Michael Manning - Mageborn - The Blacksmith’s Son

I will keep my reasons to myself, for they would only do you a greater hurt, one you do not deserve, for you have always been a gentle soul. I will say only that fate has conspired against me. I have done that which cannot be undone and it has left me with few options. Rather than be held a prisoner by those options I choose to act, hopefully preventing greater harm to others. I feel there is no redemption for Devon Tremont, just as there is none for me. At least my actions may lead to greater good, while his have done nothing but ill.

Last, and this is the most difficult part, for I fear it will cause you pain, I want to explain my feelings to you. My love for you is no recent thing, no sudden fancy. In our games as children you were always my knight in shining armor, though I doubt you realized it. Your kind heart and silly wit won me over during the endless summer days of childhood. I love you, and I always will, for whatever time is left to me. No matter what they say of me after this day do not forget that. There are others that love you though, and it is important you remember that. When I am gone do not let despair drive you to foolish choices, for you are important to a great many people, and I am least among them.

Yours forever,

Penny

“Dammit!” I swore. “Dorian, where did you get this?”

“Rose got it from one of the servers,” he answered.

I was already dressing. The doublet and hose would take far too long so I put on my simple breeches and tunic, the clothes I had arrived in. After a moment’s thought I put my mother’s surcoat over them and buckled on the sword my father had given me. Dorian’s eyes registered surprise at that. “You can’t wear a sword to the ball.”

“I’ll be damned if I don’t, and you might want to collect your own, we may need it.” I slipped my boots on. My fever had gone so I felt better, though I was lightheaded. I started for the door, then paused. A few quick words and I had shielded myself, I wasn’t certain what might happen but I wanted to be ready.

We went as quickly as I could manage, which was nearly a run despite the soreness in my back. My ribs no longer hurt but I was still short-winded from the damage to my lung. Dorian left me when we reached the ground floor, going to fetch his own sword I think, but I didn’t ask.

Back at the ball Penny was dancing. Rose had been a frustrating distraction, sending a variety of dancing partners her way, making it difficult for her to single out the man she sought. Lord Devon had solved the problem for her though. She had been watching him steadily while she danced with various partners and he had noticed her looks. After her dance with Gregory Pern he walked over with a curious expression.

Rose moved smoothly into his path, seeking to turn him aside, she could see he was focused on Penny, “Lord Devon, what a happy surprise to see you here tonight? I thought you might be busy tending your bruised pride.” Rose needled him, hoping to draw his anger.

“Excuse me Lady Rose, I believe the lady seeks a dance,” he answered with a sneer, brushing past her.

“Very perceptive of you Lord Devon,” Penny said with a sly smile. “I had little hope you would notice me.” She put her hands together and slid them up the sleeves till they were at her elbows.

“Would you care to dance?” Devon gestured at the milling dance floor.

“Certainly if my poor grace will be enough to entertain you,” Penny answered. She drew her arms apart and Rose was relieved to see her hands were empty. Devon took one of her hands and placed his free hand on her waist, slightly lower than was proper, but she did not complain. Penny had her other hand on his shoulder. She had planned and practiced for this and the dagger’s pommel was in her palm with the blade running up her forearm while her fingers held it still. Holding it reversed forced her to keep her wrist straight and her hand was stiff, but no one could see it, still hidden by her sleeve. Once she had her hand resting on his shoulder he would be unable to see the strange posture of her hand.

“I wonder at your motives,” Devon said, “to seek a dance with me.”

“I have had time to think, on our encounter a few nights ago,” she gave him a smouldering look.

“A small burn would lead most to seek to avoid the fire, lest they burn themselves again,” he replied.

“Some women find danger to be an aphrodisiac, once they have had time to get over their initial fear,” Penny leaned closer, placing her face against his neck.

Devon had met all manner of women and he knew some were quite twisted, but he could not help but think this maid was playing a subtle joke of some sort. “What of your blacksmith?”

She leaned back to look into his eyes, “He isn’t here tonight, and you my Lord… are…” she brought her lips up to meet his. She only needed to distract him for a moment while her hand moved up, letting the sleeve fall free, clearing the blade for its fatal plunge. Devon’s eyes widened for a moment, but her distraction worked for he failed to notice as her hand rose.

Penny held the long blade up, point carefully aimed so that it would strike between his shoulder blades, just below his neck. She would only get one chance, Forgive me Mort, she thought and then she tensed to drive the blade home. A scream went up from across the room, “Penny don’t!!” It was Rose Hightower, and her warning spoiled Penny’s careful plan.

Jerking her about Devon saw the blade and caught her wrist in his hand, twisting her arm violently, causing the blade to fall free and sending pain shooting up her arm, “You stupid girl!” he yelled and then he threw her to the stone dance floor. She started to rise but his boot caught her in her midsection. The air exploded from her lungs with an audible ‘whoosh’, leaving her choking and gasping on the ground.

“Damned whore! Did you think to slay me? Look at me you feeble minded trollop!” he screamed at her. Penny looked up and his second kick caught her in the face, sending her sprawling. She tried to rise but her arms slid out from under her. Something was in her eyes and the agony of her nose blinded her with pain. People were screaming now but she could not understand them.

Devon Tremont was laughing and he reached down to grab the back of Penelope’s head. He jerked her head up, delighted at the blood on her face. One eye was swelling and her nose looked as though it might be broken. “You’ll hang for this bitch!” he yelled at her drawing his fist back to strike her again.

I was almost to him when he pulled Penny’s head back and the sight of her battered face drove all reason from my mind. I grabbed his fist and jerked him around to face me as I hammered my right hand into his astonished face. The blow sent him reeling, stumbling back, and he fell. I advanced on him, determined to finish what I had started when one of the guards struck me from behind, staggering me.

I turned and saw the man staring stupidly at his broken truncheon. The heavy wooden weapon had snapped when it struck my head. I was glad I had shielded myself when I saw that. “Do that again and you’ll regret it,” I growled and looked back at Devon.

The young lord was back on his feet now, and my eyes could see he had put a shield around himself as well. He circled me warily, “Someone give me a sword!” he shouted. The guard behind me tossed him his own.

I glared at the guard, “I’m going to remember that.” I drew my father’s sword as I closed with Devon and we began our deadly dance. I call it a dance, but honestly I am no swordsman, I beat at him like an enraged farmhand with a club. His sword was moving too quickly for me to follow so I ignored it and hammered at him as if he were a side of beef to be cut up for market.