Beneath the Veil Read online

Fearnly, however, gazed at me more soberly. He looked down at his fine garments, then to my rougher ones. "Think you can take me on?"

  I loved fighting. I enjoyed the rush of sensation and emotion and the feeling of triumph over my opponents. Though I'd shown a true skill for it, my uncle had not thought it worth the coin to continue my training in the Art beyond the most general classes. He had other sons' education to pay for, and I was just the orphan spawn of his dead brother's folly. I'd taken what street training I could find and spent as many hours attending the structured fight tournaments as I could, but I was a raw fighter, without the grace and choreography considered gentlemanly.

  I wasn't sure I could stand against a man of Fearnly's size, but I hitched up my fists at him by way of response, and he looked, for a moment, surprised. Then pleased. He tucked his gloves into his waistband, took off his jacket and made to hand it to Haverford, who had by this time managed to sit up. At the last minute Fearnly changed his mind and hung the jacket instead on the knob of a nearby lamppost.

  Beneath the coat he wore a shirt of snowy white linen, tied at the sleeves and throat with bright yellow ribbons. It was testament to his wealth and confidence that he didn't bother to remove the white garment. He didn't expect to get dirty.

  I, on the other hand, had no such expectations. I thought of my advantages. Sobriety. Anger. My smaller size, which made me faster but also gave me the disadvantage of less strength.

  This was going to hurt. I prepared myself for the inevitable, lifted my fists, and blinked away the blood now slowing in its path down my face.

  My lack of fear seemed to take Fearnly aback for a minute. Then he blinked and raised his hands, fists loose, one a bit in front of the other. I recognized the stance but didn't allow it to intimidate me.

  "You picked the wrong man to fight, pup," said Fearnly. "I took championship level four times."

  I jerked my chin at him. "C'mon, then. What are you waiting for?"

  I launched myself at him, fists clenched, feet ready to kick. My sudden movement surprised him, but Fearnly hadn't been lying about being championship level. He moved out of my way and caught the back of my shoulder as I leaped past him. I staggered, but I'd prepared myself enough so I didn't fall. Instead, I kept my feet and whirled to face him. At the hot surge between my legs, my fury level rose higher.

  "Not bad," Fearnly began, but I gave him no time to compliment me.

  I struck out, one fist and one foot, moving one after the other. My fist struck his jaw, my foot his knee. Then the other side of my body went into motion, and I missed his face with my hand but caught his thigh with my foot.

  Fearnly stumbled back, and I stepped forward, following him. He let out a bellow of anger and made a swift crossing movement with his hands, then raised them shoulder height. One foot lifted. He jumped on his solid foot, kicked out with the raised one, and struck at me with his right hand while the left readied for a second blow. It was a difficult but popular move, and I'd seen enough matches to recognize it in advance.

  Knowing what he was going to do didn't give me enough time to move out of his way. His foot caught me in the side of the ribs; his hand cracked sideways against my jaw. I saw stars, stumbled, bit my tongue and tasted a squirt of bitter blood. Despite all that, I ducked low to avoid his other hand, then whirled and kicked out with my foot to catch him in the ankles.

  Fearnly staggered, unsteadied by my blow and the drink in his belly. My move was not one taught in the fine fight salons. He couldn't have been expecting it, and I saw the rage on his face.

  "Unmanly!" He spat. "Where'd you learn to fight?"

  I didn't bother replying. My head and tongue ached, and my belly had begun cramping again. My temper was fading in the face of the battle and the knowledge I was apt to be beaten. Instead, I just raised my fists again and prepared to go at him.

  "All this for a stupid folly?" Fearnly asked, as though the idea so completely baffled him he could not begin to comprehend.

  "Your mother was a folly," I told him, thinking of my own mother. "A woman. If not for a woman, you wouldn't have life. Idiot."

  His face went purple with rage. I'd heard of people doing such things, but had never actually witnessed it. I had one moment of true fear, then no time for anything but fighting.

  He roared and leaped at me with his fists flailing. Convention flew to the wind as he battered me with fists and feet. I ducked my head but a blow to the cheek sent me reeling. I got to my feet and swung at Fearnly, but it was like fighting a raging bull.

  "You'd best mind your manners, pup!" Fearnly panted between each word and punctuated them with blows.

  Another cramp to my belly had me gasping and falling to the ground, clutching my arms around me. Another spurt between my legs had me gritting my teeth. The world tilted in front of my eyes, and I had to blink to clear the red haze threatening to consume me. I'd been angry before, but I'd never, until now, been enraged.

  With a roar that tore my throat and tasted of blood, I reached for Fearnly. My fists swung, one after the other, without cease. I couldn't be sure at what I swung, only that I did swing, over and over, until my fists were bloodied and battered, and Fearnly had backed away from me.

  I hadn't counted on his drunken friend having the wits or energy to join the fight, but maybe vomiting had cleared his stomach enough to start to clear his head. Either way, he came at me with a dual-ended staff. I don't know where he got it. Perhaps from the street. The wood was splintered and rough, and when it struck my cheek it not only bruised but also scraped my flesh.

  I staggered but didn't fall. I went low and kicked with my foot as I turned, and caught him in the back of his knees. He grunted and fell to one knee but didn't give up the pike.

  "Give it up, boy!" Fearnly's voice had gone nasal from the broken nose I'd given him. "Not only won't we beat you senseless, but we won't press charges!"

  Charges? I'd get no fair hearing, not with the testimony of two gentlemen against me. Not when my crime was defending a folly.

  So, instead of being wise and giving up the fight, or even running, I fought harder. Not even my anger could prove me a match against two grown men, and I found myself face down in the gravel while they kicked and hit me with the staff.

  The beating stopped. The absence of fresh pain was glorious but lasted only a moment, for all too soon the rest of my body began its protests again. I couldn't raise my head, could scarcely open my swollen eyes. I pushed at the ground, but couldn't get up.

  Gentle hands lifted me, one beneath my legs, the other under my shoulders. I lay limp in my protector's arms and felt again like a child.

  "He's as light as the wind," said a strong voice. The hand beneath my knees shifted a little, and the voice sounded amused. "But not bony. Sinder's Balls, Daelyn, you've picked a choice lad for your chamber."

  I struggled without effect. Lir Akean held me in his arms and shushed me like he would a fretting infant. My head fell against his chest. I couldn't move.

  As if from far away, I heard Fearnly and Haverford muttering apologies, and then Prince Daelyn's high, clear voice rang through my head.

  "You've put your hands upon my fetchencarry. And for what? Because he took the side of a folly and dared tell you that you'd been unfair to her? I expect better of my lords."

  More muttering, sounding more frantic. I nestled into Lir's chest, and he took me away from the noises and the smell. We walked for a while. I'm not sure how long. Time had broken for me, a little, in my pain.

  At last he set me down on something soft, a bed or couch, and I managed to open my eyes. As I tried to sit, his hand on my chest pushed me back down. Resisting hurt too much, so I lay back.

  "Lie back, Aeris, before you break open again and start bleeding on me." Lir gave me a bemused glance. "If I'd not seen the others who'd fought you, I'd say you'd been attacked by wild beasts."

  "They are beasts." My voice was thick and hoarse, and it hurt my throat to speak. I needed desperately to spit, but as