Swordheart

by T. Kingfisher

“Is this your relative with the clammy hands, lady?” asked Sarkis. She peered over his shoulder. “Yes.” “Halla, what in the name of heaven is going on?” cried Alver. “Why is this person here?” “And your niece is fifteen, you say?” “She is.” Sarkis shook his head in disgust. “She could fight him without my help.” Halla burst out laughing for the first time since her great-uncle had died.

people you knew were always the most likely to be hostile.

Sarkis, who had negotiated mercenary contracts with kings, did not scream, “Always read before you sign!” and shake anyone by the neck. He was rather proud of that.

Sarkis folded his arms and glared at the woman. She was a nun, so she folded her arms and glared right back.

Settle down, man. You’re a warrior, not a rutting boar. You’ve seen breasts before. Yes, but these are really good breasts. And their owner is … “Are you sure you’re all right? You’re staring off into the distance.” “Fine!” said Sarkis, a trifle too loudly.

“I know what it is to lose your connection to the people before you,” she said, and he heard the heaviness of that knowledge in her voice. “To come unmoored in history. It’s why I became a historian in the first place. We must help each other find our place again.”

“You’ve got a rather large sword for a woman,” said Scar, looking over at her. “Yes, but I’m told it’s not the size of the sword that matters,” said Halla. She frowned. “Although my husband used to say that, and do you know, he never told me what it meant?”

“If you have nothing to hide, then you have nothing to fear,” said Scar. Sarkis had heard that line before, usually in the mouths of men who had a great deal to hide themselves.

Dead bodies don’t worry me. It’s the live ones that get you.”

Halla had always found it easy to love. Love was a patient, exasperated emotion, and she knew it well. She had had so many relatives and she had loved them all,

It is so rare that I meet someone who asks questions because they want to know the answers.” Sarkis frowned at them. “What? Why else do people ask questions?” Zale began ticking off possibilities on their fingers. “To be seen asking the question as if they do not know … to get a specific answer which they desire … to force someone to answer the question publicly … to be given a chance to lecture on the subject … to—”

Marry me to marry me, not because of your neighbors. I’ll kill your neighbors.”

“Halla has considerable wealth, so her price should be quite high. You, on the other hand, are an itinerant swordsman and also dead.”

“A good marriage is one where both parties feel that they got the better deal,”