A Little Hatred (The Age of Madness #1) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,44

Gorst?’

‘Very quick, Your Eminence.’

‘That’ll be your mother’s dancing lessons. Sad to say, I don’t dance much myself these days.’

‘A shame,’ said Savine as she circled, looking for an opening, sweat tickling at her stubbled scalp. ‘I imagine the Closed Council could use some clever footwork. If Brock loses, you’ll look like cowards and fools.’

‘Even bigger cowards and fools than we do already.’

‘If she wins, she’ll gild her own reputation. And her son’s.’

‘Leonault dan Brock.’ Her father sneered, showing his empty gums again. ‘The Young Lion.’

‘Who comes up with these ridiculous names?’

‘Writers, I daresay. I saw lions when I was on campaign in Gurkhul. Stupid beasts. Especially the males. That’s enough. Break.’

Savine took a hard breath, pulling her padded tunic open to let some air in. She had sweated clean through her shirt. She wondered, as she scrubbed her shaved head with a towel, whether the fine gentlemen of the Solar Society would recognise her now, without powder, jewels, dress, wig. More than likely they would smell money through the sweat and swarm around her just the same.

‘We could adjust your grip a little.’ Her father leaned forwards, bones shifting under the pale skin of his hand as he gripped his cane to rise.

‘No, no.’ She stepped over to put a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re not hurting yourself just to show me how to grip a sword.’ She took the blanket from the arm of his chair and draped it over his legs, tucked it in carefully around him. By the Fates, he felt thin. It would have been unfair to call him skin and bone. There was scarcely any skin on him.

‘How are you?’ she asked.

His left eye twitched. ‘Have you noticed the nation falling?’

‘Not this morning.’

‘Then I suppose I’m still alive today. You might want to check again tomorrow, though. I’ve enemies everywhere. In the palace. On the Closed Council. On the Open Council. In the fields and the factories. The Anglanders were furious with me before the war, they’re downright incandescent now. I’m hated everywhere.’

‘Not here,’ she said. As close to a declaration of affection as she was ever likely to utter.

‘That’s more than enough for me.’ He gently touched her face, fingertips cold on her sweaty cheek. ‘And far, far more than I deserve.’

‘I suppose a few enemies are the price of one of the big chairs.’

Her father gave a snort of disgust, bitter even for him. ‘The moment your arse hits the wood, you realise what they’re worth. You think the Closed Council really rule? Or the king and queen? We’re all no more than dancing puppets. There to draw the eye. To take the blame.’

Savine frowned. ‘Then who pulls the strings?’

Her father’s eyes met hers, bright and hard. ‘I have been asking questions all my life. I learned that some are better left unanswered.’ He let his hand drop and clapped it on top of hers. The one that held her steels. ‘Time to work on your defence.’

‘Three strikes?’ asked Gorst.

Savine tossed her short steel up with her right hand and snatched it out of the air with her left. ‘Whatever you say.’

He shuffled at her, jabbed and cut with no real venom. It was easy for her to block the jabs, to turn the cut away with a showy flick of the wrist.

‘So, if the lady governor fights the Northmen to a stalemate, what does it mean for holdings in Angland?’

‘Ah!’ Her father grinned. ‘I was wondering when we’d get to money.’

‘We never left it.’ She parried, and again, sidestepped a sluggish lunge. For a man renowned for his ferocity, Gorst was scarcely hitting at all. ‘Prices are tumbling up there. Do I sell out or get deeper in?’

‘The Union will never let go of Angland. If I were a man of business, I’d be snapping up the bargains. After all, danger and opportunity—’

‘Often walk hand in hand,’ she finished for him, and out of the corner of her eye she caught his grin. There were few things that gave her the same satisfaction as making the Arch Lector smile. Aside from her mother, no one else could manage it. ‘I’ll see about borrowing a little to expand my holdings in the mines up there.’ She could hardly keep the smile off her face. ‘There are excellent rates on offer from Valint and Balk—’

‘Don’t!’ barked her father, with a wince that made her feel just a little guilty. ‘Don’t even joke about it, Savine. Valint and Balk are vermin. Parasites. Leeches. Once