Deathless (Editing)

Chapter 16: Spirited Away

The next morning, I awoke to an excited Giselle hovering over me. "Riverly," she kept repeating my name, and, with each repetition, her voice grew louder until she was almost shouting.

I blinked back the sleep from my eyes and found her face a hairsbreadth from mine. The instant she caught my gaze, her face broke into a look of bliss. Her lips split into a toothy smile, and her eyes squeezed shut from the force of it.

"You took my advice!" she nearly sang.

I rolled my eyes and breathed a long sigh. Oh Gods, no.

"I had been hoping and hoping that your late-night frolics had meant that you were seeing Sir Bartholomew. Imagine my happy surprise when I heard the latest gossip at breakfast this morning?"

I groaned and flipped onto my belly, burying my face into a pillow. I spied her with one heavily lidded eye. As much as I wanted to deny it, her reverie was almost contagious.

"You and Sir Bartholomew in the training tent," her voice took a dive, and she gave me a very disapproving look, clucking her tongue at me to emphasize how scandalous it must have seemed. "How appropriately tawdry."

I laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.

"Personally, I'm glad you've finally decided to," she paused, eyes flicking up as she searched for the Right Thing to Say, "take my advice." She flashed her brows for emphasis.

"To play my part?"

"Yes. Isn't it easier that way?" Her grin was wide, and her brows shot up over excited eyes.

I frowned. Immediately, I knew the source of this gossip-mongering. Part of me was stunned that one of the soldiers would have ratted us out. Another part of me was irritated by the predictability of it. "What did you hear?"

"It seems that you two have been passionately engaged for quite some time. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it was nothing." I lifted a shoulder defensively. "He was teaching me swordplay."

Giselle's expression deflated. "Please tell me that is a euphemism."

"Nope. He's teaching me how to defend myself with a sword."

Giselle heaved a sigh, and her head fell back. "I cannot believe it," she hissed. "How reckless!" Her fingers curled into her palms, and I could see the whites of her knuckles. "A medic learning to swing a sword," she seethed. "What sort of questions do you think will hound you when someone finds out? What would the Lord High Commander think if he learns of these tutoring sessions?"

I blinked, not knowing what to say. Giselle had a point. Medics knew very little of combat. Most knew enough to fend away small attacks. None of them trained with the Men of Might. None of them asked a captain to serve as a tutor.

"Okay, well," she began, mind clearly switching gears, attempting to salvage the momentum, "they don't have to know that."

"What is the rumor?"

"That you and Sir Bartholomew have been sneaking into the dead of night to engage in certain," Giselle gave a small wave of her hand, "romantic endeavors in the training tent." She paused briefly to search my face, where she found revulsion, no doubt. "According to one of the Men of Might, you two were sprawled out on the ground last night."

"Yeah," I said, staring at her, embarrassed at the situation, "because I fell, and I took Tolly down with me!"

Giselle's mouth hung open.

"Apparently, I'm not particularly good at this whole sword-fighting thing."

She loosened an exasperated sigh. "You can pretend, can't you?"