small bow with his head. “My lady’s favorite weapon, as beautiful and deadly as she is.”

Aniri bristled, the flattery needling her more than usual, given Prince Malik’s earlier remarks. She lifted the blade with one finger at the balance point, tossed it in the air, then grabbed the dark wood grip. The slashing arc of her blade just missed the floor and finished with the razor sharp tip screeching across the Samirian crest on Devesh’s chest protector.

His eyes widened, but he didn’t move. “Of course, I was hoping her majesty would be using the safety tip today, if I was to spar with her.”

Aniri stepped back, and Devesh lunged for the sword table, coming away with a foil that matched hers except the hilt was ironwork instead of brass. He kept his distance while he added a rubber tip to the end of his sword. He tossed one to her, which she quickly caught and attached.

She smiled, saluted, and took an engarde position, feet positioned at ninety degrees to one another, knees bent. She was shorter than him, which meant his reach was longer, but skill and practice compensated for the difference. She jabbed forward, forcing him back, since he had barely assumed a fighting position. Then he lunged, striking at her heart. She parried, the sing of their blades bouncing off the smooth stone of the training room. She attacked again, compelling him two steps back.

“I was right,” Devesh said with a grin.

Aniri approached, and Devesh retreated. She feinted again, and he shuffled a step out of her reach. “About what?” She looked for an opening, the split second between when he decided to attack and actually lunged with his blade.

“About my lady needing some vigorous sport to lighten her mood.” He thrust forward, she blocked, but he advanced again and again, forcing her back several steps before he stopped.

“And I suppose a courtesan is well trained to provide the kind of sport I need?”

Devesh grinned, slightly dropping his fencing arm, which was exactly the minute distraction she hoped for. She struck for his chest and pinned him, her foil bending a graceful arc that landed in a point right above his heart.

“Touch.” Devesh held his hands wide, not exactly looking displeased that she had landed a point. He didn’t outmatch her, but she usually had to work much harder for the first point.

“You let me score.” Suddenly, the fight went out of her, like steam fleeing the automaton, collapsing her into a similarly lifeless hulk. She released him from the touch, saluted, and swept her blade tip to the floor.

“Oh, Dev,” she said quietly. “What am I going to do?”

He was instantly next to her, his hand gentle on her cheek. “Why are you so troubled? The Queen has left it to you to decide, hasn’t she? You must simply refuse him, Aniri.”

Aniri peered up into his deep brown eyes. How did he know her mother had given her the choice? “Yes, the Queen is graciously allowing me a full length of rope with which to hang myself.”

Devesh frowned. “Your mother loves you, Aniri.”

Aniri snorted very ungraciously. “She is the Queen first and mother second, Dev.”

Devesh gently tucked a strand of hair that had worked loose behind her ear. “Of her three daughters, Aniri, she loves you most of all. Everyone at court can see it. And she’s given you a choice in this matter. What greater proof do you need?”

“She is testing me, Dev. To see if I will step up to my duty.”

His hand froze by her cheek. “But you will refuse him, right?”

Aniri placed her gloved hand against his chest to reassure him. “I want to, Dev.”

But her face must have given away her worries. He dropped his hand and frowned. “It is a trap, Aniri. You have to know that.”

She leaned away. “What do you mean?”

He gave her one of his slightly patronizing looks. “Sweet, naïve, rebellious Aniri. Someday you’re going to need to pay attention to the intrigues of the palace.”

“I thought that was your job.” His tone irritated her.

“Indeed it is.” Devesh smiled. “And as your secret advisor on all things political, I must warn you the Prince of Jungali is not a person you can trust in any way. Once he has you in his mountain palace, you will be his prisoner. And a very valuable hostage. Dharia will have to meet whatever demands the barbarians may propose.”

Aniri frowned. “My mother wouldn’t send me into an arranged marriage like that.”

“The Queen…” He gritted his teeth. “Does not always see things for what they are. Not unlike her favorite daughter.” His fingers gently traced her lips. “Aniri, my love, not all people have the best of intentions, and that goes double for the barbarians. They live a harsh life in the mountains. They are brutal to one another, and they are envious of their neighbors to the south. You would be a prized trophy for Prince Malik.”

“I can’t believe my mother would agree to this, if the danger were such as you describe.”

“You are seriously considering his offer, then?” Devesh’s mouth drew into a tight line.

“War is a serious matter, Dev.” She held her hands wide, one still grasping her foil. “I have to consider it.”

Devesh didn’t respond, just gently took Aniri’s foil and returned both their swords to the table. He paused there a moment. “Can I tell you something in confidence, my love?” He glanced at the servants at the far end of the hall.

Aniri stepped closer. “Of course, Dev. You can tell me anything.”

He smiled and drew her close, until she was flush against him. He kissed her lightly, but with a soft passion that spoke volumes. Then he pressed his cheek to hers, his lips near her ear. “I love you, Aniri,” he whispered.

When he pulled back, she smiled. “I hate to tell you this, Dev, but I already knew that.”

“If you go off with this Prince Malik, and anything happens to you, the Queen may dispense an army to come after you, but I will beat them there.”

Aniri drew in a shaky breath. Prince Malik said he would allow her a lover, even though arranged marriages were expected to be true marriages, especially among royalty. But could she live that kind of life? A secret love on the side while performing the duties of Queen in a foreign land? The idea made her shudder. It pained her every day her love for Devesh was kept hidden. She couldn’t imagine a lifetime of it. Nor could she picture Devesh, with his love of the court and all things political, banished to the frozen wastelands of the north simply to be her consort.

He must have seen the emotions warring across her face. “Tell him no, Aniri. Refuse him and come away with me. We could leave today.”

“Dev—”

He cut her off with a kiss. “We could return to Samir,” he whispered against her lips. “We won’t be rich, but we could travel anywhere you wished, all the places your father would have taken you. We would have all the time in the world. To be together. To learn the truth about your father’s killers. To make a family of our own.”

It was precisely what they had planned. Now it all seemed like a hopeless fantasy. “Dev, I can’t simply abandon my country. If I refuse Malik, and there is war to pay, I cannot just run away… Is this the confidence you wanted to tell me?”

Devesh looked torn, like there was something more he wanted to say but was holding it back. “I cannot offer you a Queendom, Aniri. My love is all I can promise. I hope it is enough to convince you to refuse Prince Malik’s offer.”

He stepped back, and with clasped hands and a short bow, he turned and strode away. Her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest to follow him. If she accepted Prince Malik’s offer, she would lose the man she loved.

Unlike the Jungali prince, she wasn’t sure that was a price she was willing to pay.