Alensar

  Alensar panted as he entered the dining room. He cringed at his weakness–all he did was walk.

  Laude Elaine hadn’t arrived yet. His rush had been unwarranted. Jason fetched him with enough time to spare.

  He sat at the table and shifted around in his seat.

  The dining room was clearly meant to show off to guests. Alensar calculated what he could sell these things for. The paintings of seascapes might look nice, but Laude Elaine didn’t seem like someone who would pay a lot for a famous artist. The crystal sculptures on the plinths were small enough to sell quickly. But the carved table and chairs would be too distinct, even if the green padding was replaced. And who would buy it? Most nobles wouldn't want a friend to come in and see their stolen furniture in the dining room.

  Laude Elaine entered, not a hair out of place. The loose white shirt she wore seemed new, and the somber green vest had a tailored fit. Her pants and high boots were also impeccable. For the first time, he wondered about Sir Laude Granthor and his absence. Was he dead? Or had he never existed? Nobles usually married, didn't they? Or was there a woman in the picture? It seemed strange to imagine Laude Elaine with a lover.

  Alensar started to stand out of respect, but Laude Elaine held out her hand.

  "Val D'Ambrosia, you outrank me. Not only should you not be here yet, but you should sit at the head of the table. In formal settings, the lowest-ranked enter first and do not sit until the noble of the greatest rank is seated."

  He hesitated.

  "Val D'Ambrosia, shall we try once more?"

  "Yes, that will be best." The words stuck in his mouth. He was careful about his accent after Jason had pointed it out to him, but he sometimes slipped.

  They both walked out of the room and went through the absurd mannerly dance. The grace of Laude Elaine made up for his awkwardness.

  Laude Elaine gestured at the table. "Do you know how to use both chopsticks and knives and forks?"

  "No, my whole life I just stabbed food with a dagger and ate with my hands."

  "Really?" she asked, and he wasn't sure if she was also being sarcastic.

  He sighed. "Yes, I know how to eat food like a normal person."

  "Still, there are additional rules you may not know." She then spent at least ten minutes explaining them.

  Details came back to him as he listened. He learned most of the rules from a job when he was younger.

  "I think I understand now," he interrupted.

  She raised her brows for a moment and then rang a bell.

  "We'll see how you do."

  A woman servant he hadn't seen before brought their first course. It was smoked fish, along with various pickled vegetables, several types of cheeses, and small pieces of crunchy bread. Alensar stared at the food, waiting for the servant to finish putting it down.

  "Don't look like a starved dog when you're being served."

  "I am a starved dog."

  The servant woman made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh.

  He winced at Laude Elaine’s look of annoyance.

  "Sorry," he said. Anxiety rippled through his chest.

  "You are a Val. Apologizing for a comment is beneath you. That being said, you should be especially careful in front of servants you don't know. Thankfully, Maria is my trusted personal servant, so I know she won't gossip."

  A warning to Maria, perhaps?

  These games were exhausting, and he had just started.

  Since Alensar focused on eating rather than talking, Laude Elaine used the dinner as an opportunity to lecture him.

  "Table manners are incredibly important. You will be given some leeway, since we won't be able to hide that you were a commoner. Having a meal together among nobility is typically a formal affair. The conversation need not always be formal, but you should never drink so much that you get loose.

  A very formal meal often shows honor, mostly because it's more expensive. The more formal, the greater the honor."

  "That sounds like an unnecessary expense."

  "Alliances are necessary, and this is how you honor your allies."

  She went on lecturing for a good fifteen minutes. He wondered if he would need to say something more once he finished eating, but Marie saved him by coming in with the next course–soup with noodles. An elevated version of the food he ate while recovering.

  He started eating, using the chopsticks for the noodles and the small spoon for the broth. He imitated Laude Elaine's elegant movements.

  She watched him for a moment.

  "You shouldn't be so good at that."

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  He paused his eating. "You are an excellent teacher."

  She frowned more deeply.

  He looked back at his soup.

  "You should leave a small morsel at the end of your meal on your plate."

  He absolutely would not do that, but he nodded.

  Laude Elaine continued to lecture. "There are a few smaller noble families and rich merchants here in Carthage. Your presence is not a complete secret, so one of them will be teaching you the rules of swordplay."

  Alensar scoffed. "I might know a bit about that."

  Laude Elaine shook her head. "The story we've come up with for you is that you are a horse trader. So, naturally, you don't know how to fight. I expect that to be the case when you learn from him. We need to start spreading rumors of your incompetence with a sword early."

  "I see."

  He continued to eat. Then a thought occurred to him. "If I'm to meet people, you should know that some officers might recognize me."

  "How so?" Laude Elaine seemed startled.

  He held her gaze steady. "They enjoyed torturing prisoners personally."

  "I see. I'll be sure we are careful. Even if they do find you familiar, I doubt they will say anything." She responded as if he had been telling her about the weather.

  He was hit by nausea. The soup became inedible.

  He put down his utensils.

  "That's incorrect. You need to place the chopsticks across the bowl if you are finished." Laude Elaine demonstrated with her chopsticks lined up and placed at the bottom of the bowl.

  He swallowed the tiny bit of bile and then imitated her.

  "Whatever you are feeling, you must hide it." She rang a bell, and Marie came in again, carrying a tray with the main course, roast meat, tiny diced potatoes, and pickled cabbage. She exchanged their bowls for plates and replaced the utensils.

  Alensar managed to eat a few bites of food.

  "Good. It seems you can manage all the utensils well. You are missing subtleties, but it's passable."

  "Thank you."

  "I can see you are in no mood for dessert."

  He put down the knife and fork, arranging them to indicate he was done.

  "Yes, I would prefer to finish dinner early." His voice was steady, but his hand was shaking. He couldn't look at her.

  She sighed. "You'll need to keep your moods in check. Work on it. We'll be having dinner several times a week."

  "Yes, of course." He stood and bowed, remembering to do a bow of equals. As he left, he realized that perhaps it should have been the higher-ranked bow.

  He went to the garden to calm down. He always felt better when he could see the sky.

  ***

  Walter De Santos was waiting for him in the small training room next to the guardhouse. Alensar had explored this area when he first had permission to walk through the house, but hadn't been there since. The morning light streamed through the windows, but the night air still clung to the stone.

  "Alensar D'Ami, welcome," he said, doing a superior bow. D'Ami was the traditional name for unacknowledged bastards of the D'Ambrosia family. When he asked Laude Elaine why he wasn't just going by this name most of the time, she told him to figure it out.

  Alensar did the bow of lower rank. "Val Walter."

  Walter was supposed to tell Alensar to consider them equals. He did not.

  He was well dressed and fit. He looked a few years younger than Alensar, but maybe this was just a result of his easy life.

  Alensar was dressed in some light padding and had the wooden practice blade at his hip. It was lighter and thinner than the swords he was used to.

  Walter pulled out his blade. "Well, let's get to it. I've been told you were sick and may tire easily, so I won't be too hard on you."

  "So gracious of you," Alensar said, managing to sound sincere, which he felt was an accomplishment.

  "The rules are simple, but mastering the art takes many years." He walked up to Alensar. "You score points based on hits. Whoever reaches 6 points first wins."

  "Hits to limbs count as one point." He whipped the blade against Alensar's forearm, but his arms didn't feel pain anymore, so he didn't wince. "But hits to the hands do not count."

  "Hits to the torso count as 2 points." He whipped the blade harder and hit Alensar's side. This one did hurt. He still didn't wince.

  "And hits to the face and neck disqualify you." He swung the sword again and held just a touch away from Alensar's throat, smiling. If Walter pushed forward and touched his throat with the sword, he would break his arm. It didn't matter that it was wooden.

  Perhaps Walter saw that in his eyes, because he did not press forward.

  "Ahem, and then disarming the opponent means an automatic win, but those are difficult and rare to pull off." He waited. Alensar also waited, not giving him the satisfaction.

  Walter relented. "Pull out your blade."

  Alensar did so, and was careful not to parry, allowing Walter to trap Alensar's blade under his arm, and then Walter twisted, putting pressure on Alensar's wrist. This pressure forced Alensar to let go. Alensar struggled with his instinct to punch Walter with his now free hand.

  Losing was going to be harder than he thought.

  Walter stepped back. "Well, pick up your blade, and we'll go over the rest."

  Walter continued his explanation of the rules, things like limited areas of movement and bonus points for spins and other flourishes. At least half of Alensar's instinctive actions were against the rules.

  When it was time to put their swords up, it was obvious Walter was uninterested in teaching Alensar actual techniques. Had Laude Elaine told him to teach Alensar poorly, or was he just an ass?

  He focused on keeping his feet flat and stumbling on purpose. He kept his blade stiff and moved slowly, his parries sloppy and broadcasting any attack with his whole body. Just doing this was agonizing, not even accounting for the regular sharp blows he received. Each hit got harder until it felt like the club-like sword was cracking against his bones.

  He could only train for about fifteen minutes, and even before that, he was breathing hard.

  "I'll need to stop," he said, resting his hands on his knees.

  Walter smiled indulgently. "Ah, well, a bit short today, but I suppose you have a poor constitution."

  Alensar glared briefly. Everything hurt, and he wanted to punch that smug face so much.

  He swallowed it all inside him and smiled with what he hoped was a pleasant expression. "Thank you for coming to teach me. It was enlightening. I regret that we cannot practice longer."

  "I'm happy to be of assistance." He gave a bow of superiors. "I will leave you to rest."

  Alensar gave an inferior bow. "Until tomorrow then?"

  "Yes, of course." He seemed annoyed at that.

  Alensar took the opportunity to look at the armory after Walter left. It had both practice and real weaponry of various kinds, more than he expected, given that Laude Elaine only had a couple of house guards.

  He shucked off the padded fencing jacket and picked up a rolled strip of cloth. He wrapped his hands in it, making extra padding around his knuckles.

  Then he went to the practice room and started punching and kicking the bag hanging in the corner, slowly at first, because he was tired.

  But then his anger started to grow. Anger at Walter and his game of power. Anger at the nobles and how they used up the common people. Anger at the rules of politics and rank he didn't understand. Anger at how much he already suffered, even if he deserved it. Anger at his weakness, slowing him down.

  And then he let himself think about the unthinkable. The gaping chasm of sorrow that he was too afraid to confront. His siblings. His nephew. His cousins. His family. His friends. Dead or slaves. Mostly dead.

  Except maybe Klara. But even then, he couldn't be sure if she escaped. Or if he loved her.

  He punched and kicked until he crumpled to the ground, unable to stand. His eyes and nose were streaming liquid. He was drenched in sweat.

  He was breathing hard, his eyes closed.

  "Here's some water, Val," said a voice softly.

  He looked over to Jason, crouching next to him with a cup of water and a clean towel.

  He took the cup and drank, then wiped his face. The towel was damp and cool. Jason handed him a dry one after.

  He took a deep breath. "Thank you."

  He wasn't sure how long Jason had been watching him or what he was thinking. Alensar was, for once, grateful for the servant's formality Jason embodied. He didn't want to explain himself.