Wicked Skill

Sherwood Smith

Description

In this fantasy of manners we have two displaced young kings, one shopkeeper's daughter who went away an ugly duckling and returns five years later a beautiful and highly skilled swan, and a young queen who is master of all she surveys . . . until she isn't. The result is the last summer of love and adventure on the eve of cataclysm.The Wicked Skill, from a poem by John Donne, duels and dances with discovery of the many facets of love--set against a background of revolution, one conducted through manners, the other by swashbuckling youths who think life is a game . . .

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Book View Cafe
• Date de parution: 31 mai 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781636320601
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Wicked Skill
Sherwood Smith

I fix mineeye on thine, and there Pity my picture burning inthine eye; My picture drown'd in atransparent tear, When I look lower I espy; Hadst thou thewicked skill By pictures made and marr'd, to kill, How many ways mightst thou performthy will? But now I've drunk thy sweet salttears, And though thou pour more,I'll depart; My picture vanished, vanish allfears That I can be endamaged bythat art; Though thou retainof me One picture more, yet that willbe, Being in thine own heart, from allmalice free.
-John Donne

Book View Café edition May 31, 2022 ISBN: 978-1-63632-060-1 Copyright © 2022 Sherwood Smith
www.bookviewcafe.com
Table of Contents
Map of Sartor Continent
ONE
TWO
THREE
Royal palace in Alsais, capital of Colend
FOUR
FIVE
Bereth Ferian
Eidervaen, Capital of Sartor
SIX
SEVEN
Detlev’s House, Western End of Sartor, to Eidervaen
EIGHT
Athanarel, royal palace in Remalna-city, Remalna
NINE
Bereth Ferian
Alsais, capital of Colend to Colend’s border
TEN
Bereth Ferian to Shiovhan, capital of Enaeran
ELEVEN
TWELVE
Alsais, capital of Colend
Shiovhan, capital of Enaeran
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
County Ariath, Colend
EIGHTEEN
Shiovhan, capital of Enaeran
NINETEEN
Bais-on-the-Shore, South of Sartor’s Border
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
Eidervaen, capital of Sartor
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
Shiovhan, capital of Enaeran
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
Eidervaen, capital of Sartor
TWENTY-NINE
Shiovhan, capital of Enaeran
THIRTY
Eidervaen, capital of Sartor
Shiovhan, capital of Enaeran
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
Eidervaen, capital of Sartor
THIRTY-THREE
Sartor to Remalna-city, capital of Remalna
THIRTY-FOUR
Alsais, Capital of Colend
THIRTY-FIVE
Shiovhan, capital of Enaeran
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
Eidervaen, capital of Sartor
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
Outside of Shiovhan, in Enaeran
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
Alsais, capital of Colend
FORTY-SEVEN
Shiovhan, capital of Enaeran
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
About the Author
Also by Sherwood Smith
Copyrights & Credits
About Book View Café
Map of Sartor Continent
ONE
This summer interlude I have the honor to relate is a storyof revolution and of romance. It is a story of two young kings without thrones.It might be said that is a story of revolution by rose, and a story of revolutionwith no roses.
This is also the story of a shopkeeper’s daughter who oncesaved the world, then went away to learn who she was. It is a story of trustand betrayal; it is about the different faces of love, and it is about the sovereigntyof music.
I invite the reader to follow me, for a short time, awayfrom Sartorias-deles and to its sister world, Geth-deles, forever circling thesun Erhal opposite one another.
In this world, made up of uncounted islands in aworld-spanning sea, we come to a very small island midway in a set ofarchipelagos, where a one-person boat has just skimmed into the tiny harbor.
“Sister Orchid is back!”
Word spread from the ten-year-old girls weeding in thegarden to the white-haired eldest reading reports at the other end of the ramblingbuilding
The place: an old and famous mage school exclusive to thosewho identified as women, built centuries ago above a quiet bay on an island onthe world called Geth-deles, opposite to Sartorias-deles in circling around thesun Erhal.
The time: afternoon, as rainclouds departed.
Prospective students left their names at the door; over thepast few years a medium-tall, reed-slim girl who now appeared to be somewherein her mid to late teens had worked her way up the ranks to become the currentSister Orchid.
The young gardeners paused to watch Sister Orchid bring her sailboatto the end of the floating dock and tie it down one-handed. She swung herbaldric over her unbandaged shoulder, and patted her rapier into place with nearlyfive years of unthinking habit. Gazes raked over her oval face dominated bylarge eyes so light a brown they looked golden in most light, framed by tousledwheat-colored braids swinging against her hips, thence to the arm in a sling.
Questions semaphored between the girls—would Sister Orchidbe promoted to become the new Sister Sandpiper, or would she be sent toseclusion for being two months late, and where had she been, anyway?—untilcalled to order by the supervising elder sister, who added, “I’m certain we’llfind out soon enough what happened. Once we finish our weeding.”
The quicker ones got the hint and began to yank weeds withnew vigor as Sister Orchid slipped inside the heavy outer doors, relicts of wilderdays.
Sister Orchid crossed the outer court, encountering morefriends among the students, young and old, but no one impeded her as she walkeddown the tiled halls cooled by breezes off the tended waterways, the hiss ofher sandals the only noise.
By the time she reached the office of the Eldest, the seniorstaff had agreed on who would remain to interview the late arrival.
The three women sat on cushions as Sister Orchid entered andput her hands together in the gesture of respect all Ones extend to each other,youngest candidate to the eldest, their chief. The three mirrored her greeting,and the oldest indicated the cushion placed before them.
Sister Orchid unslung her baldric and set it aside, her packnext to it, before sitting cross-legged with the unconscious grace thatcharacterized her. A wince tightened her features as her elbow in the sling joggedagainst her knee, indicating that the wound in her shoulder was fresh.
“I apologize for the long silence,” she said—tired enoughthat a slight trace of accent rounded her vowels. “I dared not trust magiccommunications. It was compromised. And I couldn’t find any Sister Ones to password through.”
The eldest leaned forward, hands on knees. “Word might havebeen impossible—we all know that events can overtake one—but rumors havereached us of duels, manifold inquiries still being prosecuted in fourdifferent courts of appeal, and the smoking ruins of a government?”
“All that in two months?” The middle mage, she of the saltand pepper hair, straightened upright. “I am astonished you were not gone twoyears.”
The youngest said, “Of course it would be you, the beststudent we’ve had in generations.”
The eldest sat back: neutrality, surprise, eagernesstempered with flattery. How would this brilliant young sister respond?
Sister Orchid dropped her gaze to the arm curled againsther. “Anyone who’d been sent to that particular Sister One at that particulartime would have done the same. Or better,” she breathed, suppressing theinstinct to touch her throbbing shoulder.
“Were you then a messenger or a catalyst?” the eldestmurmured, white brows raised.
Many prospective candidates who had longed to join theexclusive, prestigious and powerful mage school could not encompass thetraining that channeled the instincts of competition and self-importance intoacting for the good of the group, but that had never been the wounded girl’sproblem. The self-denial of her early childhood had nearly driven her toself-immolation.
Long, dark lashes framing those thoughtful golden eyeslifted. “I had to act. Fast. There was no one else, and you train us incovert movement as well as in defense.”
“You fought the assassin yourself?” the eldest asked.
“Yes.”
The girl before them—not born on Geth—had soared up the levelsfrom beginner to advanced in all subjects and skills, faster than any studentin memory, and in certain regards she was advanced beyond some instructors.
But, the eldest reflected, in crucial ways she was still so veryyoung.
“We would like to think so,” said Sister Clematis, she of thesalt-and-pepper hair, “but we all have strengths and weaknesses. Not everysister, sadly, would do as well against a trained assassin.” She lookedpuzzled. “And yet, from your words, that would seem to have been your first encounter,two months ago. But you move as though the wound under that bandage is quitefresh.”
“It is. The assassin I disarmed with no blood shed, and isin trial now. This wound is from another duel, one I lost two days ago.” Thegolden eyes shuttered as memory gripped viscerally: the brush against her earof soft hair that had never known weather until recently, the accented whisper, I’m sorry, but my orders are clear. And I had none about you . Then thelightning-fast feint and the cold/hot shock of honed steel sliding deep intoher shoulder. “I could not save a friend’s brother from being taken byNorsunder.”
“I am sorry to hear that, and I share your grief,” the eldeststated mildly. “But we are waiting for your summary of previous events.”
Out it came, in exemplary concision, as the girls weretaught: no false modesty or coy self-effacement, no brag. Simply—or dauntingly—aseries of events beginning with a spoken message that led to the rescue of aguild chief who’d reported evidence of embezzlement. After that, the fight todisarm the assassin, whose thoughts during the duel had revealed clues to asecret cadre poised to overthrow what turned out to be a corrupt government.This government, she had discovered, was busy dividing among themselves thevanishing treasury of an island group, while inventing a naval crisis to covertheir actions.
The naval crisis—a pirate attack orchestrated from withinthe government—led to a harbor battle that ranged up into the capital buildings.All headlong events, each propelled by the revelation of secrets requiring instantdecision, action, reaction, all accelerated by the intensity of emotion,because there is always a human cost.
“ . . . and then I was taken to meet Daumnek-Pol Leteur,leader of the sea guild defenders, whom the government had been blaming forattacks, treason, and insurrection, but in my interview I discovered that hehad spoken the truth all along.”
Sister Orchid brushe