Brood of Vipers, Maggie Claire [e novels to read .TXT] 📗

a figure leans on the doorpost, however, is enough to freeze Helena’s feet to the floor. Helena doesn’t recognize the man, shuffling through her memories for some signal as to his identity. He is tall, broad chested and stocky—the kind of man who’s perfect for the front lines of war. His eyes are dark, full of the spark of intelligence. He stands unnaturally still, barely even appearing to be breathing. It’s a trained skill, Helena knows, and immediately her heart sinks to her toes as she deduces the man’s identity.

“So that’s where the little kitchen scamp ran off too,” Andras smirks, calmly assessing the scene before him. “Eating your food while you root around in her head for my secrets.”

“Don’t blame the girl,” Helena pleads, angling to put herself between the guard and the peacefully sleeping Amie. “None of this was her fault—”

“I heard enough to know that’s the truth,” Andras interrupts, waving off Helena’s further protests. “Relax; I’m not after the child. But if she doesn’t get herself back down to help the cooks, she’ll have much greater things than me to worry about. The head chef has a cruel habit of smacking around the staff that shirks their duties.”

“I’ll make sure the chef knows her absence is my fault,” Helena vows, an indignant fire roaring to life in her belly at the thought of Amie being hurt.

“Better let me take care of it,” Andras replies, stalking deeper into the room with predatory grace. “The chef’s a pompous, patronizing piece of filth that despises women who challenge his authority. If you try and reason with him, you’ll only end up making it worse for her.”

His footfalls are completely silent, Helena notices as she analyzes Andra’s movements, searching for the reason why she hadn’t heard him approach. She tenses as he sidles up to Amie’s side, her muscles tight with unspent energy, ready to fight or protect the child if need be.

Andras smiles knowingly as if he’s just learned some valuable information about Helena. He picks up a piece of bacon from her tray of food. Yet all throughout his movements, Andras’s eyes never leave Helena, carefully observing her just as critically as she watches him. He bites off a piece from the bacon strip, chewing thoughtfully as he waits for Helena to make the first move.

Quiet and shy, my ass. Helena shivers under his scrutiny, all too aware that Amie’s assessment of the man couldn’t be more wrong. This man’s clever, hiding his constant awareness and assessment of others under such a guise. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Even now, he wants me to speak first just so he can have the upper hand. Helena swallows hard, her confidence fleeing as she asks, “What makes you so sure you can get through to the chef? If he’s as bad as you say—”

“Oh, trust me, he’s far worse than I’ve said,” Andras interjects, glancing down at Amie’s sleeping form. His face betrays no emotion or empathy for the girl’s predicament; if he feels anything at all, he hides it well. “But the chef is also a coward. He will not go against me.” Something about the flat tone in Andras’s voice and the flinty, hate-filled look in his eyes is enough to keep Helena from pressing him further on this subject.

“Why did you come?” Helena stumbles over the words, raising her chin a little higher in an effort to regain some of her confidence. The longer she finds herself on the defensive with Andras, the more she feels like shrinking into the wall and hiding until he disappears.

“For the same reasons you sat here bribing that child with sweets,” Andras shrugs, tapping his fingers on the back of Amie’s chair. “Information; I want to know who I’m traveling with and whether or not I can trust you to keep from being a problem.”

“I feel certain that Amie told me nothing useful about you,” Helena announces, confirming her ideas about the man when Andras offers her a predatory smile.

“She told you exactly what I would have expected her to say. I’ve worked hard to maintain that image of a shy, simple soldier,” Andras murmurs, crossing his muscled arms in front of his chest. “But you’d be a fool to believe the words of an adolescent kitchen slave.”

Despite the easy manner Andras intentionally portrays, Helena senses that he is still on alert, cautiously observing her behavior. Helena lets her hands fall open at her sides, forcing herself to stay perfectly still, schooling her face into a blank, neutral expression. “And why would you intentionally play a part to dupe your friends?” Helena asks innocently, feigning ignorance to the strategy at play while she considers her next move.

Andras chuckles, raising one eyebrow as he challenges, “Come now, Helena, we both already know that you are no fool. Why don’t we drop the pretense? You know what they say about honesty being the best policy—”

“When you’re the one holding the knife,” Helena interrupts, finishing the old saying with her hands held wide to prove she is unarmed. “Seems I’m at a disadvantage, Andras.”

Andras nods, resting his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist. His mocking smile only deepens the wound to Helena’s pride. “I can afford to be truthful with you, I realize that. But I’d rather hoped we could begin this journey on better terms.” When Helena does not respond, Andras shakes his head, mumbling, “In answer to your other question, surely you must know the merits of listening in on the gossip from the gabby kitchen maids. Most of their half-whispered secrets are full of juicy tidbits just waiting to be exploited by a cunning mind. I find it’s in my best interest to play the part of a quiet man who can’t muster the courage to meet their gaze, so they will speak freely in front of me.” Andras moves away from Amie’s chair, slinking over to stand toe-to-toe with Helena. “Aren’t you curious what they had