A Little Hatred (The Age of Madness #1) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,207

going mad. Gangs on the rampage. Prisoners marched in columns. Owners hanged from jibs. I wish I could say I helped but I was thinking only of myself. Honestly, I was hardly thinking at all.’

‘No one could blame you,’ said Brock.

‘I was chased through the slums. Through tenements where the husk-smokers lay twelve to a room. Through the filth of the pig pens. Two men cornered me in a blind alley …’ She remembered that moment. Remembered their faces. Now she would turn her terror to her advantage. Even Selest looked gripped now, her fan hanging limp.

‘What … happened?’ muttered Brock, as if fearing the answer.

‘I had a sword with me. A decorative thing but … sharp.’ Savine let the silence stretch an almost uncomfortably long time. A blabbermouth like Selest would never understand that drama is not so much a question of words, but of the silences between. ‘I killed them. Both of them, I think. I hardly even chose to do it, but suddenly … it was done.’ She took a breath, and it caught in her throat, and she let it go, jagged. ‘They gave me no choice, but … I still think about it. I think about it over and over.’

‘You did what you had to,’ whispered Brock.

‘That makes it no easier to live with.’

Selest’s voice sounded slightly cracked. ‘Well, you’re back with us now, and I for one—’

Brock spoke over her as if she wasn’t there. ‘How did you get away?’

‘I stumbled upon some decent people and … they took me in. They kept me alive, until Prince Orso delivered the city.’ Selest dan Heugen knew when she was beaten. She snapped her fan open and drifted off. The chill satisfaction of victory was the closest Savine had come to pleasure in some time. She might never be Queen of the Union, but she still reigned supreme over the ballroom. ‘And here I am.’

‘That’s … quite a story,’ said Brock.

‘Not compared to facing fearsome warriors in a Circle of shields, I daresay.’

‘Your ordeal went on for weeks. Mine was done in moments.’ He leaned close, as if sharing his own secret. ‘Between the two of us, Stour Nightfall’s the better swordsman.’ He brushed the long scab under his eye with a fingertip and Savine realised, with a guilty thrill, that it must be a sword-cut. ‘He could’ve killed me a dozen times. All I did was survive long enough for his own arrogance to beat him.’

She held up her glass. ‘To the survivors, then.’

‘I can drink to that.’ He had a fine smile. Open, honest, full of excellent teeth. Even though the fight was won, Savine found she was still talking to him. More surprising still, she found she was enjoying it. ‘Your name is Savine?’

‘Yes … Savine dan Glokta.’ Say what you would for the name, you could always be sure of a reaction. Brock gave an ungainly cough. He really had no disguise at all. ‘You met my father, then?’

‘All I can say is you got your mother’s looks, and she must be quite the beauty.’

She gave him a discerning nod. ‘Not a bad effort, under the circumstances.’

All she had wanted was to crush Selest dan Heugen, now fanning herself wildly beside an oblivious Lord Isher. But with the fight won, the pearl dust and the drink closed back in on Savine and she found the prize was an extremely handsome man. There truly was something of the lion in his sandy hair worn long, his sandy beard cropped short, his confident, comfortable, obvious strength. With that healing cut across his face, he looked like the hero from an overblown storybook. So manly, and so popular, and so powerful. Indeed, the young Lord Governor of Angland was surely the most eligible bachelor in the Union at that moment. If you discounted Crown Prince Orso. Which Savine feared she had to.

‘It must be difficult to be a celebrated hero,’ she said. Everyone wants to be sympathised with, after all, however little they deserve it.

‘I’ll admit it takes some getting used to.’

‘It must be hard to tell the genuine admiration from the empty breath. Surrounded by people, but all alone.’ She gave a theatrical sigh. ‘Everyone trying to make use of you.’

‘Whereas you’ve got my best interests at heart?’

‘I wouldn’t insult your intelligence by pretending anything of the kind. But we might be able to make use of each other.’ And she gave Leo another smile. Why not? His blunt, easy manners were the opposite