Story - 1000 Victories I
Jun. 7th, 2008 03:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrMuch love to Nikery and Alice, who beta'ed for my impatient self.
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stardance, I hope you are content with your birthday story ^_^
In two posts, curse you LJ!
The thrill of victory flooded his veins, hot and fierce, curling in his belly like a good brandy or a fine toss in the sheets.
Epee smirked at Sharp, meeting the furious gaze unflinching. "That is victory to me, today, my dearest Lord. You put on a fine show, as always, and provide some modicum of challenge."
Oh, he did like far too much to see Sharp's eyes flash with anger. The very color of the chocolate he drank every morning for breakfast. Dark eyes and pale hair, a beautiful contrast. Too bad there was such a temper behind it.
Then again, that temper only ever seemed to flare when Epee entered his line of vision. It hadn't always been thus, but it had been such for so long, Epee had all but forgotten a time when Sharp did not wish to run him through.
Seven years ago, that had been. Ever since Mace had accused him of cheating, and Sharp had believed it – even when his name had been cleared, Sharp had never really trusted him again.
Which, in the end, was exactly what Mace had wanted, in the end, the scum.
He lifted his sword in a salute, dismissing the stale thoughts. A hundred times he'd gone over them, but in not more than a month the unpleasant memories would vanish forever.
Usually, he liked to linger and gloat just enough to make Sharp snarl. Today, however, he was too excited to do anything but sheath his sword and depart.
Abandoning the dueling square, Epee made his way through the crowded streets of the city, headed for the little warehouse at the edge of the city he had rented. Without his father's knowing, because if his father knew he was engaging in anything as vulgar as trade, he would disown Epee on the spot.
Normally he would not care, but…so close, he was so very close, and he could not, would not, jeopardize the victory of a lifetime by permitting his father to discover how he spent his free time.
Moving through the still relatively empty warehouse, he pushed open the rickety door in the back and sat down at his desk – not the best, certainly nothing like the thing of beauty in his room back home, but it belonged to him, not his father, and that made it precious.
Opening a bottle of ink and drawing a quill, he pulled out the small book tucked into the pocket of his waistcoat. It was small, only slightly larger than the palm of his hand, made of leather worn butter-soft by years of use.
Inside, nearly every page was neatly lined with numbers – one through one thousand. Beside nearly every number was a date.
Only 999 and 1000 were blank.
Dipping his quill, he carefully wrote out the current date beside the number 999.
One more. Epee could scarcely draw breath. Only one more duel and Sharp would be his.
Well, he hoped. But surely…
He shoved the book away to let the ink dry, and stood to prowl restlessly through the warehouse.
It was still largely empty, only having been acquired in the past month. One day, though…one day it would be filled to overflowing with all manner of merchandise. Spices and wines, antique blades and bolts of fabric…
The idea of it was almost as wonderful as the idea of finally being able to call Sharp his own.
One more. His heart seemed to beat the words over and over again in his chest, driving them up into his head until it seemed near to burst with it.
You are too picky, Sharp! That is the third woman you have made cry this week! I think even the men walk away with wet eyes.
Well, you may complain, but twenty years from now you will be bemoaning the lovers with whom you are saddled. I will await a perfect companion, and be the happier at the end for it.
Oh? Then do tell us, Lord Sharp, what is your idea of a perfect companion?
Someone who is not weak.
Ha! You would never tolerate anyone who might best you with that blade you wear like it is part of your flesh.
On the contrary, someone who can beat me would be quite intriguing.
Fie on that! I beat you yesterday.
A lucky break. I do not mean once or twice, or upon occasion. I mean someone who can really beat me. Yes, that sounds like someone I would keep.
What the devil does 'really beat' mean? Be clear, Sharp!
Not you, how is that for clear? Not good enough? Hmm…well, how about someone who can beat me one thousand times?
You are demanding, and picky, and ask the impossible. Steward, more wine!
They'd all been drunk at the time – outrageously drunk, and more than a few pieces of club furniture had met their end that night. He recalled that only because everything about that night was etched into his mind as deeply as his own name.
Not that he had been part of it; they probably had not even noticed he was there. He was always there, tucked into his corner to study the night away – where he could watch the table nearest the windows, the table of which Sharp and his friends, all of them two years Epee's senior, made regular use.
Where he could watch Sharp, with whom he'd been so infatuated after meeting him soon after his arrival at school.
Sharp who had never noticed him, had not even remembered their being introduced.
Not until the first time Epee beat him at swords, a mere two days after that damned conversation.
That had been victory number one, and nine years later he was one victory away from meeting Sharp's challenge. One more victory, one more blank to be filled in his book, and he would be perfect for Sharp.
Nine years was a lot of time to realize and admit he was stupid, that as drunk as he was Sharp probably did not even recall that long ago conversation. But somewhere along the way, infatuation had turned into obsession, and obsession had grown and matured and blossomed into love.
He froze as the main door creaked open, but relaxed when he recognized the figure in the doorway. "Well, well, the grand and glorious Master Swordsman's apprentice, come to visit his humble stepbrother."
"Epee, there are many words to describe you," Dagger retorted, "and humble is not one of them. I was coming to visit Hammer and heard you got into yet another duel with Sharp. One of these days, the two of you are going to kill each other."
Summoning a smile was easy; jests and laughs and levity were always easy to summon. He threw an arm around Dagger's shoulders and steered him back out of the warehouse. "Nonsense, Main Gauche. Lord Sharp is madly in love with me and simply does not know any other way to express it. One of these days, he will come to his senses and be even more embarrassing to look upon than you when you gaze with star-struck eyes upon his Highness."
"I do not," Dagger hissed. "Stop calling me that."
"What? Your name?" Epee asked blandly, and this time the grin was genuine.
Dagger all but stamped his foot. "You have everyone calling me that now! It's not my name!"
"Main Gauche!" The cries came from across the street, a flock of girls giggling and smiling and waving as they passed by. Others took notice, adding their own cries and greetings.
Epee snickered, and dragged his brother along. "Your cheeks are red, my dear Main Gauche. Aren't you used to your new fame?"
"Shut up," Dagger said. "Just shut up. I have blackmail against you now, so do what I say."
"Well, if you're going to be that way," Epee said with an exaggerated sniff – it was true, except that Dagger would never really consider such a thing. Without Dagger, he never would have been able to acquire the warehouse without his father finding out.
Not that he'd act too grateful; that would not be acting as people expected.
Dagger rolled his eyes and shrugged off the arm still draped across his shoulders. "Would you like to come eat lunch with Hammer and I?"
"That sounds splendid. Let me nip back to retrieve a few things I left in the warehouse."
"Meet us at the Blue Fish, then," Dagger replied, and with a wave vanished into an alleyway to avoid the crowded streets.
Epee returned quickly to the warehouse, striding to the back to retrieve his book. His fingers brushed feather-light across the fresh entry, heart speeding up again even as he tried to remind himself it would likely not go the way he had hoped and dreamed and imagined over the past nine years. How could it?
Yet he could no more give up that hope than he could breathing. He had worked too hard to give up so lightly. Until Sharp looked at him and refused his suit, he would persevere. "One more," he said softly, and damned if he would not make it the greatest duel, the greatest victory, in his long years of dueling.
Back outside, he quickly retraced part of the route he and Dagger had taken before. Having no need to avoid the crowds, he eschewed the side streets and alleys and kept the main streets. He whistled as he walked, enjoying the throng, the hustle and bustle of ordinary life, so different from the reserved, stately streets where his father's townhouse resided.
To think someday soon it would be his own wares and merchandise being sold in these shops and markets. Most – if not everyone – would call him stupid or foolish or eccentric, and likely far worse besides, but he could not help himself. Noble life was stifling.
He was not so naïve as to think the poor peasant life idyllic, but there was much to be said for carving his own path. Look at how well it had worked for Dagger to do what he wanted; Epee could only admire him. If he tried, he did not doubt he could be quite successful a merchant.
By pure habit he slowed down as he passed by the dueling square, looking to see who might be occupying it now he and Sharp had finished – and nearly fell flat on his face as his step faltered.
No.
No, no, please dear god above no..
Not Mace. Not stupid, obnoxious, evil, ugly Mace.
Epee swallowed around the lump of dismay in his throat and kept walking, forcing himself to smile and whistle and act as though he did not care – did not notice, in fact.
Mace.
Sharp's oldest, dearest friend.
The stupid bastard who had accused Epee of cheating seven years ago. Who had poisoned Sharp against him, and so very nearly ruined everything.
Damn it. How had he not known Mace was back? He'd been overseas for six and a half years; why could he not stay gone just a month or two more? Why had he returned now? Epee wanted to scream in frustration and agony.
He paused near the turnoff to the small street where he would be meeting Dagger and Hammer, keeping to the crowds and shadows as he turned to look once more toward the dueling square.
Epee knew he was attractive. His hair was light brown with the faintest hints of red, just past his shoulders and healthy, with just a hint of wave. His eyes were hazel, nothing special, but he'd been complimented on their clarity before. Much of his time was spent in fencing, the rest of it in walking back and forth across the city as he secretly pursued his merchant prince dream. He was tall and lithe and fit. None of his one night lovers had ever complained about him.
For all that, he could not even begin to compete with bloody Mace.
Tall and broad and strong, with the sort of golden features about which sonnets were composed, and women sighed and giggled. In school, he'd never spent a night alone, and Epee doubted that had changed since they had finished school. Being abroad had given his skin a deep gold tone, and he wore clothes that were fine enough for royalty.
Sharp came just to his shoulder, and stood as close to Mace as only friends would, smiling in a way that he never had at Epee.
No, he could not even begin to compete with Mace. His only real moment of good fortune had been Mace's announcement that he was going abroad for several years.
Epee turned away, appetite vanished as he realized his plans might well and truly come to naught now. Mace had never liked him, for reasons Epee had never been able to deduce. Now that he was back, and after learning of all the duels he had fought with Sharp…if he did not know of them already…
It did not bear thinking upon.
Feeling utterly wretched, Epee stopped once more, pulling in deep breaths and letting them out slowly. Bit by bit, he managed to dredge up his smiles, his jests, his carefree manner.
Then, and only then, did he finally enter the tavern and look for Dagger, who beckoned him eagerly and ordered a fresh round of drinks.
*~*~*
"Bastard."
Sharp looked up at the softly muttered word, irritably pushing back a stray bit of hair. Honestly, he wished fashion would turn to short hair. Or that defying the fashion was worth the headache it would incur. "What?"
"I just saw that bastard Epee," Mace said, a hint of snarl in his voice.
"I would hardly speak so harshly of him," Sharp said, a faint frown furrowing his brow. "Epee is an excellent swordsman; perhaps only three men in the kingdom are better."
Mace's scowl did not abate, or even ease. "You and who else?"
"Not me," Sharp corrected. "I'm fairly certain he's won more of our duels than I; if anything, I draw almost even. I refer to his Highness Prince Katan, the Master Swordsman, and his apprentice – the prince's new lover. I was just telling you all this last night."
All that gained him was an irritable shrug.
Sharp rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Mace. You have been nothing but contentious and grouchy since arriving last night. If you are that ill of temper, go back to bed until you can be at least moderately civilized. I missed you sorely, dear friend, but not your foul moods."
Mace looked at him, surprise mingling now with the ire. "You've become a bit more forthright than was your want."
"I was never shy," Sharp said with a shrug. "However, I have lost patience as I gained years."
That, and if he were honest, his near-constant duels with Epee had somehow instilled in him a bit of Epee's…whatever it was about the confounding man that allowed him to say as he pleased, do as pleased, just walk up and sling an arm about a stranger as easily as he might a friend. Boldness, perhaps, though that did not seem quite the right word.
"You should have seen us duel earlier," Sharp continued. "He is in finer form than ever."
Mace only returned to scowling. "You should not be admiring your opponent, Sharp – that is why you lose so often."
Sharp shrugged. "The duels accomplish what they must; they are not a matter of life and death. Honestly, I am tired of discussing this. Let us go get something to eat before I lose my temper."
Giving an irritated shrug of his own, Mace obediently turned and led the way from the dueling square, back towards the more respectable districts of the city.
"Where did you see Epee?" he asked.
"That way," Mace said, motioning vaguely.
Sharp bit back a sharp retort. Honestly, perhaps he needed to retire to the country for a bit.
He had been looking forward to Mace's return a great deal, but since his arrival Mace had been all but completely intolerable. He wished Mace would just rest a few days, reorient himself, but other than a few measly hours abed the night before, Mace had been up and about and wanting to do countless things.
All of it peppered with criticisms and snide remarks and general dissatisfaction.
Had his oldest friend always been this negative?
Sharp did not think so, and he was too tired and aggravated himself to linger upon it.
He turned his thoughts elsewhere, wondering what Epee had been doing lingering about the square. Wasn't he due to attend some exhibition? Sharp was certain he'd heard Sabre blathering about it the other day.
Well, it was hardly his affair. Still, if there was something else going on, that would explain why Epee had seemed so distracted during their bout Not that he'd been paying much attention himself; he could not even recall the excuse for the duel this time.
The turn of his thoughts while they'd dueled only reinforced Sharp's idea that perhaps he needed a nice quiet spell at his country estate. Maybe he would take along something sweet and accommodating to ease the need that was obviously distorting his frame of mind. It had been too long since he'd had any company but his own.
"So how many duels have you fought? With Epee I mean?"
Mace's abrupt question snapped Sharp from his thoughts, and it took a moment for the whole of it to register. "I have no idea. Why does it matter?"
"Just curious," Mace said.
Sharp pondered the question. "Too many to count, really," he said at last. "I don't really keep track." It would be like trying to count snowflakes, he'd imagine.
"Is he still prone to cheating?" Mace asked.
"It was established he didn't cheat," Sharp said quietly.
Mace shook his head. "No, it was established no one could prove it one way or the other."
Sharp nodded, but did not reply. The past was the past, and since that awful duel Epee had never given even the slightest speck of a hint that he might be cheating. He hated thinking upon it, because even now it did not seem like something Epee would do – yet he could give no reason why he thought such a thing.
Hell, until their first duel, he hadn't even really known who Epee was. Sabre's brother, which really was a terrible burden for anyone to bear. His vaguest recollection had been of someone quiet and given to books – but the man who had challenged him that day nine years ago had been bursting with fire. Nothing quiet about him at all.
Since that day, he'd been a marvelous, if infuriating and aggravating, challenge – until the day he'd cheated. Or, at least, possibly cheated.
Following that duel, Sharp wasn't certain what kept him angry and fighting. Disappointment, maybe. Epee was a splendid challenge, but every duel he had to wonder if all was as it should be. Each question kept him waiting for the next duel, waiting to know for certain the man called Epee.
Well, he obviously was not going to figure it out today. Especially with Mace about, when all Mace seemed capable of doing now was snipe and grouse about Epee and their duels and everything else under the sun.
The country, he decided. Once Mace was settled a bit, he was packing his things and running off to his country estate. Hmm, or maybe the hunting lodge. That was even further away from civilization.
A hand settled lightly on his hip, drawing him from this thoughts, and Sharp stopped walking to turn and look at Mace.
"I'm sorry," mace said. "I guess I'm still tense from all the traveling, exactly as you have been trying to tell me all day. What say I take care of lunch, and then we go back to your house for the day. I'm tired, and you look as though I've quite stressed you out. Another day or so and my house should be fit for habitation once more, and I can stop imposing upon you."
"You're never an imposition," Sharp said, smiling. "It's good to have you home again, Mace."
Mace turned the smile, and they resumed walking, headed for their favorite club.
A doorman reached to open the door for them, but just as he did so a figure came hurtling out of the club, crashing into Sharp with a resounding oath.
"Lord Sabre," Sharp greeted stiffly. He may not know what to think of Epee, but he had no doubt as to his feelings about Sabre – the man was a bastard through and through, no different than the father. Just one more reason he did not know quite what to think about Epee.
"Sharp," Sabre said with a grunt. "Have you seen Epee about anywhere?"
"He passed by the dueling square several minutes ago, I did not see him myself…"
Mace spoke up just behind him. "He was headed toward Tavern Row."
Sabre's face darkened into a fearsome scowl that only hinted at the temper stirring just beneath the surface; a temper that cost Sabre as many duels as it won him. "I see," he said tersely, and without further word stalked off into the street.
It would seem Epee had been expected somewhere. Sharp grimaced in sympathy – no one deserved to be the focus of Sabre's ire, especially as in this case an irate Sabre probably meant an angry Rapier.
"Guess you're not the only one who'd like to run Epee through," Mace said, and Sharp almost thought he sounded pleased by the idea.
He found it irritating. "I don’t want to see Epee run through," he snapped. He just wanted Epee to make sense, or something. "Let's just eat and go home." Stifling a sigh, he led the way into the club.
Two hours later, his mood was vastly improved by good food and relatively pleasant conversation – and the fact they were finally home. Stripping off his coat and gloves and hat, he handed it all to his butler and immediately strode through the house to the conservatory at the far east end.
Behind him came sounds of poorly muffled impatience and condescending amusement. Sharp ignored them, long used to it from pretty much everyone. "You are more than welcome to go somewhere else," he said with exaggerated cheer. "It's a large house." Striding to the back of the conservatory, of which three walls were all glass, he stopped at the eastern-most wall and took in the three large, gold cages hanging from specially made stands.
Inside each cage were roughly a dozen tiny birds. They ranged in color from palest cream to delicate gold to a soft, blush red.
Mace snorted. "One would think you'd outgrow such a silly thing. Songbirds are for women, Sharp, and you have as little to do with women as any wise man."
Sharp shrugged. "I like them."
Ignoring anything else Mace might say, he opened the door of the nearest cage and stuck his hand in, crooning quietly to the birds inside, beaming when two immediately flew to his hand, cuddling together in his palm, fitting perfectly.
He shook them off after a couple of minutes, and closed the cage once more. Most of this lot was only recently acquired; he was glad they seemed to be settling in just fine.
Double- checking that food and water were in proper supply for each cage, he finally left the birds to enjoy the remaining sunshine and left the conservatory.
If he was lucky, Mace would wander off shortly and spend the rest of the day fast asleep. Then perhaps he could relax in the conservatory, read a book and enjoy his birds in peace for a bit. "I am going to freshen up," he said abruptly, not giving Mace a chance to reply, but cutting sharply right to climb up the main stairs.
On the second floor, he turned down the hallway to the west end, at the very end of which were the double doors leading to the master suite. Safely within his chambers, he shucked his sword and belt, then stripped down to merely his shirt and breeches. Washing away the dirt and sweat of the day, feeling much refreshed, he looked toward the bed and decided that a nap did, in fact, sound like a splendid idea.
*~*~*
Epee walked the dark, empty streets, almost hoping to be attacked by a footpad simply so he'd have good reason to run someone through to soothe his foul temper.
So he'd bloody forgotten. What was the fuss all about? Like he really needed to watch yet another duel. His esteemed father and brother had just been hoping to repair their tarnished image since Dagger's rise. Oh, the people did love the tale of a cruel stepfather throwing out his stepson, who lived as a peasant until going in disguise to win the Tournament and the heart of the prince.
He smiled faintly at the memory, but thinking of duels only made him think of Sharp, and his anxiety in that quarter did not improve his mood at all.
Gingerly touching his throbbing cheek, where a father short on patience – and really, when was father's patience ever in abundance? – had backhanded him quite nicely. The housekeeper had sworn her herbal cream would have it well by morning, but so far the nasty smelling concoction was doing nothing more than making Epee a bit dizzy.
If his father found out he'd left the house after his dressing down, no herbal remedy in existence would fix the discipline Rapier would administer.
Epee could not bring himself to care.
Having nowhere else to go, he slowly meandered his way to his warehouse.
In the weak light of a single gaslight, it looked homely and almost pathetic – but he owned it, and that made it finer than even the most splendid manor.
Currently he was using a small room in the back for his office; there was an office proper at the back and up a short flight of stairs, but he could not move furniture up there on his own. He would have to begin hiring workers and assistants soon, but that upstairs office might very well have to become his private apartment.
He was keeping his activities secret, but at some point the truth would come out. Best to be prepared. Would Sharp have anything to do with him if he was a commoner? Well, he would not really have a choice, when Epee won the thousandth duel.
Far in the distance, he could hear the tolling of the church bells, marking the midnight hour.
Sighing, Epee pulled out his keys and let himself into the warehouse, closing and locking it again behind him. In his office, he lit a single lamp and then pulled out the flask of brandy he kept in the desk.
It worked much, much better than the foul herbal remedy. Not that he would wipe it off, that would hurt the housekeeper's feelings – but it really did smell vile.
He was just taking a third – fourth? – sip when a sound made him jump, and choke on the brandy.
Oh, that hurt.
Stumbling to his feet, eyes watering, coughing, he drew his sword and left the office.
The main warehouse, however, appeared empty. Frowning, he explored it thoroughly anyway. But even outside, he could find no sign of a trespasser. Odd, he knew he'd heard a sound. Perhaps it was only the herbal remedy he'd heard.
Rolling his eyes, Epee sheathed his sword and returned to his brandy.
An hour or so later, shortly after the bells had run one, he conceded that he should probably return home before he pressed his luck and was missed. Knowing his luck, Sabre would still be up and take great relish in ratting him out over breakfast.
Making his way slowly from the warehouse, he double checked all was securely locked.
He was tempted to walk as slowly as possible, but an hour of calm and quiet forced him to see the downside of contending with a footpad – proficiency with a sword did not mean he would stand up well against a fist or knife.
Passing an alleyway, he indeed heard ominous sounds, and quickened his pace. He was one duel away, damned if he would be found dead in the morning, all for a few measly pence.
If it had been a footpad, he chose not to pursue Epee.
Though it was not relief he felt upon reaching his father's house, he was at least grateful his bed was close.
As wretched as this day had turned, tomorrow had to be positive.
stardance, I hope you are content with your birthday story ^_^In two posts, curse you LJ!
1000 Victories
The thrill of victory flooded his veins, hot and fierce, curling in his belly like a good brandy or a fine toss in the sheets.
Epee smirked at Sharp, meeting the furious gaze unflinching. "That is victory to me, today, my dearest Lord. You put on a fine show, as always, and provide some modicum of challenge."
Oh, he did like far too much to see Sharp's eyes flash with anger. The very color of the chocolate he drank every morning for breakfast. Dark eyes and pale hair, a beautiful contrast. Too bad there was such a temper behind it.
Then again, that temper only ever seemed to flare when Epee entered his line of vision. It hadn't always been thus, but it had been such for so long, Epee had all but forgotten a time when Sharp did not wish to run him through.
Seven years ago, that had been. Ever since Mace had accused him of cheating, and Sharp had believed it – even when his name had been cleared, Sharp had never really trusted him again.
Which, in the end, was exactly what Mace had wanted, in the end, the scum.
He lifted his sword in a salute, dismissing the stale thoughts. A hundred times he'd gone over them, but in not more than a month the unpleasant memories would vanish forever.
Usually, he liked to linger and gloat just enough to make Sharp snarl. Today, however, he was too excited to do anything but sheath his sword and depart.
Abandoning the dueling square, Epee made his way through the crowded streets of the city, headed for the little warehouse at the edge of the city he had rented. Without his father's knowing, because if his father knew he was engaging in anything as vulgar as trade, he would disown Epee on the spot.
Normally he would not care, but…so close, he was so very close, and he could not, would not, jeopardize the victory of a lifetime by permitting his father to discover how he spent his free time.
Moving through the still relatively empty warehouse, he pushed open the rickety door in the back and sat down at his desk – not the best, certainly nothing like the thing of beauty in his room back home, but it belonged to him, not his father, and that made it precious.
Opening a bottle of ink and drawing a quill, he pulled out the small book tucked into the pocket of his waistcoat. It was small, only slightly larger than the palm of his hand, made of leather worn butter-soft by years of use.
Inside, nearly every page was neatly lined with numbers – one through one thousand. Beside nearly every number was a date.
Only 999 and 1000 were blank.
Dipping his quill, he carefully wrote out the current date beside the number 999.
One more. Epee could scarcely draw breath. Only one more duel and Sharp would be his.
Well, he hoped. But surely…
He shoved the book away to let the ink dry, and stood to prowl restlessly through the warehouse.
It was still largely empty, only having been acquired in the past month. One day, though…one day it would be filled to overflowing with all manner of merchandise. Spices and wines, antique blades and bolts of fabric…
The idea of it was almost as wonderful as the idea of finally being able to call Sharp his own.
One more. His heart seemed to beat the words over and over again in his chest, driving them up into his head until it seemed near to burst with it.
You are too picky, Sharp! That is the third woman you have made cry this week! I think even the men walk away with wet eyes.
Well, you may complain, but twenty years from now you will be bemoaning the lovers with whom you are saddled. I will await a perfect companion, and be the happier at the end for it.
Oh? Then do tell us, Lord Sharp, what is your idea of a perfect companion?
Someone who is not weak.
Ha! You would never tolerate anyone who might best you with that blade you wear like it is part of your flesh.
On the contrary, someone who can beat me would be quite intriguing.
Fie on that! I beat you yesterday.
A lucky break. I do not mean once or twice, or upon occasion. I mean someone who can really beat me. Yes, that sounds like someone I would keep.
What the devil does 'really beat' mean? Be clear, Sharp!
Not you, how is that for clear? Not good enough? Hmm…well, how about someone who can beat me one thousand times?
You are demanding, and picky, and ask the impossible. Steward, more wine!
They'd all been drunk at the time – outrageously drunk, and more than a few pieces of club furniture had met their end that night. He recalled that only because everything about that night was etched into his mind as deeply as his own name.
Not that he had been part of it; they probably had not even noticed he was there. He was always there, tucked into his corner to study the night away – where he could watch the table nearest the windows, the table of which Sharp and his friends, all of them two years Epee's senior, made regular use.
Where he could watch Sharp, with whom he'd been so infatuated after meeting him soon after his arrival at school.
Sharp who had never noticed him, had not even remembered their being introduced.
Not until the first time Epee beat him at swords, a mere two days after that damned conversation.
That had been victory number one, and nine years later he was one victory away from meeting Sharp's challenge. One more victory, one more blank to be filled in his book, and he would be perfect for Sharp.
Nine years was a lot of time to realize and admit he was stupid, that as drunk as he was Sharp probably did not even recall that long ago conversation. But somewhere along the way, infatuation had turned into obsession, and obsession had grown and matured and blossomed into love.
He froze as the main door creaked open, but relaxed when he recognized the figure in the doorway. "Well, well, the grand and glorious Master Swordsman's apprentice, come to visit his humble stepbrother."
"Epee, there are many words to describe you," Dagger retorted, "and humble is not one of them. I was coming to visit Hammer and heard you got into yet another duel with Sharp. One of these days, the two of you are going to kill each other."
Summoning a smile was easy; jests and laughs and levity were always easy to summon. He threw an arm around Dagger's shoulders and steered him back out of the warehouse. "Nonsense, Main Gauche. Lord Sharp is madly in love with me and simply does not know any other way to express it. One of these days, he will come to his senses and be even more embarrassing to look upon than you when you gaze with star-struck eyes upon his Highness."
"I do not," Dagger hissed. "Stop calling me that."
"What? Your name?" Epee asked blandly, and this time the grin was genuine.
Dagger all but stamped his foot. "You have everyone calling me that now! It's not my name!"
"Main Gauche!" The cries came from across the street, a flock of girls giggling and smiling and waving as they passed by. Others took notice, adding their own cries and greetings.
Epee snickered, and dragged his brother along. "Your cheeks are red, my dear Main Gauche. Aren't you used to your new fame?"
"Shut up," Dagger said. "Just shut up. I have blackmail against you now, so do what I say."
"Well, if you're going to be that way," Epee said with an exaggerated sniff – it was true, except that Dagger would never really consider such a thing. Without Dagger, he never would have been able to acquire the warehouse without his father finding out.
Not that he'd act too grateful; that would not be acting as people expected.
Dagger rolled his eyes and shrugged off the arm still draped across his shoulders. "Would you like to come eat lunch with Hammer and I?"
"That sounds splendid. Let me nip back to retrieve a few things I left in the warehouse."
"Meet us at the Blue Fish, then," Dagger replied, and with a wave vanished into an alleyway to avoid the crowded streets.
Epee returned quickly to the warehouse, striding to the back to retrieve his book. His fingers brushed feather-light across the fresh entry, heart speeding up again even as he tried to remind himself it would likely not go the way he had hoped and dreamed and imagined over the past nine years. How could it?
Yet he could no more give up that hope than he could breathing. He had worked too hard to give up so lightly. Until Sharp looked at him and refused his suit, he would persevere. "One more," he said softly, and damned if he would not make it the greatest duel, the greatest victory, in his long years of dueling.
Back outside, he quickly retraced part of the route he and Dagger had taken before. Having no need to avoid the crowds, he eschewed the side streets and alleys and kept the main streets. He whistled as he walked, enjoying the throng, the hustle and bustle of ordinary life, so different from the reserved, stately streets where his father's townhouse resided.
To think someday soon it would be his own wares and merchandise being sold in these shops and markets. Most – if not everyone – would call him stupid or foolish or eccentric, and likely far worse besides, but he could not help himself. Noble life was stifling.
He was not so naïve as to think the poor peasant life idyllic, but there was much to be said for carving his own path. Look at how well it had worked for Dagger to do what he wanted; Epee could only admire him. If he tried, he did not doubt he could be quite successful a merchant.
By pure habit he slowed down as he passed by the dueling square, looking to see who might be occupying it now he and Sharp had finished – and nearly fell flat on his face as his step faltered.
No.
No, no, please dear god above no..
Not Mace. Not stupid, obnoxious, evil, ugly Mace.
Epee swallowed around the lump of dismay in his throat and kept walking, forcing himself to smile and whistle and act as though he did not care – did not notice, in fact.
Mace.
Sharp's oldest, dearest friend.
The stupid bastard who had accused Epee of cheating seven years ago. Who had poisoned Sharp against him, and so very nearly ruined everything.
Damn it. How had he not known Mace was back? He'd been overseas for six and a half years; why could he not stay gone just a month or two more? Why had he returned now? Epee wanted to scream in frustration and agony.
He paused near the turnoff to the small street where he would be meeting Dagger and Hammer, keeping to the crowds and shadows as he turned to look once more toward the dueling square.
Epee knew he was attractive. His hair was light brown with the faintest hints of red, just past his shoulders and healthy, with just a hint of wave. His eyes were hazel, nothing special, but he'd been complimented on their clarity before. Much of his time was spent in fencing, the rest of it in walking back and forth across the city as he secretly pursued his merchant prince dream. He was tall and lithe and fit. None of his one night lovers had ever complained about him.
For all that, he could not even begin to compete with bloody Mace.
Tall and broad and strong, with the sort of golden features about which sonnets were composed, and women sighed and giggled. In school, he'd never spent a night alone, and Epee doubted that had changed since they had finished school. Being abroad had given his skin a deep gold tone, and he wore clothes that were fine enough for royalty.
Sharp came just to his shoulder, and stood as close to Mace as only friends would, smiling in a way that he never had at Epee.
No, he could not even begin to compete with Mace. His only real moment of good fortune had been Mace's announcement that he was going abroad for several years.
Epee turned away, appetite vanished as he realized his plans might well and truly come to naught now. Mace had never liked him, for reasons Epee had never been able to deduce. Now that he was back, and after learning of all the duels he had fought with Sharp…if he did not know of them already…
It did not bear thinking upon.
Feeling utterly wretched, Epee stopped once more, pulling in deep breaths and letting them out slowly. Bit by bit, he managed to dredge up his smiles, his jests, his carefree manner.
Then, and only then, did he finally enter the tavern and look for Dagger, who beckoned him eagerly and ordered a fresh round of drinks.
"Bastard."
Sharp looked up at the softly muttered word, irritably pushing back a stray bit of hair. Honestly, he wished fashion would turn to short hair. Or that defying the fashion was worth the headache it would incur. "What?"
"I just saw that bastard Epee," Mace said, a hint of snarl in his voice.
"I would hardly speak so harshly of him," Sharp said, a faint frown furrowing his brow. "Epee is an excellent swordsman; perhaps only three men in the kingdom are better."
Mace's scowl did not abate, or even ease. "You and who else?"
"Not me," Sharp corrected. "I'm fairly certain he's won more of our duels than I; if anything, I draw almost even. I refer to his Highness Prince Katan, the Master Swordsman, and his apprentice – the prince's new lover. I was just telling you all this last night."
All that gained him was an irritable shrug.
Sharp rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Mace. You have been nothing but contentious and grouchy since arriving last night. If you are that ill of temper, go back to bed until you can be at least moderately civilized. I missed you sorely, dear friend, but not your foul moods."
Mace looked at him, surprise mingling now with the ire. "You've become a bit more forthright than was your want."
"I was never shy," Sharp said with a shrug. "However, I have lost patience as I gained years."
That, and if he were honest, his near-constant duels with Epee had somehow instilled in him a bit of Epee's…whatever it was about the confounding man that allowed him to say as he pleased, do as pleased, just walk up and sling an arm about a stranger as easily as he might a friend. Boldness, perhaps, though that did not seem quite the right word.
"You should have seen us duel earlier," Sharp continued. "He is in finer form than ever."
Mace only returned to scowling. "You should not be admiring your opponent, Sharp – that is why you lose so often."
Sharp shrugged. "The duels accomplish what they must; they are not a matter of life and death. Honestly, I am tired of discussing this. Let us go get something to eat before I lose my temper."
Giving an irritated shrug of his own, Mace obediently turned and led the way from the dueling square, back towards the more respectable districts of the city.
"Where did you see Epee?" he asked.
"That way," Mace said, motioning vaguely.
Sharp bit back a sharp retort. Honestly, perhaps he needed to retire to the country for a bit.
He had been looking forward to Mace's return a great deal, but since his arrival Mace had been all but completely intolerable. He wished Mace would just rest a few days, reorient himself, but other than a few measly hours abed the night before, Mace had been up and about and wanting to do countless things.
All of it peppered with criticisms and snide remarks and general dissatisfaction.
Had his oldest friend always been this negative?
Sharp did not think so, and he was too tired and aggravated himself to linger upon it.
He turned his thoughts elsewhere, wondering what Epee had been doing lingering about the square. Wasn't he due to attend some exhibition? Sharp was certain he'd heard Sabre blathering about it the other day.
Well, it was hardly his affair. Still, if there was something else going on, that would explain why Epee had seemed so distracted during their bout Not that he'd been paying much attention himself; he could not even recall the excuse for the duel this time.
The turn of his thoughts while they'd dueled only reinforced Sharp's idea that perhaps he needed a nice quiet spell at his country estate. Maybe he would take along something sweet and accommodating to ease the need that was obviously distorting his frame of mind. It had been too long since he'd had any company but his own.
"So how many duels have you fought? With Epee I mean?"
Mace's abrupt question snapped Sharp from his thoughts, and it took a moment for the whole of it to register. "I have no idea. Why does it matter?"
"Just curious," Mace said.
Sharp pondered the question. "Too many to count, really," he said at last. "I don't really keep track." It would be like trying to count snowflakes, he'd imagine.
"Is he still prone to cheating?" Mace asked.
"It was established he didn't cheat," Sharp said quietly.
Mace shook his head. "No, it was established no one could prove it one way or the other."
Sharp nodded, but did not reply. The past was the past, and since that awful duel Epee had never given even the slightest speck of a hint that he might be cheating. He hated thinking upon it, because even now it did not seem like something Epee would do – yet he could give no reason why he thought such a thing.
Hell, until their first duel, he hadn't even really known who Epee was. Sabre's brother, which really was a terrible burden for anyone to bear. His vaguest recollection had been of someone quiet and given to books – but the man who had challenged him that day nine years ago had been bursting with fire. Nothing quiet about him at all.
Since that day, he'd been a marvelous, if infuriating and aggravating, challenge – until the day he'd cheated. Or, at least, possibly cheated.
Following that duel, Sharp wasn't certain what kept him angry and fighting. Disappointment, maybe. Epee was a splendid challenge, but every duel he had to wonder if all was as it should be. Each question kept him waiting for the next duel, waiting to know for certain the man called Epee.
Well, he obviously was not going to figure it out today. Especially with Mace about, when all Mace seemed capable of doing now was snipe and grouse about Epee and their duels and everything else under the sun.
The country, he decided. Once Mace was settled a bit, he was packing his things and running off to his country estate. Hmm, or maybe the hunting lodge. That was even further away from civilization.
A hand settled lightly on his hip, drawing him from this thoughts, and Sharp stopped walking to turn and look at Mace.
"I'm sorry," mace said. "I guess I'm still tense from all the traveling, exactly as you have been trying to tell me all day. What say I take care of lunch, and then we go back to your house for the day. I'm tired, and you look as though I've quite stressed you out. Another day or so and my house should be fit for habitation once more, and I can stop imposing upon you."
"You're never an imposition," Sharp said, smiling. "It's good to have you home again, Mace."
Mace turned the smile, and they resumed walking, headed for their favorite club.
A doorman reached to open the door for them, but just as he did so a figure came hurtling out of the club, crashing into Sharp with a resounding oath.
"Lord Sabre," Sharp greeted stiffly. He may not know what to think of Epee, but he had no doubt as to his feelings about Sabre – the man was a bastard through and through, no different than the father. Just one more reason he did not know quite what to think about Epee.
"Sharp," Sabre said with a grunt. "Have you seen Epee about anywhere?"
"He passed by the dueling square several minutes ago, I did not see him myself…"
Mace spoke up just behind him. "He was headed toward Tavern Row."
Sabre's face darkened into a fearsome scowl that only hinted at the temper stirring just beneath the surface; a temper that cost Sabre as many duels as it won him. "I see," he said tersely, and without further word stalked off into the street.
It would seem Epee had been expected somewhere. Sharp grimaced in sympathy – no one deserved to be the focus of Sabre's ire, especially as in this case an irate Sabre probably meant an angry Rapier.
"Guess you're not the only one who'd like to run Epee through," Mace said, and Sharp almost thought he sounded pleased by the idea.
He found it irritating. "I don’t want to see Epee run through," he snapped. He just wanted Epee to make sense, or something. "Let's just eat and go home." Stifling a sigh, he led the way into the club.
Two hours later, his mood was vastly improved by good food and relatively pleasant conversation – and the fact they were finally home. Stripping off his coat and gloves and hat, he handed it all to his butler and immediately strode through the house to the conservatory at the far east end.
Behind him came sounds of poorly muffled impatience and condescending amusement. Sharp ignored them, long used to it from pretty much everyone. "You are more than welcome to go somewhere else," he said with exaggerated cheer. "It's a large house." Striding to the back of the conservatory, of which three walls were all glass, he stopped at the eastern-most wall and took in the three large, gold cages hanging from specially made stands.
Inside each cage were roughly a dozen tiny birds. They ranged in color from palest cream to delicate gold to a soft, blush red.
Mace snorted. "One would think you'd outgrow such a silly thing. Songbirds are for women, Sharp, and you have as little to do with women as any wise man."
Sharp shrugged. "I like them."
Ignoring anything else Mace might say, he opened the door of the nearest cage and stuck his hand in, crooning quietly to the birds inside, beaming when two immediately flew to his hand, cuddling together in his palm, fitting perfectly.
He shook them off after a couple of minutes, and closed the cage once more. Most of this lot was only recently acquired; he was glad they seemed to be settling in just fine.
Double- checking that food and water were in proper supply for each cage, he finally left the birds to enjoy the remaining sunshine and left the conservatory.
If he was lucky, Mace would wander off shortly and spend the rest of the day fast asleep. Then perhaps he could relax in the conservatory, read a book and enjoy his birds in peace for a bit. "I am going to freshen up," he said abruptly, not giving Mace a chance to reply, but cutting sharply right to climb up the main stairs.
On the second floor, he turned down the hallway to the west end, at the very end of which were the double doors leading to the master suite. Safely within his chambers, he shucked his sword and belt, then stripped down to merely his shirt and breeches. Washing away the dirt and sweat of the day, feeling much refreshed, he looked toward the bed and decided that a nap did, in fact, sound like a splendid idea.
Epee walked the dark, empty streets, almost hoping to be attacked by a footpad simply so he'd have good reason to run someone through to soothe his foul temper.
So he'd bloody forgotten. What was the fuss all about? Like he really needed to watch yet another duel. His esteemed father and brother had just been hoping to repair their tarnished image since Dagger's rise. Oh, the people did love the tale of a cruel stepfather throwing out his stepson, who lived as a peasant until going in disguise to win the Tournament and the heart of the prince.
He smiled faintly at the memory, but thinking of duels only made him think of Sharp, and his anxiety in that quarter did not improve his mood at all.
Gingerly touching his throbbing cheek, where a father short on patience – and really, when was father's patience ever in abundance? – had backhanded him quite nicely. The housekeeper had sworn her herbal cream would have it well by morning, but so far the nasty smelling concoction was doing nothing more than making Epee a bit dizzy.
If his father found out he'd left the house after his dressing down, no herbal remedy in existence would fix the discipline Rapier would administer.
Epee could not bring himself to care.
Having nowhere else to go, he slowly meandered his way to his warehouse.
In the weak light of a single gaslight, it looked homely and almost pathetic – but he owned it, and that made it finer than even the most splendid manor.
Currently he was using a small room in the back for his office; there was an office proper at the back and up a short flight of stairs, but he could not move furniture up there on his own. He would have to begin hiring workers and assistants soon, but that upstairs office might very well have to become his private apartment.
He was keeping his activities secret, but at some point the truth would come out. Best to be prepared. Would Sharp have anything to do with him if he was a commoner? Well, he would not really have a choice, when Epee won the thousandth duel.
Far in the distance, he could hear the tolling of the church bells, marking the midnight hour.
Sighing, Epee pulled out his keys and let himself into the warehouse, closing and locking it again behind him. In his office, he lit a single lamp and then pulled out the flask of brandy he kept in the desk.
It worked much, much better than the foul herbal remedy. Not that he would wipe it off, that would hurt the housekeeper's feelings – but it really did smell vile.
He was just taking a third – fourth? – sip when a sound made him jump, and choke on the brandy.
Oh, that hurt.
Stumbling to his feet, eyes watering, coughing, he drew his sword and left the office.
The main warehouse, however, appeared empty. Frowning, he explored it thoroughly anyway. But even outside, he could find no sign of a trespasser. Odd, he knew he'd heard a sound. Perhaps it was only the herbal remedy he'd heard.
Rolling his eyes, Epee sheathed his sword and returned to his brandy.
An hour or so later, shortly after the bells had run one, he conceded that he should probably return home before he pressed his luck and was missed. Knowing his luck, Sabre would still be up and take great relish in ratting him out over breakfast.
Making his way slowly from the warehouse, he double checked all was securely locked.
He was tempted to walk as slowly as possible, but an hour of calm and quiet forced him to see the downside of contending with a footpad – proficiency with a sword did not mean he would stand up well against a fist or knife.
Passing an alleyway, he indeed heard ominous sounds, and quickened his pace. He was one duel away, damned if he would be found dead in the morning, all for a few measly pence.
If it had been a footpad, he chose not to pursue Epee.
Though it was not relief he felt upon reaching his father's house, he was at least grateful his bed was close.
As wretched as this day had turned, tomorrow had to be positive.
