The King's sword

into the air.

He’d noticed Diato had a weakness for women. He recalled the words Fiona had spoken the day she and Diato fought. Her hurt had been evident and her anger could have drained the captain of his blood. But she’d stopped herself from killing him. That kind of control was admirable.

Thestian halted outside the woman’s door. No sounds came from the other side so he lifted his knuckles and rapped loudly. Then again. He was answered by mumbling and rustling of sheets. It was Diato who opened the door and Thestian frowned.

“The blacksmith has been sucked in by the power of the sword.” Thestian scowled when Diato, in his half wake, did not think to cover his nakedness. Behind him the maid sat up in the bed, rubbing her eyes.

“Fiona will not fail us.” Diato ran a hand over his face and shook as if he was trying to wake himself up. He seemed to realize he was standing there naked and turned to retrieve his robe.

“What if she finds she fancies him?” Thestian asked.

Diato turned to look back at him. “Was that in your dreams?”

Thestian could hear the instant jealousy in Diato’s voice. He wondered what the man would do if that jealousy was pushed. Would he ride out to take over the mission or would he kill the blacksmith and be done with it?

“No, but I believe he fancies her,” Thestian replied carefully.

Diato’s worry fled from his eyes as he pulled his robe on. “Many men have fancied her. And even if she did decide she liked him, it would not sway her from her mission. Serpentine warriors always follow through with what they are assigned or they die trying.”

“She is still a woman.” Thestian crossed his arms.

“That part of her is mine,” Diato said in a possessive but matter of fact tone. “It always has been. In the six months she was away from Merisgale, she took no lovers, had no relationship.”

“How can you be certain?” Thestian noticed Diato did not offer the maid even a smile as he grabbed up his clothes and stepped from her room, pulling the door closed behind him. He wasn’t sure what to make of the way Diato spoke of Fiona, as if she was a possession rather than a person. Men spoke of slaves in such a manner.

“Because I had someone watch her,” Diato said simply, shaking his head. “You do not have to worry about Fiona. When she fought me, her pain was still new. Her feelings still rested with me.” The wizard nodded.

“Very well.” Thestian set the pace down the corridor and Diato quickly followed. “I worry of this blacksmith. He is a decent man and does not want anything to do with the sword. But I can feel that he has bonded with the weapon.”

“You think he means to keep it?” Diato asked.

“Not yet. But I don’t know about the future. Find out what you can about his past. A man’s history usually tells of the man’s nature. If he is easily led then we may all be in danger. Until then, I shall have to rely on my instincts.” Thestian ran a hand through his hair. He’d hoped the captain would make him feel reassured. His obsession with the serpentine only made him all the more uneasy. Would Ronan Culley react as strongly toward her? Would that work in his favor or against him?

“And your dreams,” Diato added.

Thestian glanced over his shoulder with irritation. “Of course.”

“You haven’t slapped me and you are still here.” Ronan’s weak voice drifted up causing Fiona to jerk awake. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, sitting there beside him. But the night had dragged on and all the others had long lay down to rest.

“You must have it in your head to kiss me again.”

Fiona smiled but her smile faded when she saw that his condition had worsened. He was sweaty and his face was hot to the touch. She reached for the wet cloth and began wiping down his face.

“How long have I been asleep?” Ronan tried to rise up but then grunted and fell back onto the blankets.

“Several hours,” Fiona answered.

“Hours!” Ronan forced himself to sit; wincing with what Fiona knew was great pain.

“You aren’t well.” She told him, pushing at his chest and urging him to lie back down. “Even if you managed to stand you have a fever and probably couldn’t walk.”

“I could ride,” Ronan argued. “The centaur has probably already caught up with us. We can’t linger here. It’s too dangerous.”

“Then he shall have to deal with Keegan,” Fiona gave his chest a shove and reluctantly he lay down again. “Here, your witch told me to make you drink more of this if you woke up.” She reached for the bowl of broth and put it to his lips. He took a couple of swallows then turned his head, making a face. Fiona forced herself not to laugh.

“It’s disgusting.” He lifted his uninjured arm and wiped at his mouth. “Did you see what she put in it?” Fiona shook her head and urged him to drink more but he pushed the bowl away from his face. “I’ll not drink anymore until I find out,” He stated in a matter of fact tone that brought a little smile to Fiona’s lips. “I don’t remember much of what happened. Are you hurt?”

“No.” Fiona shook her head.

“Good. And Ula?” he pressed.

“She is fine. Arien is sleeping but he is only bruised a bit. I am sorry that I struck at him.” Fiona bit her lip but Ronan did not seem angry with her.

“He’s stronger than he looks.” Ronan groaned lowly, reaching to touch his shoulder. “And I am weaker I suppose.”

“Not true. You are stronger than most,” Fiona argued. “You were cut nearly to the bone. The Sledgers have claws of metal. A bit closer and she would have ripped your arm off.”

“At this rate I’ll be just a piece of a man by the time we deliver the sword in Merisgale,” he growled.

“There is something you should know,” Fiona began but was surprised when Ronan cracked a grin up at her.

“You have a monstrosity of a husband who means to bash in my head?” Ronan continued to grin as Fiona laughed. He was jesting with her again about when they met.

“No. I have no husband.”

Ronan closed his eyes. “Good. I can stop worrying about it now. But there must be someone.”

Fiona sighed causing his lids to flick open again. “There was but it is over now between us. It has been for some time.”

“His loss,” Ronan murmured. “You don’t want to be with an idiot anyway.”

“How would you know if he was an idiot?”

Ronan chuckled. “Only an idiot would let you slip away from him.”

She looked away. “You have a fever and are chattering nonsense.”

“No. I have no fever.” He shook his head. “I just have eyes and can see. You are beautiful.”

“What of you, Ronan Culley? Do you have a woman waiting for your return?” Fiona quickly changed the subject.

It was too late now to entertain any kind of exchange between her and the blacksmith. That chance was gone the moment the centaur had stepped into the room at the tavern. She had a mission. It was what she was sent to do and was more important than any heat she had felt before.

“Me? No. I’ve never been very good with women and I don’t think I’d be a very good husband to the few I’ve managed to snag here and there.” There was a note of sadness in the blacksmith’s voice, but it quickly disappeared. “So is this leading to my kiss or should I just go back to sleep?”

“No kisses for you tonight.” Fiona touched his arm. “You need rest.”

“You are not a very accommodating nursemaid.” Ronan grunted. “Perhaps you should get Ula to come and care for me. As I recall she can look nearly as beautiful as you if she wants to.”

“She will make you drink the broth,” Fiona warned and then laughed when he made a face. “See, now you appreciate me. And I am no one’s nursemaid.”

Ronan ran a hand over his face and scratched at his chin. “I shaved my beard off for you,” he said aloud.

“I don’t know why. I’ve never been bothered by facial hair.” She bit her tongue. Now, why had she said that?