Free Masques by Patricia Briggs Page A

“Do you remember that redhead in the Thirty-second?”
    “Uhm-hmm.” She raised an eyebrow, shook her head, and in an exaggeratedly sorrowful tone said, “Poor girl, doomed to a broken heart.” She grinned, and added, “Have a good time, Kai.” He waved and sauntered away.
    Aralorn looked at Talor, and inquired, “Does he really have a date with Sera?”
    He laughed. “Probably not, but he will. Mostly, I think, his skin is still too thin from the last time you put him down. The whole squad ribbed him about being beaten by a woman for weeks. I, on the other hand, have no pride and, after you rid yourself of the unfair advantage you now hold”—he grabbed his nose with a hand to show her what he meant—“I will be awaiting you at the Hawk and Hound.”
    “Done.” She gave him a mock salute and headed for the baths.

    In one of the sparring rings that, like many of the taverns around town, the Hawk and Hound provided, Aralorn faced Talor warily with a single body-length staff held lightly in her hands.
    Normally, they were evenly matched with the long staff, Talor being a better fighter than his brother, but Aralorn was still stiff. They fought together often because no one else wanted to face either of them with staves, long or short, in serious sparring.
    As a warm-up, they played with variations on the training dances, and rather than aiming for body shots, the object was to hit a small metal plate, which dangled from a belt. Normally, there would be a third to call shots fair or foul and award points at the sound of wood striking metal, but she and Talor were veterans and cared more for the sport than for the winning or losing.
    The ring that they had chosen was in the basement of the tavern rather than the one on the main floor, so they had no spectators. By mutual consent, they stopped for a bit to rest before they proceeded out of the standard patterns for some real sparring.
    “So, what was that smell anyway? It seems somewhat familiar, but I just can’t place it. Something like a cross between an outhouse and a pig barn.” Talor’s voice was a bit unsteady because he was stretching out as he talked.
    Breathing ridiculously hard from such light exertion, Aralorn leaned unashamedly against one of the waist-high walls that surrounded the ring. She was paying for her confinement and the long ride home with her lack of stamina.
    She started to think up a reason for the moat smell but decided that there was no harm in letting him know what she’d been doing. Kai and Talor didn’t ask questions, and they also knew when to keep their mouths shut. There was nothing secret about what she had done, now that she was out of there. And it would be good to talk to Talor about what she’d found. She wouldn’t go so far as to tell him about Ren, though. She needed to think about what had happened.
    “Unless you’ve been visiting the ae’Magi’s castle lately,” she said, “it probably wouldn’t be too familiar. I only wish the ae’Magi was half as honest and sweet-smelling as his moat . . .” Conditioned reflexes were the only thing that brought her staff up to deflect his from her face. The sheer force of the blow numbed her hands, as she hadn’t been holding the staff in a proper grip.
    She ducked underneath his arm to come to the center of the arena and give herself some room for maneuvering. The move also gave her a chance to talk. “What are you doing?”
    Talor’s face twisted with wrath as he came after her. “How dare you, worthless bitch? How dare you sharpen your tongue on the ae’Magi?”
    It was his rage that saved her, interfering with the timing and precision of his attacks. Time and time again, she was able to block or turn aside his furious blows.
    This unchecked anger was unlike him: A good warrior strives above all for control. She knew something was terribly wrong, but his ruthless barrage left no more time for speculation or analysis. She cleared her mind and concentrated on