Page 24 of Blood of Wolves

“I know,” she said, with a sigh, because she didn’t want to rehash this conversation.

The conversation stalled out from there, the atmosphere too heavy, dread too thick in the air, for small talk to feel like any kind of decent distraction.

A footman arrived, shortly, a length of towel over one arm, and informed Rune that he was there to “assist the young prince with a bath.”

Rune made a face. “I can take abathby myself.” But serving boys were already toting in the tub and the buckets of hot water.

He bid Tessa goodnight with a murmured apology and a kiss to her forehead, Hilda’s gaze fixed unwavering on them the entire time.

Tessa watched him go with a lump in her throat.

“Shall you retire as well, my lady?” Hilda asked, more encouragement than question. Though dark, it was early, still, and Tessa knew it would be wise to get as much sleep as possible, because no one would get any once the Sels finally left their ships.

No, Tessa thought. But if she left the suite now, Hilda would go with her, and she didn’t relish the idea. She liked Hilda, yes, but she didn’t want to be mothered right now. So she said, “I suppose.”

She’d been moved into one of the spare rooms in the royal apartments, its furnishings as rich as any other in the palace, but muted and unpersonal. Whoever had once lived in the room was long gone: a prince or a princess, she thought, judging by the tapestries that bore the family crest, and the richness of the carved dressing table opposite the bed. Two swords hung on brackets over the window, and for the first time since moving into the room, her gaze flitted to them – and stayed fixed there.

Hmm.

She washed her face and hands, changed into her nightgown, and lay her robe across the foot of the bed. Hilda puttered around the room, tidying, and warming the linens with a hot brick from the hearth.

“Sleep well, my lady,” Hilda said, as she blew out the candles and departed.

“You, too,” Tessa murmured.

She lay still, feet in the warmth pooling off the brick, and listened to Hilda’s footfalls recede down the hall. She counted out a full two minutes just to be sure – then flung the covers back and relit the candles on the bedside table. She drew a thick wool dress over her nightgown, tied her hair back, whipped on her cloak and laced up her new, fur-topped boots: all of it gifts from Revna.

Then she climbed up onto the ledge of the window seat to get a closer look at the swords.

She’d never studied weaponry, not the way her siblings and cousin had. Amelia, uncurable tomboy that she was, had become proficient with knifework at an early age, and had poured over sword manuals pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Oliver at the library tables. Tessa had never felt left out because she’d never really cared about things like heft, and slicing versus smashing capability.

Now, she wished she’d paid better attention. She traced a fingertip down the blood groove of the lowest sword, and found the steel cold and solid beneath her touch. It was definitely a real weapon, and not a flashy ceremonial piece, she could tell. The edges seemed dull, and sported a few nicks from use – but that wouldn’t matter tonight.

She took a deep breath, took hold of the sword’s leather-wrapped grip, and lifted it out of its brackets.

She staggered, and barely managed to get a foot down to the floor before she fell.

“Shit,” she muttered, and felt her face heat. She didn’t curse often.

The sword wasn’t too heavy – no heavier than a basket of linens – but the weight was distributed down the length of it, and, now that she thought of it, she’d never actually held a sword before.

She rested its tip on the rug a second so she could readjust her grip and get better prepared. When she lifted it a second time, she didn’t stumble, but she could only hold it straight out in front of her for a short span before her arms started to shake. She lowered it again, frowning. Revna had made it look so easy. Estrid, too, and the other ladies. If she couldn’t even hold it for any length of time, how was she going to carry it all the way to the practice yard?

A better question: how was she going to walk to the practice yard, carrying a sword, and not attract anyone’s notice?

She sighed again, and had resolved herself to putting the sword back on the wall and forgetting the whole thing – it had been a stupid idea, truly – when a light rap sounded at the door. The sword was too heavy, and she was too slow, flooded with a sudden panic, and the knob turned and the door swung open before she could do anything besides gasp.

Then her stomach gave an unpleasant twist as she saw that it was Revna who stood in the threshold, still dressed for sparring, snowflakes melting in her windswept braids. Her gaze snapped first to the sword, then to Tessa’s face, flat and unreadable.

“I…” Tessa began, and then stopped, because there was no benign way to explain why she was dressed, cloaked, booted, and holding a sword she’d taken down off the wall.

A long, slow moment passed, one filled by the staccato pounding of Tessa’s pulse in her ears.

Then, slowly, the corners of Revna’s lips quirked upward. “I thought I saw you on the balcony earlier.”

“I wasn’t – I was just–” Her face burned, and she hated that she was trying to stutter excuses like she’d been caught stealing sweets from the kitchen.

Revna tilted her head. “Leave that one here. We’ll start with the practice blades, I think.”

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