The Mask of Mirrors by M. Carrick; (different e readers txt) 📕

dipped him, planting a kiss on his lips, then heaved him upright again and backed away, laughing.

Leato laughed as well, brushing the back of his glove across his mouth. “And that is why you’re not allowed to duel my sister or my cousin.” He bowed. “Thank you, duellante, for the lesson.”

“If you fight like that, you might not embarrass me.” Ryvček retrieved her sword belt and buckled it on, leaving the practice blade on the chairs in its place. “We will again meet here Epytny next?”

At Leato’s nod, Ryvček crossed to where Renata and Giuna sat. “Giuna, my light. Always a pleasure. Alta Renata, I hope you enjoyed playing voyeur. Perhaps next time we meet, you will with a dance favor me.”

Leato joined them as the door closed behind his dueling master. “Duellante Ryvček jokes, but Nadežra isn’t safe like Seteris.” He gave Renata a sidelong glance. “It isn’t a bad idea to know a little more of bladework than which end to hold; not every thief is going to stand still while you pelt darts at them.” He stripped off his protective jacket and offered his hand, a courtly echo of Ryvček’s bawdy flirtations. “I could show you.”

“Oh, you definitely should,” Giuna said. “I’ll arrange refreshments for when you’re done.” Before Renata could decide whether to protest, she was out the door as swiftly as Ryvček.

I think someone is playing matchmaker. But there was no harm in cultivating Donaia’s favored child. He’d already demonstrated his ability to influence his mother. Renata laid her hand in Leato’s and said, “I’d be delighted.”

He led her onto the floor. Rather than collecting Ryvček’s practice blade, he handed Renata his own. “You’re sun-handed, right? Good—we don’t have any earth-handed swords here. Wrap your fingers like this…”

The leather of the grip, heated by Leato’s exertions, warmed Renata’s palm. He arranged her fingers around the hilt, looping one above the crossbar of the guard, and she brought the point up. “Keep your arm straight and high,” he said. “That makes for the shortest distance to the target.”

So that’s why Liganti swordsmen keep their blades out like that. She’d always wondered.

But the last thing she wanted was to spar. She was used to fighting with knives, cobbles, elbows, and teeth, any solid object that came to hand—and some that weren’t quite solid. If Leato came at her with a blade, all those instincts were going to surface, and he’d wind up wondering why his elegant cousin fought like a feral cat. So she deliberately stood badly, exposing her whole body to attack, making herself look as ignorant as possible.

“No, stand like this.” Moving behind her, Leato aligned his limbs with hers. He gently turned her so they both stood at an oblique to the tip of the blade. “The idea is to present as small a target as you can.”

“I see.” He was so close that when Renata inhaled, her back brushed his chest. Leato was taller than her, but not by a great deal. He enveloped her like a blanket, warm against the chill of the room, and smelled not unpleasantly of sweat, with a lingering trace of caramel from what remained of his perfume.

“The positions and angles of attack are named for the numina,” he said, resting one hand lightly on her wrist. “Your basic stance, like this, is called Uniat, because the parries form a sort of circle around it. Illi is when you lunge to strike center, like so.” He guided her into the thrust, then brought her back. “Then it goes Tuat, Tricat, Quarat…”

Renata kept almost none of what he showed her. She was too distracted by Leato’s presence behind her, attraction warring with the impulse to pull away. Tess and Sedge were the only people she trusted at her back.

He had just guided her into another lunge when the door opened.

“Leato, did Mistress Ryvček say when— Oh!” Donaia halted on the threshold, Meatball at her side and a pair of gloves hanging forgotten in her bare hand. “Renata. I didn’t realize you were here. And you are receiving… lessons, I see?”

Leato cleared his throat and stepped away, grinning with only a little abashment. “I figured she was safer with me than with Ryvček.”

“Is she?” Donaia’s lips twitched, but she shook her head and allowed the moment to pass. Tugging on her gloves—with, Renata noted, the casual disregard of someone dressing to go out, not someone caught unprepared by a visitor—she said, “Am I correct in assuming you two have plans tonight? Giuna and I are bound for Isla Extaquium to sample Sureggio’s newest pressing. I’d hoped for your escort, Leato, but I wouldn’t wish you to abandon a prior commitment.”

“I was going to teach Renata to play bocce,” Leato said before Renata could respond.

He’d mentioned nothing of the sort, but she recognized the cue at once. “Yes, my apologies—I didn’t realize you had need of Leato tonight. I can change my plans—”

Donaia refused, as she was meant to. “Not at all. I’m glad to see you enjoying a quiet night for once.”

As soon as she was gone, Leato turned to Renata. “Thank you. I hope you don’t mind, but Eret Extaquium’s pride in his wine is… misplaced.” He shuddered dramatically. “I’d rather not spend the evening drinking something that tastes like mold steeped in vinegar.”

She wondered if he’d ever tasted anything that foul in reality. Her own memories supplied far too many comparisons. “Shall we do something more enjoyable, then? Bocce or otherwise.”

“Perhaps another night? Orrucio Amananto’s prize hunting dog whelped, and he’s been after me for weeks to see the pups.”

He looked sincerely regretful. Anyone but Ren would’ve likely believed it. “You owe me another lesson as compensation,” she said lightly, and gave him back the practice sword with a bow. “I shall enjoy a rare quiet night at home.”

Or maybe stop by the Amananto house, to see if you’re really there.

Isla Extaquium, Eastbridge: Equilun 7

Giuna liked Parma Extaquium, but Extaquium Manor had