Daphne sat up, startled, angry. Then, her face recomposed itself into a familiar frown. "Leyn?" she cried. "Where's Dayme? He's supposed to be my trainer."
"He left on a mission last night," Chenaya told her newest student. "He's attending to some business for me that will take him to various parts of the Empire. While he's gone, Leyn will be your trainer." She pointed a finger at Daphne. "And no complaints. You've whined enough this morning. Even the least of my men has plenty to teach you. Now, on your way, Princess." She put special emphasis on the title, a not-so-subtle reminder that Daphne's rank counted for nothing while she wore fighting garb.
Daphne rose with deliberate slowness, giving a haughty toss of her waist-length black hair. "As the mistress commands," she answered with false meekness as she moved toward the door. But before she passed through and out of sight she added, just loud enough for Chenaya to hear, "bitch."
It was one more cause for Chenaya to smile. After all, she didn't train automatons-she trained gladiators. And fighters without some spit in their souls would never be worth a damn. She'd kept a close eye on Daphne; for a princess she was coming along just fine.
Chenaya headed for the practice field, but before she got much farther than her door she bumped into her father. "Ummm, pardon me," she said, leaning one hand on the door he had just closed. "Isn't this Aunt Rosanda's room?" She batted her eyelashes in mock innocence, knowing how such an expression usually irritated him.
But this time Lowan Vigeles imitated her, batting his own eyelashes. "I knew all those expensive tutors were a fine investment." He tapped her on the forehead with a fingertip. "I brought your aunt a breakfast tray. Nothing more lascivious than that."
She just stood there, looking up at him, grinning, batting her lashes.
Lowan drew a deep, patient breath, his usual silent invocation to the god of parenthood, and pushed open the door. Lady Rosanda flashed them a startled look of embarrassment from her bed as a strip of cold meat fell from her lip to the tray on her lap. She chewed hurriedly, hiding her busy mouth with one hand.
Lowan pulled the door closed once more and regarded his daughter with the look of an unjustly wronged man.
Chenaya brushed at her hair with one hand and refused to look repentant. "What a selfish bastard you are. Father," she accused. "Too saintly to offer what we both know you've got? Have pity! The only man she's seen in years is Uncle Molin." Chenaya faked a shiver.
Lowan Vigeles took her by the arm and led her from Ro-sanda's door and down a broad staircase to the floor below. "I saw Dayme off," he said, changing the subject. "He bears a writ from me that should speed our cause. Later today, I'll hire artisans to start the barracks and outbuildings. I'll set Dismas and Gestus to constructing the training machines."
"Not those two," she contradicted. "I'll need them myself today. Have Ouijen see to it, and Leyn when he has time. But there's no rush. It'll be a few weeks at least before anyone arrives. Assuming any will answer the summons."
Lowan shook his head as they left the manse and stepped out into the rear garden where nearly a score of falcons were elaborately caged. "That's not an assumption. Daughter. My school in Ranke produced most of the finest auctorati ever to fight in the games. They will come when I call. And Dayrne carries enough money to purchase any other fighters he deems worthy."
She nodded. She would miss Dayme's presence at her side, but when it came to choosing trainees and fighters there wasn't a better judge of manflesh. And except for herself or Lowan there was no other she would trust with such a mission.
"I have to get to the field. Father," she said suddenly. She raised on tiptoe and gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek. "Then, I'll be gone most of the day. Don't worry if I'm not back tonight."
Lowan batted his lashes, turning her own coy expression against her.
She punched him playfully in the ribs. "Nothing so lascivious," she said, adopting his line. "This is business." Then, she looked thoughtful and amended her remark. "Well, some of it's business. Some of it will be pure pleasure." She reached up and scratched his chin; "That mare of yours, is she still hot?"
Lowan Vigeles eyed her suspiciously. "Changing the subject? Don't want to talk about tonight's boyfriend?" He sighed. "Yes, the mare's still hot. I've taken pains to keep her away from any boyfriends. It spoils them for riding when they swell."
She said no more to her father. He'd forgive her, after a few days, when he found out what she'd done. Tempus, on the other hand .. .But who cared about him? She grinned, relishing the delightful mood she felt today. Had she said pure pleasure? She chuckled aloud.
Lowan looked at her strangely. She patted his hand, winked, and headed for the practice area where Daphne and eleven of the best gladiators ever to set foot in the arena were already hard at work and sweaty.
The sun was nearing its zenith when Chenaya called a halt to the workout. She sent Daphne, Leyn, and the others back to the manse, but called Dismas and Gestus to her side. The two were a team, almost never apart. Lovers, they even resembled each other with their sandy hair, close-cropped beards, and exaggerated musculature.
"Interested in a little game, friends?"
The two looked at each other, then at her, and said nothing. They had a good idea what she meant. They'd helped her with other little games before.
"Nobody can sneak around like you two," she continued. In fact, they'd been the shiftiest pair of thieves and burglars in Ranke before they were finally caught and sentenced to Lowan's school for arena training. "And very few are faster on their feet."
Dismas folded his arms, repressing a grin. "Save the grease, mistress," he said in clipped Rankene. "It's too hot to stand here and exchange flatteries, even true ones."
Chenaya sidled up to Dismas and rubbed her body against his. "Aren't you taking good care of him these days?" she said teasingly to Gestus. With a knuckle she tapped the leather groin guard under Dismas's kilt. "He's so grumpy today."
"N'um faults," Gestus answered with a shrug. That was the odd thing about this pair. So alike in everything else, Gestus had never mastered Rankene. Dismas, on the other hand, spoke it like a court noble.
She stepped back again and turned serious. "There's someone I want you to watch for me, and something I want you to do. You'll have a fat purse of coins to spend. If your quarry goes to a tavern, so do you. If he goes to a brothel..." She hesitated, scratched her temple. "Well, you'll think of something." Gestus folded his arms, too, and grinned. Clearly, she'd caught their interests. "Just make sure you don't attract notice." She flipped a finger against their studded belts. "Wear something less identifiable."
Dismas unfolded his arms, so Gestus did, too. "The name of our fox?" he said conspiratorially.
"No fox," she cautioned. "A deadly mountain cat. Mind you, don't cross him. Just keep an eye on him and inform me of his movements." She beckoned them closer, and they bent to hear. She made a show of glancing in all directions, then put a finger to her lips. "Now here's the fun part. Before sundown I want one of you back here with half a brick of krrf."
That raised eyebrows.
As she'd predicted, the day turned scorching, too hot for her usual fighting leathers. Yet she'd wanted to make sure she attracted attention, so she'd donned trousers and blouse of shining black, loose-fitting silk and spit-polished boots that rose almost to her knee, not quite high enough to conceal the hilts of the daggers stuck in each one. Over one shoulder she wore a leather strap to which a number of Bandaran throwing stars were attached; a simple twist easily freed them from their stud mountings. On her right hip she wore one more weapon -a gladius whose golden tang was fashioned to resemble the wings of a bird. Lastly, because she'd seen Zip do it, she'd tied a sweatband of clean white linen above her eyes.