Page 42 of Esperance

He forced himself to take a step back, his hand falling away from her. He showed her the basic positions and angles to hold her sword, and though he avoided touching her again, he was painfully attuned to her. Every breath, every time she gritted her teeth or darted a look at him. The rest of the yard vanished, leaving only them.

It was exactly what he’d wanted, but he didn’t even know what question to ask her first. They were still virtually strangers, even though the letter from her cleric had given him some information. They’d known each other for ten days.

It somehow felt longer than that.

Amryn poked his chest with the tip of her sword. “Now that you’ve taught me how to hold it, do we get to hit each other?”

“Have you always been this violent?” he asked.

Her head listed to the side. “No. You must bring it out in me.” She lifted her sword. “So. Can we start hitting each other?”

Carver grinned. “Absolutely.”

She echoed his smile, and they began to exchange blows. She made several mistakes, but she took correction well. She never made the same mistake twice, and there was real power behind her blows. She wanted to win.

A ridiculous goal, but just as endearing as her earlier awkwardness.

After they’d exchanged several more blows, Amryn stepped back, tossing her long braid over her shoulder. Her breaths were deep and full, her face red from exertion. “When did you begin sword fighting?”

He lifted one shoulder. “I’ve always done it.”

“Do all Westmont children start right out of the cradle, or just you?”

“Not all, but my family does.” He leaned toward her. “Between you and me, I think my father gave my sisters a daggerbeforethey left the cradle.”

Amryn cracked a smile. “They can beat you, then?”

“Absolutely. All they have to do is pretend to cry, and I let my guard down. Happens every time.”

Amusement sparked in her eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t fall for their tears.”

“I can’t resist a lady’s tears. Completely helpless against them. It’s embarrassing, really.”

Amryn shook her head at him. “How many sisters do you have?”

“Three. One older, two younger.”

“So they outnumber you.”

“Only when they ambush me. In a fair fight, they’ll take on my brothers, too.”

Her brow wrinkled. “How many brothers do you have?”

“Three.”

Amryn’s eyes bugged. “There aresevenof you?”

“I also have one brother through marriage, and a niece and nephew.” Carver said. “Plus four grandparents, two parents, a rather crazy great aunt, and a handful of other aunts and uncles that are a little more stable, as well as a couple dozen cousins. Really, it’s a good thing you have a year to memorize the Vincetti family tree.”

“Saints.” She shook her head a little. “What are the names of your siblings?”

“Loreena is my older sister. She’s married to Leo, one of my father’s top strategists. Bethi, their oldest, is four, and Jerome is two.”

“Am I to assume you’re their most doting uncle?”

“Of course! Now, after me comes Berron; he's twenty-two.” He couldn’t think any more about his brother without ruining the mood, so he hurried on. “Elowen is nineteen, and the biggest flirt in Westmont—possibly all of Craethen. Being her older brother is a bloody nightmare. Keene is sixteen, and a prankster; he makes more trouble than the rest of us combined. Then there's twelve-year-old Wren. She loves to read in trees to avoid interruptions and, yes, she has fallen asleep in the branches numerous times—it drives my mother mad. And then there’s ten-year-old Fowler; he loves to make people laugh, and if his dog loves you, Fowler will love you.” His mouth twitched, seeing Amryn’s wide eyes. “I’ll quiz you sometime,” he told her.

She muttered a curse. “I’ll never remember them all.”

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