Page 22 of The Scent of the Ideal

Viau let out a relieved breath, then clucked his tongue. “If it’s fatal, you shouldn’t feel anything. But let’s not test that.” He extended a hand to help Rafi to his feet, but looked away once Rafi was up, probably to whoever was watching. His hairline was dark, his nose shiny. Not even Viau could look heroic after an hour of play fighting, what Viau called sparring, which was both ridiculous and strenuous and Rafi was too tired to keep himself from smiling.

“Is your calf all right?” He thought he asked nicely.

Viau turned back to him with narrowed eyes, but pulled up the leg of his trousers and pushed down his boot to consider the red, slightly swollen line. Rafi had hit hard enough to mark him through even the leather. Viau’s mouth quirked up. “I’ll live. But that was dirty.”

“You said fighting got dirty when it was life or death.” Rafi didn’t mean it to be smart. Viau had said that and Rafi believed it. “You also said the rules were only to avoid serious injury and to stop if someone called to stop.”

“We decided on those rules,” Viau returned, sounding for all the world as if he was enjoying himself. “You are not innocent here, Rafeli Tizzan.”

It did not feel like being scolded, though perhaps it was meant to.

Rafi tugged his shirt down as much as he could to see the reddening mark over his heart and the larger circle at his shoulder. Viau was suddenly close, head bowed as he contemplated what he’d done, his breath warm, yet cool over Rafi’s damp skin.

“Two to one,” he declared, glancing up to Rafi’s startled face. Rafi didn’t know why he was startled, only that his heart skipped. Viau gave him a smile. “I win.” That had never been in doubt. Which might have also been on Rafi’s face, because Viau straightened and said, “A sword slashed precisely at the calf and I might not ever walk normally again. That was shameless and it was beautiful. You’re a ruthless thing, you know.”

It might have been goading. Rafi couldn’t tell.

When he frowned, Viau let out a sigh. “We should probably stop for the day. You have courses and will need to wash up.”

Rafi sniffed himself, abruptly aware of a scent that wasn’t Viau or the ceribud trees. “The uneven ground,” he explained and stepped back to keep his stink to himself. “It’s a new challenge. They ought to have us train out here too, for the exercise but also to remind us to watch our surroundings.”

“A serious, ruthless thing.” Viau squinted up at the sky when Rafi turned toward him in confusion. He was still smiling, so he must have been teasing Rafi again. “It’s a good idea. They did used to do some practice chases in the obstacle courses, or so I hear. Something that happened after a duke and his family had to flee through a forest in the night, with their swersoldi for protection but no soldiers. I’m not sure why they stopped. An injury, probably. Or perhaps just how swersoldi are needed less and less for their original purpose. A blessing, though it might not seem like one.”

Something in the words made Rafi’s stomach tighten.

“But then….” He shut himself up and tried again. “Never mind. I understand what you mean.” Swersoldi not being needed meant less blood, less death. It was a blessing, though the idea scared him.

Viau focused on him. “‘But then?’”

“But then where will we go, those who end up here? It’s nothing,” Rafi added. “Selfish of me to think of it.”

“No, not selfish.” Quiet. “And believe it or not, this is also on the king’s mind.”

Rafi hoped he controlled his expression for that. “Did you mention it to him?”

Viau reached above them to pluck a ceribud that had not bloomed yet and then came over to Rafi, perhaps not minding Rafi’s stink too much.

“Another cousin of mine… a few, actually, wanted to come with me to the academy when they were younger,” Viau revealed, not elaborating on if these were more royal cousins or not. “They liked the time away from home, or the idea of it, and the concentrated learning, even if it is somewhat focused on weaponry and noble habits. It seems a good place, in theory, to send some restless young nobles, of which there are too many, to learn some more practical skills. Or perhaps to be taught subjects the king would like be studied by someone outside of a mage’s laboratory or in the library of a rival country. Academy Trianon does not have to be merely one thing.”

“Nobles here?” Rafi asked as though he wasn’t one, then winced when Viau raised an eyebrow because Tizzan was not a commoner’s name. “Real nobles,” Rafi added. “The wealthy and powerful.” And likely the spoiled, if they were royal cousins.

“There are extra children among the higher noble houses too.” Viau made his voice soft. It might not have carried despite the strange echoes of the courtyard. “And there is much to learn, to know. We could do well having an institution supported by the king that would encourage studies—studies that might give an advantage entirely different from an army, or even a very well-trained personal guard. But it is only talk for now. Cease your worrying, if you please.”

“I don’t always worry,” Rafi grumbled, then stiffened at his lack of manners for the heartbeat before he saw the amusement in Viau’s face. “If I worry, it’s because I have reason to. There’s no one….” He turned his head. “I should probably try to get something to eat before my training round today. It’s not with a dummy,” he informed Viau lightly. “But I’ll be in the proper kit.”

“Take care that you only wear my bruises,” Viau answered, and reached out to tuck Rafi’s hair behind his ear, or so Rafi assumed, oddly used to the action from Viau though he shouldn’t be. “Shall we do this again tomorrow morn—no, I can’t. In three days, if your schedule permits?”

Rafi stared at him, and nodded, and thought he ought to say something with Viau looking at him but couldn’t think of what he ought to say while subject to such a look.

It was not scolding or sharp. Neither was it teasing or playful. It would have made him warm if he hadn’t been flushed already.

Then Viau pushed out a small breath and inclined his head before stepping away, stooping to pick up their abandoned swords before heading to one of the paths.

Rafi turned his head to follow him and the ceribud slipped from behind his ear and landed in the top of his shirt, as red-pink as the mark Viau had left behind.

Chapter Eight

Three days later, Viau struck him in the same spot on his shoulder, deliberately, Rafi was sure. As a reminder to keep his guard up and probably because he knew the increased pain would distract Rafi.