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@hannahrenner

I love your quote!

Chantara

The girl squinted at me, then answered, shortly.

“Castle Oaken Door, a shape-shifting, manipulative purple-spit, shatter-burned coal monster if there ever was one.”

A smile curled around my lips. I tried to hide the amusement behind friendliness, which didn’t come naturally to me anymore. I had only understood a few of those words, but the others sounded like insults.

Shape-shifting. Interesting.

I knew many of the legends that had woven around the Siya. One of my favorites was the Nebatan legend that we were supernatural beings who could turn into shadows. They said our knives were made of shards of the moon that fell to earth as it waned. It also said that anyone who saw us would die of insanity within a week. They weren’t even that far off.

The girl hesitated, then continued.

“You haven’t seen a coal monster.” She pursed her lips.  “At the moment, it is the best insult I can think of.  Wy was better at that aspect.”

“I understand the sentiment.” I smiled. I couldn’t wait until I could stop this smiling thing. I was tired of it.

The girl gestured to the seat beside her, her motion graceful and studied. I recognized it, instantly. I knew that stiff, studied way of gesturing. I had seen Aydin slip in and out of it with ease. It came naturally to him, but he could abandon it within an instant. It was the mark of nobility, and I couldn’t help recognizing it.

“This is a good recipe, would you like a sample while we talk?” She beckoned a servant. She sat perfectly erect, every motion flawlessly graceful.  “Tea please, for two… at the moment.”

The girl smiled, and even the smile seemed practiced. A thousand alarms exploded in my head, and I felt the almost irresistible urge to draw my knife and end this charade. This girl was beyond dangerous.

I wouldn’t run away. I felt the fear gushing through my veins but I wouldn’t let her know. She couldn’t know.

I smiled back, my smile a little too wide, a little too sweet.

“Thank you, that’s too kind.” I lowered myself onto the chair next to her, my motions as cautious and graceful as hers. I twisted so I was facing her, in apparent interest, but more because I could reach my knives easier.

One of my knives pressed into my shoulder blade so painfully that I had to shift slightly. I disguised the motion by sweeping my hair up, off my shoulders.

I examined the cookies with one quick, cautious glance. My instructor’s voice was ringing in my ears, so clearly I could even hear the contempt in his voice.

“If you’re stupid enough to accept food from someone, you deserve your agonizing death by poison.”

“Thank you, I’m sure the recipe is excellent,” I said, the faintest hint of sarcasm in my voice. I smiled. Not the wide, sweet smile I’d maintained the entire time, but my own brief, sharp smile.

“What flavor is it?” I asked, casually, picking up a cookie. Instead of eating it, I broke it in half. It was a soft, creamy color, and the smell… It smelled delightful. A smooth, sweet smell. Just barely too sweet. Too sweet or too bitter was a sure sign of poison.

The question sounded like casual interest, but I was curious to see her response. If she acted startled, unsure, or knowing, she would have realized that I’d figured out there was poison in it. Or if she started lying. I would be able to tell. Everyone had a giveaway, and it wasn’t hard to find if you were looking for it.

I noticed the girl had only nibbled the corner of hers, but she kept the entire plate near her. It must only be dangerous in high doses.

I didn’t put down the cookie, but smiled again, a genuine smile this time. This girl was clever, but if she thought she would catch me this way, she had underestimated me.

My eyes darted over her, briefly. Simple clothing. A battleax. I had to stay out of range. No armor, of any kind. Automatically, I calculated which knife to use, and where to plant it. If I grabbed the knife on my thigh with my right hand, I could stab her in the back. If I needed to, I could jump behind her and slit her throat. There were plenty of options.

“I’m Chantara, and I’m a Kezbe, ” I said, off-handedly.

She had probably guessed that already. My dark hair and light eyes made that an easy guess. It was more common in the Kezbes than in any other tribe. I guessed this girl was probably an Orme. The intricate braids the girl wore were common among them, though the battleax was slightly out of place. Or perhaps she wasn’t from Yerasht at all.