The Mask of Mirrors, M. Carrick; [best books to read in your 20s .txt] 📗

“You won’t stay that way if your shoulder kisses your ear so often. Uniat.”

“Tuat.” The clashing resumed.

“The halls are too cold at the Palaestra, and the grounds are too muddy, so Leato’s taking his weekly lesson here,” Giuna said, voice low.

Leato had mentioned training under Oksana Ryvček. Was his teacher actually here?

Renata drifted a half step toward the door, as if the movement were unconscious. “Would you mind if…?”

Giuna had been grinning often these days, whenever Renata and Leato were together. “Well, he is fun to watch.”

The room beyond the double doors turned out to be the manor’s ballroom. It was an ideal place to practice swordplay: lots of open space, with light from the windows at the far end and relatively few things to break if the combatants got too energetic. The air inside was as chill as a cellar, but for those exerting themselves, that was likely a benefit.

The duelists took no notice of the interruption. They wore stiff protective jackets and used blunted practice swords, but apart from that they didn’t seem to be holding back. Leato shifted to one side and thrust at the oblique; Ryvček blocked, blade sliding against blade, and diverted his tip past her shoulder. When Leato overbalanced, she rolled her wrist and came up under to tap his open arm.

“Better, but you overcommitted,” she said, withdrawing. Then she winked at Giuna and saluted Renata with her blade.

Oksana Ryvček looked every inch the famous duelist: tall, thin as her rapier, her jacket of bone-pale brocade contrasting with her sleek black breeches and boots. Her coloring was as dark as Ren’s without powders; faint lines creased the kohl around her eyes and framed a mouth made for smiling, and streams of silver swept through her dark curls.

“Well met, pretty Giuna. And who is this ravishing woman with you?” Ryvček caught Renata’s hand and bent over it, the warmth of her lips penetrating the thin suede of Renata’s gloves.

Even on the streets, Ren had heard of Ryvček. Nadežran born and raised, she bore her Vraszenian name proudly, rather than pulling on the Liganti threads of her ancestry the way many others did. Her father, a merchant, had trained all his children to fight in order to guard his business against the “protection” schemes of the Vigil. His youngest daughter had shown so much skill with knives and a staff that the delta house of Isorran had paid to train and license her as their duelist—a contract Ryvček had earned out in less than five years.

Ren had never seen her fight, though. The formal conflicts of the elite were almost never held where the common people could see, and she couldn’t afford entry to the public tournaments the professional duelists sometimes held. But it was enough to know that someone like Ryvček was out there, trouncing rich cuffs, and wearing a Vraszenian name while she did it.

Now she was getting to meet the woman in person.

Leato approached, wiping sweat from his face with a towel. “This is my cousin Renata, from Seteris.”

“Ah yes, Seteris. I hear they dislike sleeves there.” Ryvček’s gaze lingered on Renata’s arms, fully covered today. “Alas, so soon you have our local customs adopted.”

“Such things lose their effect if done too often,” Renata said carelessly, as if the weather had nothing to do with it. She’d heard the rumors about Ryvček’s many flirtations and affairs, too, but never expected to be on the receiving end of them. “I’ll have to think of something else to make people gossip.”

“Are you any good with a blade? A woman who knows her way around a sword always trails gossip.” Ryvček stepped closer, curling Renata’s hand against her chest. Her crooked smile wove innuendo into her words. “I could show you a few tricks.”

“Yes, yes. Everyone knows the sort of tricks you prefer.” Leato set a hand on Ryvček’s shoulder, drawing her away. “Leave my cousin alone or I’ll have to call you to the ring, and I don’t think my pride can suffer the humiliation of losing in front of her.”

Renata lifted her hands in preemptive surrender. “My knowledge of swordplay ends at ‘you hold the end that isn’t sharp, yes?’ But I didn’t mean to interrupt your practice. Please, continue—I’d be honored if you would let me watch.”

Ryvček’s smile deepened. “If watching is your preference… come along, Traementis. Let us give your lovely cousin a memory for warming her cold nights.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” Renata murmured to Giuna.

“No.” Giuna settled in a chair against the wall and patted the one next to her. “Practices are boring, but it’s fun when they show off.”

There was no mistaking what ensued for sober practice. Ryvček’s fame rested partly on her reputation for flamboyance, and whether it was to impress his cousin or just for his own pride, Leato was doing his best to keep up. The duelists circled each other like they were dancing—Ryvček even threw in a mocking lace step, humming under her breath—then Leato hurled himself into a ground-eating lunge, trying to catch her before she recovered her footing. But Ryvček had been baiting him, because she spun clear of his blade without even bothering to parry, and trailed her fingers across the back of his neck as she passed behind.

Ren was no swordswoman, but she knew fights. The playfulness of their exchanges spoke in every move they made, from the way Leato dipped under a high thrust to the elegant gestures of Ryvček’s free hand. This was as unlike the grim and vicious struggles of her childhood as the Upper Bank to the Lower.

Their exchanges shifted like the shoals. Leato and Ryvček both started out in the high Liganti style, but when his tutor taunted him by dropping into a lower stance, Leato answered in the same fashion—she’d clearly also taught him Vraszenian swordsmanship.

The “lesson” came to an end when Ryvček managed to entwine her leg with Leato’s and sweep him off-balance. She caught him with her other arm and