Quoted By:
“I used t’ be really poor, when I was a kid,” you said. A kind of poor that nobody in this country could even think of. After your mother died, you had next to nothing, save for a place for you and your sister to sleep, a small hut only left to you for pity’s sake. Most of what you had even before was picked out of garbage, or stolen, as more money went to your mother’s drug addiction than anything else. Back then, you couldn’t even dare to dream of having what you enjoyed now. You tugged at the silk fringe on your sleeves. “This thing’s worth as much as I’d a’ been, back then.” Actually, you probably weren’t worth that much. The child kidnappers had wanted Alina, not you. “When you’re hungry for long enough, plenty a’ people would do anything for it t’ stop. These days, though? It’d take more than that t’ lure me in. Wouldn’t matter what was in it for me if I couldn’t stand the guy, y’know? I’d need somethin’ that can’t be bought.”
“You’ve lost some cynicism, then?” Van Halm asked rhetorically. “I prefer when romance triumphs, also. I wouldn’t trade myself for what I’ve already had anyways, not for that alone. No, Mathilda Von Blum is simply not to my tastes in other ways.”
“’Cause she looks like she hasn’t grown past twelve years?” you smirked, “Or ‘cause she’s a ginger?”
Van Halm cocked an eyebrow at you. “Has nobody told you? It’s because she is…<span class="mu-i">controversial</span>. She is known to be a minx of the courts. A woman of shadows and rumors, though nobody good at such things allows there to be more than such. So I’d rather not, you see. I don’t like the concept of marrying a half-truth.”
“Oh. So she’s a slut.” You didn’t like those, either. Or lies, for that matter. Who did?
Karel snorted in an uneasy laugh. “Brazen, aren’t you? Back in the day, you might have been made to pick a man to fight a duel for that comment.”
“I’d do it myself,” you challenged, “Always ready for it. Can’t use the best banter if you’re too weak t’ carry the words yourself, y’know?” You let a knife slip from your sleeve and tossed it in the air, let the same happen for the derringer in your other sleeve, caught them in opposite hands, and gave a toothy grin. You were as good with one hand as you were with the other, but this still had taken practice to do so well.
Van Halm applauded politely. “We’re not quite at the target range yet, Miss Nowicki. Are you going to shoot me for my earlier comment?”
“Nah,” you said, letting the weapons slip back into the sleeve pockets, “I’d have t’ think too much on which one deserved it most.”
