Chapter 11: Dueling Arrangements - Rafael's Perspective
There is no way that Ana is a mere lady's maid. Imperfectly but classically trained, she pounces on me with reckless abandon. She brandishes a knotted fist behind her skirts, trying to restrain her toothy aggression.
I toss in a few parries but mostly study her expression. As she chases me, her lips compress under a line of white teeth.
It took her a few days to get her sea legs back, but now I am fencing her quite seriously, even sneaking in a strained breath here and there. She is quick. She darts in and out of the distance between us. However, I can easily overcome her scampering with simple observations. She doesn't always look where she steps. Her overplanning often circles her into a trap.
Still, a fire smolders behind those eyes. I saw it when she was tossed in front of me during the public audience. It burns brightly as she charges at me with only the smallest chance of victory. An inner creed of determination. A woman who acts as if she'll be damned if she leaves anything to chance.
In the typical French style, Ana thrusts constantly. There are many times where a more defensive strategy would serve her better, but the stabbing keeps her tip a constant threat. Finally, I gain the upper hand. A quick strike as she advances. Her blade falls to the floor with a satisfying clatter.
"Again," I demand.
Ana wipes her palms on her dress. Mother's old tea gown suits her much better than the rags she was initially given. The pale blue contrasts nicely with the chestnut waves that fall beneath her shoulders. The dress was Isabel's idea. I made her promise never to reveal its previous owner. I know that Ana would find a way to turn it against me.
"Don't you have people's lives to ruin?" she says with exasperation.
As much as she's been enjoying our time together, my training does ask a lot of a woman with such a delicate constitution. I've tried to coach her through the blisters. I am greatly enjoying my return to swordsmanship, and I'm sure that her participation is preferable to cleaning floors. If nothing else, Ana understands an ultimatum. If I spar her enough, I might finally figure her out.
Ana picks up her weapon and levels it at me.
Amidst her discordant breathing, she leaps into that obnoxious French en garde, wrists limped, and hips cocked. It's adorable when she does it but ridiculous, nonetheless. I rub my temple; that's exactly my point. No one would have come up with something so impractical on their own. It's a position that has to be taught. And as far as I know, orphan girls don't have fencing masters.
"I'll make you a deal," I say, extending my weapon. "Answer my questions truthfully, and I'll forfeit the bout."
She looks uneasy for a moment. While neither of us expects the truth, I'd rather sort through lies than leave it all up to the imagination.
She bows her head, "At your pleasure, Excellency."
I keep my forearm low. The thick, meaty target peeks over the metal guard. It's an obvious trap that she'll have to respond to.
I study her face, her high cheekbones and fair skin. Ana has a unique look, but she's still a classic example of the French aristocracy. I simply do not believe Ana is low-born enough to steal baubles from a market. Perhaps her father is a drunkard who has gambled away the family fortune.
"Tell me about your father," I say.
She stares quizzically and then threatens my arm as expected.
"My father is a good man. He's still alive if that's what you're asking."
"That's not what I'm asking," I reply, though I welcome the additional information.
"Then, there isn't much to say. My mother made all the decisions regarding how I was raised, and my father manages all that does not interest her. He's a quiet man. Protective. Strong. He would never let anything happen to his family."
Ana slips a quick thrust in at the end of her speech.
I easily dodge.
She seems sincere, and the description is vague enough to be true. I couldn't imagine Ana allowing her husband to cast his dominion over her affairs. Her mother seems to be made of the same material. It does cast doubt over my squandered fortune theory; a woman like that would never let her husband run through the family coffers, drinking and playing cards.
Her weapon taps the inside of my wrist. Mine skims her shoulder.
"Have you ever been engaged?" I say.
At this, she pauses, allowing her guard position to drop. I believe I've hit a nerve.
"How is that any business of yours?"
"You are my slave. I am entitled to know everything about you."
She hurls her weapon at me, diving sideways the moment she senses a counterattack. We circle each other, fixed in a deadlock. This bout will not be decided by physical prowess.
I manage to back her into a corner. Her heel slams against the wall, rattling the dangling weapons. I can tell that she's considering telling a blatant lie. The truth is etched too heavily in her face.
She relents.
"Very well. My mother wanted me to marry, and I wanted to see... something new. I was weary of a predetermined life and hoped that no man would willingly weigh such large aspirations against his own. Unfortunately, my mother found a candidate."
"I take it that you weren't in love."
It pleases me to know that Ana hasn't been pining for another since the time of her capture. Her mouth lacks the upturned corners of longing. That would make things more difficult.
"With Benjamin? Never. Despite our fortuitous match, there was little interest from either party. His head was always either in the clouds or up his own ass."
She pauses. Blunt language for a supposedly proper young woman. I gesture for her to continue.
"I told myself that I could learn to love him, but I wound up sneaking away on the back of a spice cart."
Her voice trails off in the distance. "It was only supposed to be for an afternoon."
I suspect that the rest of the story falls somewhere between her escape and her capture. That part I shall have to wheedle out of her.
"Was he wealthy?" I say to throw her off the scent, readying my parry in the interim.
"The marriage was more about security. We were always comfortable."
Someone who is comfortable enough to have a fencing tutor hardly has reason for petty theft.
I lower my guard. "That doesn't explain why you were stealing from my people."
