Depths of Madness - Erik Scott De Bie [5]
A groan was the only reply forthcoming.
"Oh, come now," Twilight said. "You've had the count of at least three hundred to recover. Don't tell me you're still crippled."
"Only my pride," said Liet. "And the fact is, lass-" "Don't call me that," said Twilight. "I'm five times your age."
"Maid-"
"Not a maid either. None too young or overly innocent."
Liet flushed. From his expression, he hadn't considered it. "Then lady-"
"Not that either. Neither that old nor that rich, lad-of-twenty-eight-winters-or-so."
"How do you know how old I am?" "Trade secret."
Liet seemed hesitant to accept that answer, but since no other was coming, it would have to do. "Well. The fact is… you hit really hard."
Twilight rolled her eyes. She had to admit that bit.
She swung down-not complaining to be off the filthy pallet-and helped Liet up. He was handsome, with sandy, wavy hair. Other than the oddity of his mismatched eyes, she saw nothing remarkable about him. Not much in the way of muscle, even less grace, and a glass jaw-or, rather, groin. If he could've faced a goblin, fully armed and girded, and not soiled his breeches, Twilight would have been surprised.
She looked down at his hand clasping hers. Good grip, though.
"My thanks." Liet placed his hands protectively over his midsection. One of his sleeves slipped a finger's breadth and revealed gray, puckered flesh beneath. This one had been tortured, perhaps. He saw the gap, reddened, and covered the wrist.
Twilight yawned and returned to her pallet. There she flopped, letting one leg swing, and stared at the ceiling. The boy let out a breath and limped to his pallet.
A pause filled the space between them.
"So what do I call you, then?"
Twilight's pale eyes flicked in his direction. "Hmm?"
"Besides lass or lady, that is," said Liet with a shaky smile.
"The Fox-at-Twilight-princess of elves, seducer of kings, lover of gods. Shadowdancer and divine seeker." She made the titles suitably grandiose-convincing. Two of those were actually true. Then she yawned. "You can call me 'Light."
Liet blinked at her. "What kind of a name-"
"First rule, brightblade," she said, holding up a finger without looking at him. "No questions about me."
"But-"
"Second rule, jack: No questions about the rules."
"Well." Liet fidgeted, twisting his fingers in a way that looked almost like spellcasting. Twilight didn't feel the familiar resonance that would have meant use of the Art, though she supposed the aura of anti-magic would have spoiled it.
"Any other rules I should know about?" asked Liet. "I wouldn't want to break any of them accidentally-consequences, you know." He gave an unconvincing chuckle.
She examined the nails on her left hand. With her right, she held up three fingers.
"Aye?"
"No stabbing me in the back, and I won't return the favor." One finger uncurled.
"Simple enough." Liet shrugged. He pointed at her last raised finger. "And?"
A brief smile flickered across Twilight's face. "No falling in love with me."
Liet snorted. "Well, that's easy," he said. "I assure you, oh lovely hipskirts…"
He paused, perhaps to see if she had taken offense to that remark, which she hadn't. It was a somewhat more polite version of the phrase "pretty woman" than she was used to on the streets of Waterdeep or Westgate.
This was not, of course, to imply that she failed to address it.
"Oh, come now, lad," she said. "Longclaws, that's more appropriate, or slickhips, perhaps-as opposed to lickhips, which I don't recommend saying to anyone. Or, kisscloak, if you're feeling flirtatious. Or, if you feel witty-"
"Ahem!" Liet went even redder and hurriedly finished his thought, cutting her off there. "Oh, lovely hipskirts who shows little regard for my manhood-I shall have no difficulty with your rule the fourth." He thought he was being funny.
Twilight pursed her lips and nodded. "Oh, I have no doubt."