Butterfly Swords. Jeannie Lin
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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.’
‘What do you have in mind?’
With a household of five brothers she knew how to pick her battles. Ryam had had more training than she and his sword could cut her in half, but its weight would slow him down. And the terms were yet to be negotiated. With a good plan, she could defeat Fourth Brother and occasionally, even Third Brother.
‘I attack first. Ten attempts. You can only defend,’ she proposed.
‘You do this often, don’t you?’
His irises shifted to storm grey, the laughter in them transforming into something dark and unknown. He held her gaze while the woods faded around her.
‘What do you say to a wager?’ He unsheathed his sword in a seductive whisper of steel. ‘If I win, you give me a kiss.’
Barbaric. But she saw her opening.
‘If I win, you take me to Changan.’
He let her heart beat on for ever before answering.
‘Agreed.’
Her palms began to sweat, and a fever rose beneath her skin. Up until then, she truly believed she could defeat him. She had been running strategies through her head, but suddenly she found herself staring at the rough stubble over his jaw and wondering if it would tickle. It was the sort of daydream that would send Grandmother’s bamboo switch stinging over her knuckles. The sort of thought that would have Mother beseeching their ancestors to bring her back to sanity.
‘After the first round—’ She ran her tongue over her lips. For all her negotiation, she had the sinking feeling this duel had slipped out of her grasp. ‘If you do not defeat me after ten attempts, you should honourably forfeit.’
‘Of course. Twenty moves?’ he asked softly.
Deep breaths, she reminded herself. Mind, breath, body. ‘Or first blood.’
He raised his sword in salute. The smile remained on his face as he backed away, setting the starting distance.
Ryam couldn’t resist the promise of a kiss to keep him company on the cold journey back to the frontier. It might even be worth the risk of facing imperial soldiers again—not that he intended to lose.
Ailey stood across from him, poised and still. She shook the hair from her eyes with a slight toss of her head and her braid whipped over her shoulder. When she focused again on him, the young woman disappeared and a warrior stood in her place.
The fight started here, at the moment of decision, long before his sword ever reached striking distance. Ailey radiated more determination than many a seasoned fighter. She bowed formally, bending slightly at the waist with her eyes trained on him. He considered, for a brief moment, whether Ailey had been bluffing all along.
‘Ready?’ he murmured.
She flew at him.
In a flash of silver, the butterfly swords cut tight lines through the air. He deflected in two sharp clashes of steel, surprised by the strength behind the attack.
‘I thought this was a friendly match—’
The next swipe of her blade whistled by his throat.
Ailey pushed inside his defence without fear, without caution. For a second she darted within arm’s reach. He considered simply grabbing her and wrestling her to the ground. Pin her beneath him. The image lingered dangerously. Definitely not honourable.
He had to jump back to avoid her knee as she drove it upwards.
‘I can’t take you to Changan if you kill me.’
He twisted her next attack aside only to have her spring back, eyes dark with intent, a hint of green sparking within them. She left no room, no time to recover. His heart pumped hard as instinct took hold of him. According to her rules, he could only defend and not attack. He side-stepped and angled the strikes away. Ailey knew what she was doing, keeping him close so he couldn’t use his reach against her. She danced around him with deadly elegance, matching him toe to toe. The rhythm of it almost sexual.
Better than sexual.
‘Ten,’ he announced.
‘Show me what you have,’ she retorted. The fight had sparked quite a fire in her.
Once the rules changed, he expected her to go on the defensive and hold out for the forfeit, but that wasn’t her way. She kept at him, carving up the space around him until they were breathing hard. Precise angles, perfect placement. There was considerable training there. Discipline. But he could read by the clean control of her patterns that she had never been forced to use these skills where there were no rules.
He brought the hilt down against her wrist and followed it up with a wide arc of his blade that sent her stumbling backwards. Brute force over grace. This was his fight now.
She dodged away to search for an opening. He left none. The next chain of attacks crowded her against a tree. The force of each block resonated through her. He lifted his arms and brought his sword down, forcing her to cross blades with him. Metal grated in a harsh shriek of sound. It was a blow that could cleave through armour if he hadn’t held back.
Their blades locked and she braced against his strength, her arms straining under the pressure. Her chest heaved with each breath, lips parting, and her skin glowed with the exertion. Beyond lovely.
He looked down upon her as she struggled. ‘You’re good—for a girl.’
‘How very clever,’ she snapped.
She kicked at his knee and attempted to slip away. He allowed her to advance. Unable to resist the slightest opening, she cut at his shoulder. At the last moment he stepped aside and grabbed her wrist, pinning her arms against one another. With a gasp, she dropped her swords.
He grinned. ‘Surrender.’
Her eyes narrowed defiantly.
‘I don’t even need my sword any more.’ He stabbed the point of his weapon into the ground and left it standing. ‘You know, it would serve you to be more cautious, being half my size.’
‘I am not—’ she twisted in his grasp like a rabbit in a snare ‘—half your size. Let go.’
He relaxed his hold and she stepped back, massaging her wrists. The exhilaration of the fight throbbed in his veins.
‘We agreed to some terms, I recall,’ he said.
Her lips pressed together in what was suspiciously close to a pout. ‘I honour my bets.’
He moved in to claim his prize and she went completely still. Changan or no Changan, he would still be risking life and limb to get her back to civilisation. He at least deserved one kiss for it. Her mouth parted in silent invitation and her hands curled uncertainly by her sides. He revelled in the soft catch in her breath as he leaned closer. Then he stopped just shy of her. Her eyes clouded with the unspoken question.
His mouth curved into a smile. ‘The deal was you were supposed to give me a kiss.’
Every muscle within her pulled tight, poised on a knife’s edge of anticipation as she stared at his mouth. He had planned this. His eyes flickered