The Charmer

43

Keilor and Mathin didn’t waste time. At the signal, they unsheathed their swords with lightning fast moves and attacked.

The individual moves were a confusing blur. Both men fought as if they’d just came fresh from their beds, not spent the morning fighting off hoards of opponents. The men were nearly equal in size, strength and endurance. What would tip the scales of the fight?

***

Mathin on a normal day was difficult to defeat. Mathin with charmer scented victory in his nostrils was a demon.

Keilor fought him with every ounce of energy and concentration at his command, sparing no thought to Mathin’s increase in prowess since last he’d sparred with him, years ago. The boy had held the promise of greatness. The man surpassed it.

But Mathin was making no progress against him, either. Time and again their blades struck, and neither man faltered or so much as blinked.

Until their swords locked.

For a moment, they strained against one another, steel hilts biting into the flesh of their hands, neither willing to give an inch. Then Mathin said, “Rumor has it you’ve been at the charmer.” He paused a moment to make certain his comment fully penetrated Keilor’s battle haze. When he was certain he had his full attention, he asked suggestively, “Tell me, how does she taste?”

He never had a prayer after that.

***

“I can’t believe you fainted,” Rihlia said again. She shook her head.

“Be quiet,” Jasmine grumbled from her position on the couch. She did not want to talk about it.

Urseya smiled smugly. “I thought it was romantic. The beautiful, love-sick damsel, swooning at the feet of her lover…” She sighed, putting a wrist to her forehead and ignoring Jasmine’s glare. “Everyone will be talking about it.”

Jasmine sat up on her elbows and snapped, “He is not my lover!”

“Your warrior, then.”

“He’s not my anything!” she protested, but was interrupted by a snigger in the corner. She glared at Fallon, who had arrived earlier in the day and had watched from the crowd. She pointed a finger at him. “You be quiet, too.”

He held up his hand, palm out, in a gesture of innocence. With a straight face, he said, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” He grinned. “However, I think there are several hundred other witnesses who might possibly slip and tell him.”

Snorts and open laughter greeted those words. Why was it that the one and only time she ever fainted had to happen in front of hundreds of witnesses?

She cringed just thinking about how Keilor had been presented under her pavilion as the champion. She’d stood to acknowledge him, and suddenly the blood had drained her head with sickening speed. The next thing she’d known, Rihlia was patting her cheeks and demanding to know if she was all right. And the look on Keilor’s face once he’d realized she had swooned! Swooned!

She’d tried to tell everyone it had been just a little head rush, caused by standing up too fast, but perhaps she’d protested too much, because no one believed her. Portae had scoffed and insisted it had definitely been a swoon, caused by too much excitement, and stated with authority the only cure was lie down and have some nice, sedative tea.

So here she was, lying on her couch with her feet up, gagging on a truly awful tea, and being tormented by a roomful of insensitive clods.

After a bit Rihlia took pity on her, or perhaps she got tired of her friend’s mulish expression, because she began shooing people out of the room. Urseya, however, wasn’t leaving without a parting shot.

“Don’t worry!” she called out as she left. “If you swoon at his feet again, I’m sure Keilor will find some way of reviving you.” Fallon grabbed his sister’s arm and started dragging her.

“I can still sic Mathin on you!” Jasmine yelled back as the door shut behind them. “Great,” she muttered as the tea cup she’d been precariously balancing on her stomach spilled on her dress. Oh well, at least she didn’t have to finish it.

With more muttering, she clinked the cup and its saucer down on her coffee table and got up to rummage in her wardrobe. She emerged dressed in her jeans, black T-shirt and bare feet. She snagged a glass of juice and flopped down on the couch again. Casanova butted her hand, and she absently scratched around his nubby horns.

Rihlia sprawled in an over-stuffed chair opposite her and propped her chin on her hand. Eyeing Jasmine’s clothes, she asked, “Are you planning to wear that for Keilor?”

Jasmine grinned and wriggled deeper into the couch. “Why not?” She stifled a yawn. “He won’t be here for a while yet. No doubt his fan club has him busy signing autographs.” No one had asked him to sign anything, but he had been surrounded by a rather large group of women the last time she’d seen him.

“Jealous, huh?” When Jasmine just sighed and twisted her glass on her leg, watching the orange juice lap at the edges, she prodded, “If you don’t like it, what are you going to do about it?”

Jasmine leaned her head back and let out a slow breath. “Stake a claim, I guess. This morning I thought he was pond scum; this afternoon, he’s looking pretty good. Tomorrow, I might want to kill him again, but maybe this way I can get him out of my system.” She rolled her head toward Rihlia. “Avoidance just seems to aggravate the condition.”

Her friend smiled. “I wondered how long it would be before you gave it up.” Her smile died, and a very serious expression came over her face. “There are some things you ought to know about the Haunt, Jas.” She paused. “I don’t think it’s fair that you should go into any relationship with Keilor without knowing the truth about the guards and soldiers.”

Jasmine watched her without blinking, and she cleared her throat. “They’ve got a lot more in common than you think.”

“They’re the same. I know.” Jasmine’s expression never wavered as she sat up and put her juice on the coffee table. “I’ve known for a while now.” When Rihlia looked uneasy, she sighed. “You were afraid I’d be scared, weren’t you?”

“You are scared!” Rihlia dropped her feet to the floor and leaned forward. “I’ve seen you watching the guards. It terrifies you, and don’t pretend it doesn’t!”

“Sure, it scares me. It’s weird, and I’d be a liar if I said otherwise. But,” she interjected before she could be interrupted, “I’m not afraid of you, or your family. It’s just going to take a while to get used to.” She searched for a comparison. “Kind of like having someone you care for get in a really bad wreck and mess up their face, or become a burn victim.”

“Burn victim!”

“Hey, don’t take it personally,” Jasmine admonished her. “You know what I’m trying to say.” She looked deep into Rihlia’s eyes. “I’ve known you how many years, now? Should I start believing that suddenly you’re going to go nuts and kill me, or let anyone else hurt me?”