~ 3 ~
The Maiden despairing
“Here again, mushroom? Don’t you have something better to do than bother us?” Sodrin bent an annoyed frown on Jahna as she set up her supplies of parchment and ink on a small table tucked into a corner of her mother’s solar.
Her sunny smile made him frown even harder. “I can’t think of anything better than watching Sir Radimar knock you on your arse several times in an hour.” And fitting revenge for him calling her a fungus.
Three weeks had passed since their return to Hollowfell from the Beladine capital of Timsiora, and the Ilinfan swordmaster hadn’t wasted a moment in putting his new student through his paces. The empty solar, once a place of dust, cobwebs and sad memories for Lord Uhlfrida was transformed into a training room, with a concentric pattern of diminishing circles painted on the floor. Hooks driven at various spot into the walls and ceiling provided anchor points to which lengths of rope were strung, creating an intricate net.
“For exercises to increase agility and flexibility,” the swordmaster explained to the perplexed Uhlfrida family when they saw the contraption.
A servant had set up the workspace where Jahna put down her supplies to record—a small table and a chair that hugged a corner and caught the best light from a high window. It offered her a good view of the entire room while still allowing her to stay out of the way.
Radimar had readily agreed to Jahna’s request to observe the lessons and record how Ilinfan teachers passed on their knowledge to their students. Sodrin had been less than enthusiastic at the idea.
“How can I fight if she’s lurking over there distracting me with all that quill scratching?”
Radimar paused while measuring the floor for his painted circles and gave Sodrin a withering look. “If something as insignificant as a quill stops you from being able to fight, then I need to pack now and return to Ilinfan, as there is nothing I can teach you which will overcome that level of laziness.”
Sodrin flushed pink at the rebuke, but said no more. He avoided Radimar’s eyes in favor of glaring at Jahna who shrugged and returned a triumphant smirk.
Radimar hadn’t made an appearance yet this morning, and the siblings took advantage of that by bickering. Sodrin practiced a few leisurely swings with the wooden waster Radimar insisted he use. “Big talk from you. It isn’t like he hasn’t put you on your arse a few times.”
That was true. Radimar’s willingness to allow her in for the lessons as an observer came with a price. Sometimes she had to participate and those days usually saw her sporting more than a few bruises for the effort.
She shrugged. “But I don’t have anything to prove. Nor do I care if you see me fall. You have too much pride, brother.”
“And you not enough,” he volleyed back. “Radimar is wasting his time teaching you things you’ll never use.”
This morning it was she who glared at him. He had stopped just short of calling her a coward. She opened her mouth to retort but was stopped by Radimar’s arrival.
He wore a high-collared tunic of bleached linen over dun colored trousers and soft-soled shoes strapped at the calves. His bright hair was combed back from his face and secured at his nape with a thong. The piercing gaze Jahna found both arresting and intimidating swept the room, touching first on Sodrin, then on her.
“You’re both wasting your time talking when you could be practicing your footwork or sparring with each other,” he said.
Sodrin flexed his shoulders and stretched his arms in preparation for the lesson. “Remind me again why I’m sparring with her?”
The swordmaster walked the room’s perimeter, testing the tautness of the ropes Sodrin had strung earlier by swinging on each one. Jahna tried not to gape at the impressive sight of Radimar’s shoulder muscles flexing under his shirt or the way his thighs tightened as he stretched from one rope to another, pulling himself along like a spider on a web. Nimble, quick, deadly.
Satisfied with his student’s work, he dropped to his feet and dusted his hands before answering Sodrin’s question. “Because sometimes an untrained adversary is the most dangerous one. They don’t follow a memorized rule, don’t employ a familiar tactic or strategy. Every once in awhile they get in a lucky hit that can be very unlucky for you. Even fatal.”
“His luck holds this morning, Sir Radimar,” she chimed in. “Today is my day only to observe and record the lesson.”
Radimar’s thin-lipped mouth turned down at the corners. “It will serve you best if you participate as often as possible, my lady. Doing so will anchor it more solidly in your memory.”
“Afraid?”
Sodrin’s taunt made Jahna bristle. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Hardly.” She waved a hand down her front. “I’m not dressed for a lesson.”
Radimar shrugged. “Then dress for it. We’ll be here when you return.”
She raced back to her room to change into a tunic and a pair of Sodrin’s trousers she’d cut and altered to fit her frame, and returned to the solar. The two men had already begun training, with a regimen of tumbling and swinging on and among the ropes. At Radimar’s gesture, she joined Sodrin on the webbing.
The exercise itself seemed like child’s play when Radimar first described it, but brother and sister soon learned it was anything but play. Jahna lost count of the number of times her tumbles landed her in a tangle of limbs and rope or sent her careening into her brother. Radimar’s repeated advice for how to avoid such bodily crashes even invaded her dreams.
“You move like you’re invisible to each other. Always be aware of your opponent. Where they are in relation to you, to the furniture in the room, to the doors and windows. Learn their size, their reach and how to stay out of their way until you choose to bridge the distance between you.”
He often backed up his instructions with demonstrations, allowing Jahna to see how he moved through the ropes around and over Sodrin, quick and agile, sometimes coming close enough to her brother to flutter his hair but never quite touching. He did the same for Sodrin, leaving Jahna winded and a little dizzy as she staggered away from the webbing to catch her breath. It was an exercise in control, in strength, and as he said, a supreme awareness of the space another person occupied on the ropes at any given time.
Lessons always began with the ropes, then moved to footwork—Jahna’s favorite part of the training. Footwork was precise and offered insight into how her body balanced best, moved quickest. Unlike her, Sodrin hated it and complained at first over Radimar’s relentless drills regarding stance, passing steps and shoulder position.
“Nothing about this involves sword fighting,” he complained one morning.
It seemed as if Radimar ignored the complaint as he circled Jahna, motioning for her to widen her stance a little more and turn her shoulder a hair. He raised a hand to signal she stay as she was and with one quick motion, reached out and lightly shoved Sodrin.
The move sent Sodrin flailing backward, and he landed on his backside with a grunt. Jahna watched askance and pressed her lips together to hold back a giggle.
Radimar stretched out an arm to help a flustered Sodrin up from the floor. “Jahna could have easily done what I just did. You’re resting your weight on your heels instead of the balls of your feet, and your center is too high. Knocking someone over with a feather is possible when they stand like that.”
He returned to Jahna and motioned for Sodrin to join him. “Watch.” He shoved Jahna with the same force he used on Sodrin. Her torso rocked back a little, but her feet stayed planted. Radimar pushed again, this time a little harder, with the same results. The third time he did it hard enough that his bicep flexed, and Jahna’s lead foot lost its grip on the floor, slipping sideways.
“I’m easily twice your sister’s size and weight,” he said. “But did you see the effort it took to make her budge? That’s all due to her stance.” He raised an eyebrow at Sodrin. “Footwork is the backbone of sword fighting. You can’t fight if you can’t keep your feet under you. Swinging a blade around doesn’t make you a swordsman, Sodrin.”
Suitably chastised and more willing to listen, Sodrin worked harder at curbing his impatience and listening to Radimar’s instructions. He wasn’t always successful, but he tried. His disappointment when Radimar, one morning, presented him and Jahna each with a wooden waster showed clearly in his expression.
He gripped the wooden sword, tipping it one way and then the other, his upper lip lifting in a scornful curve. “What is this child’s toy?”
Jahna rolled her eyes. She found her brother’s unending complaints irritating. Radimar’s unwavering patience with Sodrin spoke of his abilities as a teacher as well as an expert swordsman. Had she been him, she would have strangled Sodrin by now.
Radimar hefted his own sword, a waster as well. “This ‘toy’ will become your best friend over the next several weeks. You’re going to fight with it, sleep with it, dream about it, and fall in love with it by the time you’re ready to hold a steel blade.” He then proceeded to show Sodrin and Jahna how the “toy” could be a lethal, awful weapon capable of dealing out bruises and split flesh when wielded by a capable hand.
The current lesson incorporated all the things Radimar had introduced in the previous weeks—tumbling, footwork and bladework with the wasters. Sodrin struggled against the tyranny of the training circles painted on the floor.
They fought in the largest of the circles, the one Radimar called the Student’s Circle. “All students start here and stay here for the longest time,” he said. “As you learn and improve, you move to the next smaller circle.” He tracked Jahna and Sodrin as they sparred with each other within the Student circle.
Sodrin glanced at him. “How long did it take you to reach the Master’s Circle?” He yelped at the hard swat Radimar laid against the back of his legs with the flat of his waster. The move made him jerk forward, allowing Jahna what would have been a lethal stab to his gut had she been fighting him in true combat.
“And you’re dead,” Radimar snapped. “Don’t take your eyes off your opponent. You don’t need to look at me to hear me. Resume your stance.” Jahna and the flinching Sodrin jumped to do his bidding. “Bout.”
The measured whack of wood on wood sounded through the solar. Radimar answered Sodrin’s question, peppering his answers with commands to “Bend your knees. You’re standing too tall,” and “Slower, Jahna. You’re holding a sword, not wielding a whip.”
“I reached the Master’s Circle when I was eighteen, a year older than you are now, Sodrin.”
Jahna gasped. So young! She’d been surprised to learn Radimar was only five years older than Sodrin and seven years older than her. He seemed so much older, so much wiser than either of them. Lord Uhlfrida’s concern over the unprecedented youth of Sodrin’s teacher faded away once he observed a few lessons. Young he might be, but Radimar Velus lived up to the reputation of the Ilinfan swordmasters who trained him.
She countered one of Sodrin’s attacks. He moved slower, distracted by Radimar’s comments. “Then it won’t take me long to reach the Master’s Circle.”
A short chuckle from Radimar revealed he thought Sodrin’s statement as ridiculous as Jahna did. “I started training when I was five years old. I might have attained the Master’s Circle at eighteen, Sodrin. You won’t, even with my training. That isn’t realistic.”
They fought several more bouts before Radimar called a halt to eat breakfast before returning to the lesson. Sweaty, breathless, and certain her arm was about to fall off, Jahna thanked the gods her participation in the swordmaster’s lessons were done for the day. He’d been correct when he said participating instead of just observing would serve her better when she went to record the details of a lesson given by an Ilinfan teacher. Hopefully, after clutching a waster for so long, her sore hand would allow her to hold a quill.
The three made their leisurely way downstairs to the kitchens where one of the cooks had set aside a pot of porridge and slices of pork to warm on a sheet of metal set over hot coals. The first time they ate breakfast together, Radimar had surprised Sodrin and earned the eternal devotion of the kitchen staff when he made his two students serve themselves.
It wasn’t a first for Jahna. She often sneaked into the kitchens and helped herself to a slice of bread and honey or a wedge of cheese drizzled with blackberry syrup while she harassed the cooks for stories of their lives before they came to Hollowfell. Some were born and raised in neighboring villages, others had come from farther away, where Belawat shared a border with the Kai of Bast-Haradis and the wild hinterlands were controlled by the margrave of High Salure.
Sodrin, indulged only son and heir of the master of Hollowfell, had balked at first over the idea of waiting on himself. Radimar’s unflinching gaze and the unspoken threat behind it convinced him avoiding such labor wasn’t worth a thrashing in the Student’s Circle.
They sat down together with their plates and bowls at one of the work tables the head cook reserved for their use. Jahna sat beside Sodrin, with Radimar across from them. Her stomach gurgled the moment hot steam, scented with butter and salt, reached her nostrils. She was starving and dug into her porridge with gusto. The two men with her did the same, and the table was quiet for several minutes while they ate. Sodrin rose to refill his bowl, offering to do the same for Jahna. She declined and watched as her brother made his way to the hearth.
“You were right,” she told Radimar. “I can describe better and recount the details more clearly if I actually go through the lessons.”
A pleased smile softened his hard face. “There’s much more to learn, and it will be good for you both to train together at first.”
Sodrin returned to his seat and dug into his second steaming bowl of porridge. “It still seems wrong to fight a woman, even my sister.”
Radimar rested his elbows on the table and pointed his spoon at Sodrin. “That thinking will get you killed. The greatest swordmaster ever to come out of Ilinfan was a woman.”
Jahna’s writing hand itched. She sensed a wonderful story ripe for the telling. “I’ve read of Beotra. She was legendary. Some books say she wasn’t even real.”
“She was both.” Radimar’s mouth twitched at Jahna’s enthusiasm, and even Sodrin paused in eating to listen. “Her students were Andalin Helparn, Marius Godok, and a Kai warrior named Senakhte.”
Sodrin swallowed a spoonful of porridge before speaking. “Everyone knows of Helparn and Godok. They’re famous. I’ve never heard of Senakhte.”
Jahna gave an indignant huff. “Of course they’re famous. They’re men. I’d wager Senakhte was a woman.”
Radimar nodded. “You’d win that wager.”
After breakfast, they returned to the solar, Sodrin to continue his training with Radimar, Jahna to gather up her unmarked parchment, quills and ink. She could just as easily write about today’s lesson in her chamber and not distract her brother by watching him.
“You won’t miss anything,” Radimar assured her. “It’s more of the same for the rest of the day. If we do something different, I’ll tell you tonight at supper and demonstrate it tomorrow so you can record it.”
He had already been extraordinarily accommodating to her requests for observing his training, and she hesitated for a moment in asking him for more, but her curiosity would eat her alive if she didn’t.
“When you have time, could you tell me more about Beotra and Senakhte?”
He considered her for a moment. “This evening, after supper,” he said. “With your father’s permission of course.”
She clapped her ink well against her ink bottle and grinned. “I’ll talk to him right away!” She sped off, turning once to wave. He watched her leave, lifting a hand in farewell.
Supper that night lasted forever, and Jahna thought it couldn’t be over soon enough for her liking. She fidgeted in her chair and tried not hurry her father along with speaking looks. Had he always stirred his soup that many times before swallowing a spoonful? And did the meal have to consist of six courses?
She forced herself not to wolf her food or yank Sir Radimar from his chair when he pushed aside his plate, signaling he was done. No one left the table until Lord Uhlfrida was finished. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the arm of her chair while he, Sodrin and the swordmaster chatted about various topics, only half listening as she counted the seconds under her breath.
When her father announced he would take his wine to his solar and invited Sodrin to face him in a game of turni menet, she almost bellowed “Finally”!
“I’d challenge you, Radimar,” Uhlfrida said. “But it seems my daughter has decided you’re to play storyteller for her this evening.”
Radimar bowed. “It will be my pleasure, my lord. Good evening.”
They walked beside each other toward the small library that was Jahna’s favorite room in the house.
Radimar relieved her of the burden of initiating the conversation between them. “You did well today in practice. Don’t let your brother convince you you’re a distraction or in the way. If you were, I’d tell you.”
“I never listen to Sodrin anyway.”
“Much to his frustration, I’m sure.” Radimar smiled.
Jahna smiled back. “Just so.” She flexed her hand, still aching from earlier. “I think I need to practice more. My hand and arm grow tired faster than I’d like.”
“That isn’t unusual for beginners.” He lifted his arm, palm facing her. “It’s less about practice and more about strength.” He pointed to the underside of his wrist and traced an invisible line from where it met the bottom of his hand to the crook of his elbow. “You want to strengthen not only your hand but your arm here as well. I can show you exercises that will help.”
They reached the library, and Jahna nudged the door open, pleased to see someone had readied it for their visit.
The library was modest in size but lush in comfort. Tapestries carpeted the floors and warmed the walls, while tables and chairs were spaced around the room in settings that invited intimate conversation. At some point during the evening, a servant had entered to light the torches and hearth. A merry fire crackled over a small rack of logs and chased away much of the chill that had settled in the room.
Jahna hugged her shawl closer around her shoulders and made her way to a pair of chairs flanking a table. The scene mirrored the one in the training solar earlier, with her stack of blank parchment, bundle of quills and well of ink waiting for her. A pot of tea and two cups sat on a tray at another table adjacent to one of the chairs. Jahna claimed a chair and motioned for Radimar to take the other one.
He sat and surveyed the table crowded with writing material. “I see you brought your supplies to record more of my life and all its sins on parchment.”
Jahna had wondered more often than she cared to admit just how many sins the kind but enigmatic swordmaster had committed. “Do you have a lot of sins?”
His soft chuckle sent a pleasant shiver down her arms. “Not really, at least none I’ll admit to. I’m a simple man of simple means. Besides, I don’t like inviting trouble.” He gestured to the teapot. “Now, let’s pour the tea, and I’ll tell you what my master told me about the legendary Beotra.”
Radimar spoke and Jahna wrote until her ink ran out. She shook her quill and peered into the dregs of black morass coating the glass. “I’m out of ink.”
Radimar gestured to the guttering torches. “Pitch and wick as well, and the hour is late. We’ll need to seek our beds. Did what I tell you satisfy your curiosity?”
Not even close, but his beguiling voice had be a joy to listen to and lent depth to the tale of Beotra, swordswoman of legend. “I think it only whetted it more, but I thank you, Sir Radimar. Would you be willing to tell me more about Ilinfan and its teachers later?” Her father would likely peel off a strip of her hide if he knew she pestered the swordmaster as much as she did, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him (or her), and so far Radimar hadn’t shown any irritation regarding her constant questions.
“I’ll bargain with you,” he said “Train with your brother and me every morning instead of every other morning, and I’ll give up all of Ilinfan’s secrets to you after supper on those nights your father doesn’t require my company or I’m not teaching your brother additional swordplay.”
Mornings promised to be painful, sweaty and exhaustive. Jahna leapt at the offer. “Our bargain is made, Sir Radimar.” At his insistence, she and Sodrin had abandoned the more formal convention and addressed the swordmaster as simply “Sir Radimar.” As their teacher, he was even more informal with their names.
She held out her hand, and he clasped it in his, giving a light squeeze before letting go. She liked his hands with their callused palms and long, bony fingers. Tiny scars decorated their backs, memories of nicks and cuts he must have received when he trained as a student of an Ilinfan swordmaster.
The days bled into weeks, then months as the seasons waxed and waned at Hollowfell. Jahna spent the early hours of her days practicing with Sodrin, the afternoons working with the estate’s housekeeper in managing the large household and the evenings either reading to her father or recording Radimar’s tales of Ilinfan.
She had warned him that what she wrote down, she’d send to Dame Stalt to read. “So if there’s something you don’t want her to know about Ilinfan, don’t tell me.” She’d never lie to him. He was an honorable man and respected the trait in others. It hadn’t taken long for Jahna to realize she desperately wanted to earn his respect in many things, including this.
He had shrugged, unconcerned, an approving glint in his eyes that made her blood sing. “I doubt I’m telling you anything some earlier dame didn’t already record or that isn’t common knowledge, but I thank you for the warning, Jahna.”
Their comfortable routine was interrupted one late autumn day by visitors to Hollowfell. Jahna groaned under her breath at the sight of the house banner fluttering in the breeze as the point rider in the small entourage led the way to the Hollowfell gates. Lord Uzbec was once more gracing her father’s home with his presence and that of his latest wife.
She sighed and left the balcony on which she sat, working at an illumination she planned to present to Radimar right before they all traveled to the capital for Delyalda months from now. She closed her paint jars, rinsed her brushes and sanded the illumination to hurry along the drying time. Her maid arrived, a stack of folded garments in her arm. She opened her mouth to speak.
Jahna forestalled her with a raised hand. “Are the housekeeper and cook panicking?”
The maid carefully laid her burden on the bed with a smile. “If they aren’t yet, they will be. Your father has asked that you wear one of your finest gowns to greet Lord Uzbec and his family. I brought this one for you, and I’ll take care of your hair when you’re ready.”
If she didn’t care for her father’s good opinion, Jahna would find some ready excuse to hide in her room and wait there until their visitors returned to their home. Twice a year, Lord Uzbec showed up unannounced and uninvited to Hollowfell, throwing the household into chaos as they tried to prepare for his visit with no notice.
He was a dull man, with a great appreciation for Uhlfrida’s wine cellar and the gullet to prove it. He was, however, her father’s longtime friend, and Marius always welcomed his company, even when it was unexpected. Jahna simply settled in for a tedious visit that would consist of Uzbec clucking in sympathy for his friend every time he looked at Jahna, and the new wife gawking at her as much as the old wife had.
The gown the maid brought hugged her shape, its color—a pale shade of lavender—contrasting with the gold highlights in her hair. No gown could offset or lighten the dramatic stain on her face, but the sweep of her hairstyle did hide some of it.
“There, my lady. All done,” the maid declared and met Jahna’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “I think Lord Uhlfrida will be pleased.”
Jahna hoped so. Marius had never hidden his daughter away from society. Sometimes she caught a pained expression in his eyes when he looked at her, one quickly hidden away behind the screen of parental affection. He loved her, of that she had no doubt. Nor was he ashamed of her appearance. If he was, he’d encourage her inclination to avoid people and society as a whole. His insistence she join the world around her was sometimes a trial, but she understood his motivation and in some instances appreciated it. Necessity had stiffened her spine, and while she still preferred retreat in the face of conflict or ridicule, she didn’t crumble under their weight.
She rose from her perch on the stool in front of the mirror. “Thank you, Ona,” she told the maid. “Let’s get this over with.”
Their supper that evening went exactly as she thought it would when it came to Lord Uzbec. The other guests, however, offered a few surprises. The new Lady Uzbec was nothing like Jahna expected. Much younger than her husband, she possessed a grace and dignity that made Jahna aware of every bit of her own youthful awkwardness. A startled flicker lit her brown eyes when she met Jahna and saw the mark on her face, but she didn’t stare or even worse, avoid looking at Jahna all together. Her smile was sincere, if infrequent, and she engaged Jahna in earnest conversation regarding the Archives and Jahna’s plans of apprenticing there as a king’s chronicler.
Her cousin who accompanied them was Lady Uzbec’s opposite in every way. A haughty creature whose features might have been beautiful were they not marred by a vulpine expression, she scrutinized everything and everyone with an eye toward their worth, whether in silver or influence. She gave an obvious shudder when her gaze lit on Jahna before sliding away, a response that, to his credit, earned her Sodrin’s smoldering enmity for the rest of the night.
During their procession to the dining room, he hung back and tucked Jahna’s hand into the crook of his elbow. His breath tickled her ear when he leaned down to whisper. “We should keep a close eye on that one. Did you see her eyeing the furnishing and paintings? If we aren’t vigilant, I suspect we’ll wake up on the morning of their departure and discover great-grandfather’s portrait missing from the wall.”
Jahna clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. When she could speak without gasping, she whispered back to him. “I don’t think she can stuff a painting under her gown and not be noticed, Sodrin.”
“Don’t be so certain,” he muttered.
As much as it unsettled her to admit it, Jahna missed Radimar at the supper. He’d left for the nearby village of Osobaris that morning after learning a trader had arrived from Ilinfan and the surrounding territories. “Always good to have current news,” he said before leading his horse through the gate and onto the main road that led away from Hollowfell. He hadn’t yet returned, and Marius had told both her and Sodrin not to expect the swordmaster until the next day.
He surprised them all with his early return just as they finished supper. He entered the hall at Uhlfrida’s urging, bowing to Lord Uzbec and his lady as well as the cousin who eyed him with the same avaricious intensity she’d reserved for the silver plates from which they dined.
Sodrin again leaned down to Jahna. “Forget great-grandfather’s portrait. Care to wager she’ll try and stuff Sir Radimar under her skirts?”
Jahna swallowed her wine the wrong way and sputtered. Her vision blurred, and she coughed into her napkin while her brother unhelpfully pounded her back. When she could breathe once more, she discovered, to her horror, every eye in the room on her, their expressions varying from concerned to awkward to revolted.
Mortified, she rose. “Please excuse me,” she whispered and fled the hall. The empty courtyard offered sanctuary and a welcoming blast of cold air that cooled her hot face if not her fiery embarrassment.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she raged under the moon’s indifferent light. “Stupid and clumsy and foolish.”
“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” a voice said. Jahna whirled and almost burst into tears at finding Sir Radimar behind her. His slow smile did nothing to soothe her furious self contempt. “Lady Uzbec’s cousin strikes me as sly, greedy and maybe a thief, but not necessarily stupid.”
Jahna couldn’t find it within her to smile back. “I wasn’t talking about Lady Uzbec’s cousin.”
His amusement faded. He came to stand beside her, and Jahna shivered, not from the cold, but from his nearness. He still wore the clothes he’d donned that morning, and bits of grass and mud decorated the hem of his cloak. Moonlight gilded his red hair silver and turned his green eyes black. Those eyes stared at the star-filled sky for a moment before settling their gaze on her.
“I know who you were talking about, Jahna, and as your teacher, I order you to stop.” Her eyebrows arched at the command. “So you choked on a little wine. Who hasn’t done just that thing more than a few times? It isn’t stupid or clumsy or foolish. It just is. A slip we’ve all made at one time or another.” His hard-hewn face sharpened in disapproval. “You are your most unforgiving critic. Why is that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because I feel I should excel at things that have nothing to do with the way I look.”
His sudden grip on her elbow startled a gasp out of her. He turned her to face him fully and traced the outline of the purple stain on her cheek with the tip of one finger. Jahna closed her eyes, lost to the sensation of that butterfly touch on her skin.
Radimar’s voice was a caress of its own. “The people who can’t see past this are the clumsy ones, Jahna. The foolish ones, and most definitely the stupid ones.” His words made her throat close and her knees quake.
He fractured her insides, broke the armor she’d built within herself to guard her heart and her emotions, and he did it without realizing it, offering up kindness on the sharp blade of impossibility. She was young, unsightly and falling hopelessly in love with a man so far beyond her reach he might as well have been standing on the moon instead of in front of her.
Jahna opened her eyes to stare at him and silently despaired.