Butterfly Swords. Jeannie Lin

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СКАЧАТЬ she said nothing, he knew he’d hit his mark. She had the look of a cornered fox ready to flee.

      ‘What does it matter? You will be gone by tomorrow,’ she said.

      The dwindling fire crackled in the ensuing silence. He let his head drop back against the hard ground. Apparently, he’d made the right decision not to get involved.

      ‘You’re nobility. Warrior class.’

      She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Nobility or not, Ailey was not for him. He was a barbarian in this land and always would be. Her sword-wielding brothers would castrate him if they discovered him alone with her. And then they’d kill him.

       Chapter Two

      Ailey woke with the first hint of daylight, blinking up at the sky in disbelief. It took a moment before she had enough command of her muscles to sit up. Though she couldn’t see any stones now, she had sworn there were a thousand of them beneath her during the night. All digging sharply into the parts of her that were most sore. It was better to wake up on the cold, bare earth than shackled in Li Tao’s wedding bed, but she didn’t want to think of how many more days and nights there were between here and the capital. She had journeyed for over a week by palanquin, escorted by the wedding party. Now she was alone.

      Not completely alone.

      Ryam slept beside her with his arms huddled over his chest, his chin tucked close. His sword still lay between them and the heady scent of his skin permeated the wool around her. The boyish look of him in sleep sparked some nurturing instinct. She untangled herself from his cloak to lay it gingerly over him. The material barely covered the expanse of his torso. With a muffled grunt, his long fingers curled around the wool to pull it up around him.

      Fearsome warrior indeed.

      Now that she was more accustomed to him, his features didn’t appear so harsh. She could even see how his strangeness might be considered handsome … if one looked long enough. She turned away as a disturbing awareness fluttered in her chest. Best to let him sleep.

      The atmosphere hung damp and heavy, and a sheen of morning dew covered the grass. She stood and raised her arms over her head, letting the blood flow through her languid muscles. The stir of the breeze between the branches greeted her from the woods. A whooping call of a bird in the distance was the only sign of any living creature other than the two of them.

      She had only told him part of the truth about her family the night before. Ryam was an outsider who wasn’t likely to have any ties to their enemies. She couldn’t tell who was loyal any more. She lifted her swords and paced towards the centre of the clearing. Restlessly, her right arm directed its blade in an attack pattern. Perhaps she could think of a way to persuade the foreign swordsman to stay with her. The left blade followed out of habit, echoing the same precise movements.

      If she was at home, Grandmother would be watching over her as she went through her daily practice. Her grip remained easy as she let the butterfly swords circle in front of her. She tried to conjure Grandmother’s voice. Better. Now again. The familiar exercise held no comfort. She might never see her grandmother or the rest of her family again.

      All her life, she’d dreamed she would leave one day to marry. Part of her had always dreaded that moment, but only with the usual sadness of any daughter leaving the comfort of childhood behind. She never imagined she’d defy her betrothal to flee back home.

      It was shameful. Dishonourable. The echo of her parents’ disapproval resounded deep within her, louder than any true sound could ever be.

      But how could she marry a murderer? Old Wu had told her that her brother Ming Han’s death wasn’t an accident. Li Tao was the one responsible.

      ‘What is that you’re doing?’

      Ryam’s presence broke through her sorrow, shattering the stillness like a pebble tossed into a pond. He stood outside of arm’s reach and his gaze followed the path of her swords.

      She stared at her hands as if they were no longer her own. ‘First sword form,’ she replied, at a loss.

      Had he been watching her? She had been going through the motions to try to focus her thoughts. Her technique must have been unforgivable—what a strange thought to have at that moment! Her pulse hammered under his scrutiny. She was used to Grandmother watching her with the eyes of a hawk. This was so very different.

      ‘I was … I was practising.’

      ‘This is how you practise?’

      He folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head as he circled her. The intensity of his gaze flooded her with heat. It was a wonder she didn’t cut herself with her own swords.

      ‘All those elaborate patterns,’ he murmured. ‘Does that help in fights?’

      ‘In combat, your body falls into what it has done a thousand times before. A perfect harmony between instinct and thought.’

      Her throat felt dry as she recited the words. Her elder brothers were commonly praised for their skill, but never before had a man shown such interest in her. She drew out an intricate pattern with the tip of one sword in three neat swipes, as if wielding a calligraphy brush. It gave her something to do as he stepped closer. All of the air around her seemed to rush towards him whenever he drew near.

      ‘Your brothers taught you this?’ he asked.

      ‘My grandmother.’

      His laughter filled the clearing. ‘Your grandmother?’

      ‘Grandmother was a master.’

      The next pass of her sword sliced a scant inch in front of him, taunting. He stood his ground and his smile widened.

      ‘So do you want to try it?’

      Her swords froze. ‘Try it?’

      ‘My barbaric head bashing against that beautiful sword work of yours.’

      A duel. Her heart was already pounding with the promise of it.

      ‘No,’ she replied.

      ‘No?’

      ‘You are far more experienced than I am.’

      The meaning had been clear in her head as she spoke the words, yet another, more suggestive meaning loomed between them. A well of heat rose up her neck. She blamed this barbarian language.

      He placed a hand to his chest with mock passion. ‘But you got the better of me yesterday when I was drugged. Don’t I deserve a chance to redeem myself?’

      She was certain there was something not quite proper about a strange man offering to spar with her the day after they met. Yet this foreigner treated her with such directness and familiarity, like her brothers. He continued to taunt her with laughter shining in his eyes and the curve of his mouth hinted at an irresistible wickedness. Her stomach knotted in response.

      In truth, not like her brothers at all.

      ‘I should get some advantage since you are so …’ she looked him up and down ‘… big.’

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