Sianim 01 - Masques

ground. It would have been easier to exit by normal means, but she took opportunities to practice wherever she could get them.
    Outside, the street torches were already lit for the night, but people were still wandering around. There was a friendly brawl going on at one of the pubs, with bystanders betting on the outcome.
    She inhaled deeply. The smell of Sianim was a fusion of sweat, horse, dust, and . . . freedom.
    Aralorn had grown up stifled by the restraints placed on women of the high aristocracy, even bastards like her. Reth might have outlawed slavery, but women of high estate were surrounded by a wall of rules strong enough to confine any drudge. If it hadn’t been for her father, she might have been forced into a traditional role.
    When the Lyon of Lambshold’s illegitimate daughter came to him and stated her objections to the constant needlepoint and etiquette lessons that his wife imposed on his daughters, he’d laughed—then taught her to ride like a man. He also taught her to fight with sword and staff. When she left home, he sent her off with his favorite warhorse.
    She had tried Jetaine but found that the women there were enslaved to their hatred of men. Aralorn had never hated men, she just hadn’t wanted to sit and sew all her life. She’d often wondered what it would have been like for her if she’d been born a merchant’s daughter, or someone who had to work for a living, instead of an aristocrat, who was expected to be decorative.
    The thought of herself as decoration was absurd. Even before she’d become battle-scarred, she’d been short, plain, and too willing to speak her own mind.
    Two big men in the rough, hooded garb favored by the farmers who serviced the town had been following her for the past few blocks, and now they were getting close enough to be worth paying attention to. Sianim might be used to women in its ranks, but outsiders could be bothersome, expecting a woman wearing pants and a sword to be a woman of loose morals who would sleep with any man who asked. A simple refusal could end in a nasty fight.
    Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the pair slink behind a cart she’d just passed. Her left hand went automatically to her sword. Her right already held a dagger. One of the thugs said to the other in a stage whisper meant to carry to her, “Squelch you, Talor, you lumbering ox. She saw us again. I told you to change those shoes. They make too much noise.”
    She laughed and spun around to face them, her dagger tucked invisibly back into her sleeve sheath. “You’re getting better, though. This time I honestly thought that you were just a couple of outsiders looking for prey.”
    The second one pushed the first sideways with a playful punch. “See, Kai? I told you that we’d do better blending in with the environment. Who pays attention to a couple of hog lovers in this place?”
    Kai twitched one eyebrow upward, managing, despite the dirt on his clothes, to look aristocratic. “However, if you had worn the shoes I told you to . . .” He let his voice trail off and flashed the wicked grin he shared with his twin brother.
    With practiced ease, he slipped out of his assumed character and flung an arm around Aralorn’s neck. “Well, my dear, it looks like I have you at my mercy.” Or at least that’s what he meant to say. Actually, thought Aralorn, the last word sounded more like “eyah” than “mercy.”
    She turned to Talor, and said, “I need to bathe in muck more often. It seems to work better than throwing him on the ground and making him look silly like I did the last time he tried to kiss me, don’t you think?”
    Old friends—the perfect answer to the frightening feeling that she was all alone. She’d served with both of them right up until the Spymaster had pulled her to his office and informed her she was changing jobs. Her gift of manipulating her superior officers had been noted as well as her ability to act without direct orders. Ren had been right—she was far better suited to spying than to warfare. Still, it was a lonely profession and she treasured her friends from the old days. Especially the ones smart enough that she didn’t have to lie. Talor and Kai were sharp and knew how not to ask questions.
    Talor assumed a serious demeanor, but before he could say whatever he intended to, Kai broke in. “Tell me, Lady, what villain gave you that perfume? Surely it must be cursed. Let me slay him for you that you may once again be your