He was a fool ever to have encouraged her. A fool to have taught her. A fool not to have taken her by force and ended her silliness. He could bring her to good sense. Pleasure itself could seduce her away from her lunacy.
That was what was the matter with her, anyway. Her first experience with men had put fear in her, driven her away from what was womanly and twisted all her thinking. He could cure that. No woman he had ever slept with had complained of the experience. She certainly would not.
Damn, damn, and damn. Give the bitch straightforward conditions. Tie her hand and foot if he had to. No more negotiations.
Why in hell had he backed up and gone for the sword, to match her even?
Could nine years take that much away from a man?
You're off your center, master Saukendar. . . .
She had said not a word this morning, not had her bath, nor had he: he had only pulled himself to his feet and dressed, opened the shutters for light and started breakfast before he brought her clothes to her.
They had had no supper, the morning was cold and wet, and she had dressed and sat down in a lump on the matting, not near the fire, not near him.
But the food brought a little interest when he gave it to her and sat down. She at least attacked it with appetite.
"I said we would talk," he said then.
She did not look at him. Or stop eating.
"I tried to tell you in words," he said. "You wouldn't hear words. You won't believe me. You insist to be a man. Then take a beating like one, take my advice like one, and listen to me when I tell you haven't the reach, you haven't the weight, you haven't the strength, and unlike a boy, you won't grow into it. You won't succeed at this. There are other things to do with your life. There are other things worth having."
Long silence. She took another bite and never looked at him.
"I want you to stay here," he said. "I'll go on teaching you. I'll teach you everything you can learn. But give up this notion of revenge. It's not going to buy you anything but grief. Someday you can be very good. Someday you might have a son or a daughter to teach."
She looked up at him the way a tiger might, glancing up from its meal.
"I'm very fond of you," he said.
It got nothing but that stare.
"Have I deserved to be hated?" he asked her. He had argued cases before the Emperor and before high magistrates and felt less at risk. "You came to my mountain, you disturbed my peace, you demanded this, you demanded that, you insisted I not touch you, all of which I've granted; and now I deserve a look like that?"
There was a little tightening of her mouth. A blink.
"Or are you sulking because you've lost? That's not manly behavior. Are we changing the rules today?"
The mouth trembled. The eyes flashed. "You caught me by a damn trick. I didn't lose. You cheated."
"We're not talking about games, girl. You're talking about killing a man. Is he an honest man? Not by anything I know of him. So where is this talk about rules and tricks? Where is any man that will fight duel with a woman? Have you killed, yes. Meet you fair he won't, for his pride's sake. Cut off your hand for carrying a weapon. That, he will. But I haven't taught you to go killing honest men. They're the only ones who'd deal fair. Don't ever take your opponent's word for anything. That's the lesson."
Her face had lightened a little.
"But there's another one," he said. "And that's that you're not equal to this. Give up this notion. Stay here. I'm not a cruel man. Everything I've done, I've done trying to stop you from a mistake. Stay and you'll see I'm not the ogre I've been. I don't even say you should share my bed, though I won't say I don't hope you'd want to."
She shook her head.
"No," he read that. "But no to what?"
"No."
"Taizu, for gods' sake, talk."
She set her bowl down on the mat in front of her. And stared at it and frowned.
"Taizu—"
She held up her hand, asking quiet. So he was quiet, and waited, and after a moment she said:
"Are you going to interrupt me?"
"No," he said.
A moment more she stared at the floor, her hands on her knees. Then: "You cheated to beat me. I didn't expect that of my teacher. I should have, you're right, and I won't forget it, master Saukendar. I wouldn't have trusted anyone else. Now there isn't anybody." Her chin trembled, and she lifted her hand, insisting on his silence until she had regained her calm. "I told you my bargain. I'll cook and I'll clean. And I'll stay another year. I haven't quit. You'll go on teaching me and you won't cheat me: teach me what I need to win. Whatever it is."
She's grown, he thought, dismayed. She's learned that much. All right. Another year and more time, and maybe that's the cure for everything. Then she'll come to her senses. Otherwise she can find ways to escape. And damned if I want to track her down.
"I haven't quit. It's still your word."
"You've failed, girl. That's the bargain."
"No. Till I quit, you said. You can't change that just because you say something different."
"Dammit, quit means when you can't learn any more. And you've gotten there. You're going to kill yourself."
She shook her head solemnly and looked at him with hard reproach, tears brimming.
"Dammit," he said aloud, "you could have a broken back. Or a broken skull."
"If you'd been able to hit me."
"If I'd been able! Girl, you're sadly mistaken."
"Maybe I am. I don't know. You said you weren't playing fair. Maybe you weren't telling the truth. Maybe you lied to me about that too. How do I know?"
"Damn your impudence."
"I haven't quit. That's the truth, master Saukendar."
He was quiet a time more, his breakfast cold and mostly untouched. He poked at it, and set the bowl down with a queasiness in his stomach.
"Are you going to keep your word? They never said you lied."
"I have kept my word."
"Are you going to?"
Backed to the wall. "Yes."
"Are you going to cheat me this time?"
"You need to learn respect for your teacher, girl. Your failures are nature's, not mine. I can't help your incompetence."
"You worked all year to try to stop me. What else do you call it, when you taught me everything so you could beat me and make me think I'd lost?"
"You did lose, fool. I did precisely what you asked. It's taken you a year to get smart enough to ask what you need, rather than telling me. Shut up," he said, lifting a hand for silence as she opened her mouth. "And listen to me. I gave you your say. Let's first of all have the habit of listening, shall we? You want to walk into a castle and murder a man. How will you do that? Walk in the front gate and say: Here I am, a woman, come to challenge lord Gitu to a duel? Is that your plan? It's got bad holes in it, girl."
"I wait till he's hunting. Then I don't have to walk in the gates."
So. We are thinking. So we teach her the right way, the slow way. Teach her prudence, for the gods' sake. That goes with the skills. It's damned well the thing she needs. Prudence, patience, and an understanding what she's up against. "Let's calm down and think, then, girl, about the real world, not your imaginings. So you meet him in the countryside. He's on a horse. He's got a good twenty other men around him. Better shoot him from ambush. That's your best chance. And then you've got to get out of there, because those twenty men are going to be after you. Have you got a horse?"
Her eyes were on him now, hot and dark and red-rimmed from recent tears. "I want to kill him. I want him to know he's going to die. I want him to see me plain."