I awoke early on the day of their departure. My sleep had been restless since learning of Parushi’s true identity, but my decision to send her with Nikith only made it worse. I needed some time and space to myself before sending her?—and the rest of the party?—off to Banghervari, so the night before I’d announced that I would be using a small courtyard to sharpen my weapons in the morning. Everyone had understood the unspoken command to leave me alone.
A trickle of sweat tracked down the back of my neck as I ran my dagger across the whetstone. It had been years since I’d done this, but I’d remembered my setup. There was a bucket for water, and my whetstones were laid out on the table in front of me from roughest to smoothest. It was a slow, repetitive task, but it gave me the space to work until my mind was as sharp as my blade.
I wiped the dagger and checked it in the sunlight before moving on to a finer stone. There was a comfort to the rhythm of the task. Each stroke unknotted some of the muscles in my back. I didn’t have to think about our suffering trade or Nikith’s reports or the fact that he was about to head off to Banghervari to negotiate for my country’s future.
And mine.
With Parushi in tow.
Someone entered the courtyard, but I ignored them. If they had any sense, they’d soon realize their mistake and would leave as quickly as they came. The footsteps stopped for a moment but then continued toward me.
Apparently, this person did not have any sense.
“Nobody is supposed to?—” I stopped short when I saw Thevan coming to stand beside me with his own set of sharpening stones in hand.
He didn’t say anything at first. He just started to work on his own blade, pausing only to wet a stone or inspect his dagger.
I got back to work too, and we continued, side by side, as if we were children just beginning our training once again. Back then, we’d been desperate to learn how to fight, but Jagath and my uncle had both insisted that if we wanted to learn how to use a blade?—any kind of blade?—we needed to learn how to care for it first. We’d spent countless hours sharpening our daggers until they shone before we were even allowed to set foot in a training yard.
I held my blade up and winced upon seeing the poor job I’d done. “I’ve lost my touch.”
Thevan grunted. “You never had any touch.”
“What do you mean?” I stood up straight. “Jagath never had any complaints.”
“He just made sure that you got far enough.” Thevan paused and looked at me. “Once, I tried to turn in a blade that looked the way yours used to. When my father said I needed to redo it, I told him that he was being unfair. He said that we were all learning the lessons we needed to learn. Samanth, Parushi, and I were training to be soldiers. You were training to be rajkumari.”
Thevan went back to sharpening. “And then my father reminded me that soldiers follow orders without question. He made me run twenty laps as punishment.”
I put my hands on my hips. “But my blades were always just as sharp as yours when we practiced! Sharper sometimes!”
“That’s because Parushi sharpened yours after you went off to your deportment class or tambura lessons or wherever you needed to go after training.” He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you ever notice the difference the next day?”
A memory hit me as he said that, and I realized that what Thevan said was true. I’d often admired the way my blades gleamed in the sunlight the morning after we’d sharpened them, but I’d known they hadn’t looked like that the day before. I’d long believed the only explanation I could think of at the time: “I... I just thought that they looked better when they were dry.”
Thevan stopped mid-stroke and looked at me, blinking for a moment before shaking his head and saying, “Poor Parushi!”
“It is not my fault that Parushi keeps so many secrets from me!” I snapped. “Spirits only know what else she’s hiding.”
“That’s what you’re taking from this? You find out that Parushi sharpened your weapons for years because she knew that Samanth and I couldn’t do it as well as her, and you’re angry at her?”
“I just don’t like being lied to.” I was nothing if not stubborn.
I got out my coarsest stone and began to sharpen again, determined to prove that I could do it just as well as anyone else.
“I don’t think Parushi ever wanted to lie to you,” Thevan said.
It was easy to ignore him as I focused on a particularly rough spot, determined to make it disappear.
Thevan sighed. He put one hand on top of mine, covering it as he stopped my short strokes. His calloused palm was firm, but he guided me gently, moving my hand so we ran the entire length of the blade over the stone before starting a new stroke.
“You shouldn’t be so focused on a single part that you forget the whole.” Thevan shifted closer beside me so his words tickled the back of my neck. “Parushi has always been a loyal friend.”
His hand still covered mine, but he looked only at the blade as we ran it over the whetstone, falling into rhythm together. Over and over, we sharpened the dagger from hilt to tip until all the bumps and imperfections disappeared beneath our caressing hands. Our arms aligned as I shifted toward him so his chest was just behind my right shoulder. He inhaled deeply; I wondered if he could smell the jasmine blossoms woven into my braid. His chin was now a hair’s breadth from my cheek, and sometimes his beard brushed against my skin, sending pinpricks down my spine and all the way to my toes. I sighed contentedly.
“What?” Thevan froze.
Spirits, what had we been talking about? How strong his hands were? How he made the air around us smell like leather? How having his warmth around me was better comfort than any blanket ever could be?
