Lady Blade - Chapter one

CHAPTER ONE

THE DUEL

          Francesca DiCesare knew Papa was the best swordsman in Europe, perhaps in the world, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding that had settled in her chest as they journeyed toward the place appointed for his duel.

          The chilly dawn wasn’t helping her mood. A formless, colorless mist surrounded Francesca, so that the only things visible were her two brothers and her father on their horses, and a dozen paces of the dirt road. Only a lightening of the haze indicated where the sun rose.

          Francesca shivered against the spring chill. Usually her riding habit and her red cloak kept her warm in any weather, but this morning the damp air seeped through the wool and thrust icy fingers up her sleeves and down her collar.

          She sat sidesaddle atop her black horse, Achilles. She felt a rumble in his chest and rubbed his neck. She knew he was disgruntled at being taken from his warm stable so early, and without his morning oats.

          A few yards ahead rode her two older brothers, Antonio and Sebastian. They didn’t seem to share Francesca’s concern about the duel. They talked and joked, their laughter loud in the surrounding silence. Occasionally one would jab the other in the shoulder.

          Francesca shook her head. How can they do that, today of all days? But she knew the answer. To them, Papa was invincible. They didn’t believe in their own mortality, why should they believe in his? They didn’t see the way he hid his limp when the old war injury to his thigh acted up. They didn’t notice him stifle his groans when a weather change set off the arthritis in his shoulder, but she did. They took Papa at his word when he waved away Francesca’s concern saying, “It’s nothing.” Francesca believed in her own mortality, and Papa’s too.

          She looked up at Papa, who rode alongside her. Maestro DiCesare had scars on his handsome face. One scar slanted across his prominent right cheekbone. Another ran down his broad forehead into his dark, graying eyebrow, skipping his eye and continuing down his left cheek. She saw no hint of worry on his brow, no menace weighing him down. His back was straight and his face serene.

          Francesca wanted to lay a hand on his arm and say, Please, Papa, let’s go home, but she knew it was pointless. He had been challenged. Now it was a matter of honor, and his honor meant more to him than anything, even his life. She looked away and sighed, trying to convince herself that everything would be fine. He’s fought a hundred duels, maybe a thousand. He’s marched with armies and faced down kings. He always wins… But she couldn’t stop her mind from adding, so far.

          Francesca’s reluctance had slowed her pace and she had fallen a few steps behind. Papa looked back at her and smiled, crinkling his steel-gray eyes and bunching his goatee at the corners of his mouth. “Come along, my Cesca, we mustn’t be late.”

          Her brother, Sebastian, glanced back with mischief in his green eyes. An errant lock of auburn hair fell over one brow. “Yes, hurry up, Francesca,” he said. “We must get you back home before Burkhard misses you.”

          Francesca frowned and felt heat creeping into her cheeks. Silly, traitorous cheeks. Burkhard was one of Papa’s fencing pupils, a haughty boy who constantly reminded everyone that he was related to the King of Prussia. Burkhard made no secret of his interest in Francesca. Sebastian knew she couldn’t stand Burkhard. Sebi also knew that she blushed at the slightest provocation and delighted in setting her off.