Masquerades - Kate Novak [146]
Olive smiled, delighted to be convinced of something for a change. "What is it you can do, Winnie?" she asked.
"The name is Winterhart, and I prefer Miss Winterhart," the younger halfling corrected. "I would make a suitable lady's companion. I am trained in human customs and dress. I am also skilled with the sword, dagger, and bow, and can provide protection for the young mistress."
Olive looked with some surprise at Winterhart. "Think fast!" she snapped and threw her half-full mug at the younger halfling.
Miss Winterhart dodged slightly to her right, her left hand snaking up and snaring the mug by its handle. She set it down smoothly without spilling a drop and slid it back in Olive's direction.
Olive's reflexes were too deadened by drink to stop the mug in time. It slid into her lap, drenching her with its contents of liquor-laced ale. Olive stood up and cursed.
"Drinking is a filthy habit," Winterhart declared. "I have no truck with it."
Olive cursed some more as she tried unsuccessfully to brush the liquid from her leggings.
"And bad language is another thing," Winterhart added primly. "Foul words lead to foul deeds."
Olive did not reply. She studied Winterhart as carefully as she was capable of in her inebriated condition. The girl had fast reflexes and a strong will. If she was telling the truth about being skilled with weaponry and proved to have a modicum of halfling sense, she might be just the sort of woman suitable to take over as Thistle's bodyguard.
There was something else about Winterhart that impressed Olive. It was not the woman's sobriety and primness, but what Olive sensed, or imagined she sensed, lay behind those traits. Winterhart had been hurt somehow, in the past, and she held herself tightly in check so that she didn't fall apart. It didn't make her a powerful ally, but it meant she had just the sort of strength Olive lacked. Nothing, Olive realized, could take away the pain of Alias's death. With Winterhart behind her, however, Olive knew she would find the courage to avenge the swordswoman's death. She would make the Night Masks pay for Alias's murder, and if she found out Victor Dhostar was involved, she would make him pay, too.
Had Olive been sober, such an unrealistic goal might never have occurred to her-she was far too cautious. She was not sober, though, and she saw in Winterhart not just a halfling seeking employment, but a sign from the gods.
"Mistress Ruskettle, do you have an answer for me?" Winterhart demanded.
Olive smiled grimly at the other halfling. "All right," she agreed. "I'll give you a trial period. But I'll be watching you like a hawk!"
Miss Winterhart nodded. "I don't fear being watched, Mistress Ruskettle. As for trials-" Winterhart's eyes focused on something in the distance, and her voice trailed off as she spoke. "-I am quite used to trials," she said.
Olive watched the younger halfling's gaze as it followed the progress of the new croamarkh's carriage away from the Tower. "Some trials are more difficult to bear than others," Olive muttered, though she spoke not to Winterhart, but for her own benefit.
*****
"Blast them all to Baator!" Lord Victor thundered as he strode into the main hallway of Castle Dhostar. He threw his cloak at the footman. The butler appeared briefly, but upon seeing the look on his master's face, he retreated back into the servants' quarters, unwilling to deal with the young lord unless called upon to do so.
Victor stormed into the library, where Kimbel was calmly reviewing piles of Mintassan's books and scrolls. In the center of the table hovered a glowing sphere that the assassin had stolen from Blais House when he'd retrieved the swordswoman's armor.
"Difficult day running the city?" Kimbel queried as he rose and crossed to a sideboard. He poured a generous amount of Evermead into a glass and carried it to his master.
Victor had thrown himself in a chair and sat there brooding.
"I think this land was once completely forested," the croamarkh