Page 121 of Unrivaled
“I’m not going to lie,” Audrey said.“I was worried he’d push back.Now I’m worried it’s too good.”
She stood, taking time to stretch her muscles.Some people went lean when they worked hard.She wasn’t one of them.Her arms wouldn’t look out of place on a blacksmith.One of them was entirely bare, the dress cut in a dramatic slash across from one collar to beneath her other arm.On the exposed arm, she wore a silver spiral high up on her bicep.It was both feminine and highlighted exactly how much muscle it adorned.
The reason for all that strength gnawed at me.
A well-placed arrow was all she’d need.It’s what she’d get, too, whether she liked it or not.If it was her life or her ego, the Butcher would die to my hand.
Really, it was just a formality at this point.Everyone in the city knew La’Angi was hers.
She was their beacon.
“I don’t thinkthat’sa concern,” Sandra said, dryly.“He’s set to leave here with a purse too heavy to hold.I’d best go.I’ve got to check the tiles—Orvald says they’re green.”
“I thought we ordered blue?”
“That’s exactly what he said,” Sandra responded, amused.“See you soon.Bye, Isolde.”
I lifted a hand in farewell as the young woman left the room with a bundle of papers in her arms.
Audrey wandered over to me.Her steps were irregular length, her expression neutral, her eyes on the city before her.The set of her shoulders was soft.Her hands had popped up to hover either side of her waist.I was struck by how happy she looked.Drained, yes, but happy.
She poured apple juice for us from the tray I’d brought and lent on the bare stone beside the big open window.She wore blood-red today.It didn’t compliment the copper in her hair, unlike most of the choices the tailors were making for her.It did show off the strength in her back, leaving it exposed almost to the base of her spine.
They knew who she was.They knew what the people wanted.
Today’s dress was fitting for the bloodshed of trade.And her father would hate it, which made it even better.
“This suits you,” I told her.
She glanced at me as if surprised, then down at the dress.“This?It certainly is bold, isn’t it?”
“The dress,” I agreed, because it did.She looked strong and unapologetic, and that suitedeverywoman.“But I meant this.”I waved my hand at the room, quiet, now.“You’re setting achievable goals and you’re progressing them.You’re helping people in meaningful ways that’ll make a difference quickly but also for generations.”I could see she was uncomfortable, so I added a good, broad, “You’re making things happen.”That I knew she couldn’t disagree with.
She smoothed the dress over her hip with one hand, nursing her glass closer, but she didn’t dismiss my comments as I’d half feared she would.“I am,” she agreed.“I’ve got a long way to go, but you’re right, I enjoy it.”
“I didn’t say you enjoyed it,” I corrected her, knowing damned well how often she reallydidn’t.“I said it suits you.You can wear the responsibility and maintain your humanity.”
She looked down into her cup and I went over to the tray, giving her some space.Hearing good things,honestthings, was harder than it ought to be.Mayhap I hadn’t given her enough good, honest things.That was my lack.But it was hard to look at her right then and regret anything.
“It’s very hard to believe I deserve all the acclaim I’m given,” she admitted, quietly.
I picked up the tightly wrapped scroll and carried it over to her.“The question isn’t whether or notyoudeserve acclaim and respect,” I told her simply.“The question is whodoesn’tdeserve to be acknowledged and respected.You receive the benefits of your hard work, but you pass it on, too.”
She laughed, shaking her head a little.“Oh, that’ll be bouncing around in my head for the next few years, I’ve no doubt,” she said, her long mouth pulled up in a wry smile that indicated she spoke in jest.But she didn’t.
“No one got better at anything while they were comfortable,” I reminded her, waiting for that to land before I offered her the semi-official looking scroll, resting it against her forearm with a cocked brow.I recognized the colors on that parchment, and they didn’t make a lick of sense.Someone was covering their tracks.
“Where’d this come from?”
“Brett—I think it was Brett?—little floppy-haired stableboy who doubled in size over the spring.”
“Dom,” Audrey said, her eyes sharpening.
Trust Audrey to know the name of a boy so young he only did the odd job.She cracked the seal and angled the paper to better catch the light.If I hadn’t been watching closely I wouldn’t have seen the way her breathing changed or her quick swallow.
“We’re going for a ride,” she told me, rolling it up again and holding it over a candle.
“Are we?”I asked, surprised.“What about your clever little…?”I waved a hand at her books.
