“That’s her!” Nadel nearly crowed in triumph, Tefila clapped once, the feral glitter of eagerness in her eyes turning Jahna’s stomach.
Oddly enough, Evaline seemed disinterested. Her features had softened with the come-hither smile she wore before the swordmaster questioned their wanderings in the palace. She waved a careless hand at her two companions as if the moments earlier, when she’d been all but foaming at the mouth to chase down Jahna, hadn’t existed. “We’ll catch up soon enough.”
Her brother’s new teacher was obviously as much a master of decorum as he was of the sword. His mouth turned up at the corner in a brief smile, and he placed a hand on his chest in a gesture of regret. “Ah, but it would be remiss of me to keep you. You might lose choice seats if you arrive to the supper late.” All three girls frowned. “I’d escort you there myself but I must meet with someone before then. Perhaps I’ll see you there later?”
It was a masterfully executed ploy. Nadel leaned to whisper something in Evaline’s ear, to which the other girl nodded before offering Radimar Velus another of her coy smiles. “Of course you’re right, Sir Velus, and we’ll be most pleased to see you at the festivities later.”
They wished him good day amid more smiles and flirtatious glances over their shoulders as they turned back the way they came, their pursuit of Jahna no longer of interest to them.
Jahna leaned her head against the wall, welcoming the stone’s frigid touch against her hot brow. She didn’t close her eyes but continued to watch the swordmaster where he remained in the hall. After a moment, his shoulders visibly relaxed, and he turned in her direction. “You can come out now.”
She hesitated, memories of a past scenario like this one, when she thought it was safe only to realize it wasn’t until too late, rose to haunt her. That event had taught her a valuable lesson regarding trust, one she never forgot.
Her ears strained to hear Evaline’s voice, but the only noise to reach her was the sound of her own breathing. Sir Velus said no more, simply waited, his own exhalations steaming out of his nose into the cold air in a ghostly cloud that quickly evaporated.
He’d known all along she was there, and his chance to reveal her to her pursuers had presented itself numerous times during their conversation. Instead, he’d deflected their pursuit and sent them away, all with a charming smile, a kind offer to help and a convincing lie told in a bewitching voice.
Jahna white-knuckled her cloak in both hands, pulled her hood over one side of her face as much as the garment allowed, and stepped out of her hiding place. Her savior said nothing as she slowly approached him. His change in position and her closer proximity revealed all the details of his features previously hidden from her view.
His voice was beautiful; his visage was not. The facial bones looked as if they’d been hewn from rock by a mason instead of chiseled away from marble by a sculptor. An unforgiving jawline and the deep hollows below his high cheekbones lent a harshness to his features that was enhanced by a thin-lipped mouth. The prominent nose edged toward hawkish, a fitting shape to match the intensity of his gaze.
He wasn’t handsome by the standards of Beladine society, but he wasn’t ugly either. The ruggedness of his features was softened by the most arresting pair of green eyes she’d ever beheld. Narrow and framed in dark lashes, they watched her from beneath elegantly arched eyebrows a shade darker than his glorious red hair.
Jahna had to swallow twice before she could speak without stuttering. “Thank you for not showing them where I hid.”
He gave a brief nod. “The leader of that little trio…”
“Evaline Lacramor.”
One of those auburn eyebrows arched. “Ah, Lord Lacramor’s whelp. Why am I not surprised?” His upper lip lifted in obvious contempt. “One of you and three of them. Do you think she would have been so eager to find you had it just been her?”
Jahna shrugged, startled by the faint sneering tone in his voice when he mentioned Lord Lacramor’s name and his not-so-subtle insult in calling Evaline a whelp. “Probably. She’s hated me since we first met when we were both small children.”
He didn’t ask her why Evaline hated her but steered the conversation in a different direction. His hard face softened, as did his voice. “You heard all that was said, but I’m happy to introduce myself again if you wish, my lady.”
She didn’t dare let down her guard, but she did permit herself a tiny smile. “That isn’t necessary, Sir Velus. I’m Jahna Uhlfrida, Marius Uhlfrida’s daughter.”
His bow to her was lower than it had been to the other girls. “Lady Uhlfrida, It’s a pleasure to meet you, though this isn’t how I imagined an introduction to one of his lordship’s family. Why did…” He paused and frowned as if trying his hardest to remember what she’d just told him.
“Evaline,” she said.
“Evaline. Why did Evaline call you Fireface?”
Her amusement at his purposeful memory lapse regarding Evaline’s name died a quick death at the question. Jahna had learned early how to position herself to another person when speaking with them so that the unmarked side of her face was what they saw. The head coverings, scarves and hairstyles she wore served the single purpose of obscuring the side disfigured by the purple stain that spread along the right side of her face from her forehead down to her collarbone and over to her ear.
At the moment, she presented her unmarked profile to Sir Velus, but his question forced her to face the inevitable indrawn breath, the flicker of revulsion not shuttered fast enough for her to miss, the involuntary step back, as if the mark she bore might be contagious.
Men were better at controlling their reactions than women, but not by much, and she steeled herself for the swordmaster’s response. It was unavoidable anyway. He would take up residence in her father’s household for four years as her brother’s teacher. Best to get the unpleasantness over with now.
She shifted to face him fully and drew back her hood first. Next, she tucked her hair behind her ear before pushing her scar further down her neck to expose the skin there. “This is why.”
No quick inhale, no leap back, not even the telltale glint in the eye that always gave away the most stoic observer, and best of all, none of the pity that horrified her more than any insult ever could. Either Radimar Velus was an expert at hiding his emotions, or he wasn’t repulsed by the mark that had been her burden since birth. She chose to believe her first assumption because it was impossible for her to believe the second.
He cocked his head to one side. “Ah, kissed by Yalda the Creator.”
Yalda, god of the sun, of spring, of the day. The festival they all gathered for and celebrated now in the depths of winter was in praise of Yalda, whose ascension after the longest night was only a day away. People had called Jahna’s birthmark many things, none of them complimentary. A kiss from Yalda was the first that wasn’t an insult.
She hurried to cover up. Despite the swordmaster’s surprising lack of reaction, she was uncomfortable with being so exposed. “You make it sound nice,” she said once she had adjusted her hood.
