* * *
Venes Turayd’s expression was wry and almost contemptuous as he regarded Pelk. She had entered the estate’s courtyard, pushing through the readying Houseblades and making for the building entrance when Venes, seeing her, had stepped into her path. Now he blocked her way, his knowing smile showing its edges. ‘Why, Weapon Mistress Pelk, all done folding bed sheets and sweeping out rooms?’
‘Move aside, milord,’ Pelk replied. ‘I must speak to Lady Hish Tulla.’
‘She’s too busy fretting. But if you have relevant news, I will hear it.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you will, but not from me.’ When she rested her gloved hand upon the pommel of her sword, his smile broadened.
‘My wolves surround you, mistress, but even in their absence, I do not fear your skill.’
She cocked her head. ‘What a foolish statement, milord. Any sword-wielder, no matter how talented, should know, and understand, fear. Without it, you are likely to get yourself killed, even by an enemy less skilled than you. I cannot think who trained you, sir, but clearly it wasn’t me.’
Their conversation had drawn a few of Turayd’s wolves closer. The chill air of the courtyard was rank with men’s sweat, and the Houseblades edged in to crowd her.
Sighing, Pelk said, ‘Call off your pups, milord. Playing at bullies demeans them, assuming such a thing is possible. If, on the other hand, each one is brave enough to face me alone, why, I invite it. I have folded enough bed linen, and swept enough corners, and my mood now inclines to killing. And so, do oblige me by holding your ground, sir. If I am to hang for spilling noble blood, I will delight in making you the first to fall.’
There was a commotion behind her, and a moment later someone voiced a shout of pain and staggered to one side. Gripp Galas now moved up beside Pelk, his shortsword drawn and its tip bloody. ‘Apologies, milord,’ he said to Venes Turayd. ‘Hard to draw in this press, and yet I was of a mind to check the edge of the blade, the battle being nigh and all. Now, sir, my wife is within? Excellent.’ Hooking an arm around Pelk, he moved forward, forcing Venes to step aside. ‘But please,’ Gripp added as they made for the door, ‘do maintain your vigil, since we do not wish to be disturbed.’
They entered the building, where Gripp paused to sheathe the sword. ‘Pelk,’ he said in a low voice as the door closed behind them, ‘my wife’s uncle is an unpleasant man, but murdering him on the steps of the estate would have been unwise.’
She bared her teeth. ‘Gripp Galas, I have lost all faith in wisdom. As for my reasons, best you not know them all.’ She paused, and seemed to shiver, as if deliberately shrugging off her bloodlust. ‘One day I will indeed kill him, sir. Best you know that now, and be certain to not stand in my way.’
Gripp’s gaze narrowed on her for a moment, and then he said, ‘His thugs would have cut you down.’
‘Too late to make a difference.’
‘Captain Kellaras would disagree.’
Pelk frowned. ‘I keep forgetting.’
‘You forget your love?’
‘No. I forget that someone else – anyone else – cares about me.’
He studied her for a long moment, and then took her arm again. ‘Let us find your lady, shall we?’
Hish Tulla was in the large room adjoining the master bedroom, attended by servants helping her don her armour. Upon seeing Gripp and Pelk enter, the brooding storm-clouds of her visage suddenly cleared and she let out a heavy sigh. ‘I had begun to wonder,’ she said.
Gripp Galas spoke even as Pelk drew breath to begin her report. ‘Beloved, we are forbidden the field.’
‘What?’
‘Lord Anomander forbids us this battle. It seems your uncle will lead your Houseblades after all.’
‘I will defy him—’
‘And so wound him.’
‘He wounds us!’
Gripp Galas nodded. ‘Yes. He does. He took offence at my return – more than even I expected. I am driven away, an unwanted cur.’ He paused, and then suddenly smiled. ‘There is a certain freedom to this.’
Hish Tulla’s eyes held on her husband for a moment longer, and then shifted to Pelk. ‘My husband’s loyalty lies slain, before the battle’s even begun. What have you to say to me?’
‘I nearly killed your uncle, milady. Prevented only by your husband’s intercession.’
‘Anything else?’