“Where is your human?”
Cadogan pulled himself from the low defensive stance as Amaya walked into the training gym, a strange bundle held in her arms. The heavy oak doors swung shut behind her leaving them alone in the vaulted room. He lowered the blunted longsword and ran his forearm across his hairline, wiping away the sweat there. “What?” He asked.
“Your. Human.” Amaya enunciated, impatience tightening her jaw. She shifted and adjusted the object, which Cadogan could now see was wrapped in silk and dull chainmail. “Mother wants to know.”
Cadogan rolled the fatigue from his shoulders and eyed his elder sister. He could argue that Jesha wasn’t technically his in the way his family assumed, and could come and go as she pleased. Or he could state that their mother should mind her own damn business if, as they said, Jesha was ‘his’. Cadogan could even comment on Amaya being relegated to messenger, which was odd in of itself.
“I don’t know.” He stated the truth instead and turned his back on her.
Amaya audibly sucked in her breath at the insult. Cadogan felt the blistering heat at his back as he replaced the training sword on the racks. He gritted his teeth. His sister had their parents temper, they all did. As much as Cadogan would have liked to snap back at the challenge, he took pride in discipline.
“Fine.” Amaya’s voice sounded in a low growl. There was a sharp clatter, then the click of boots. By the time Cadogan turned around again Amaya was gone, the doors were swinging shut, and the bundle was on the floor.
He frowned and walked over. The dark silk was singed and the intricate mail wrappings had fallen aside. Next to the dull stone of the floor coppery metal shone bright. The falchion’s blade was visible as it curved into a thick graceful arc and shone with a fierce purpose Cadogan knew well.
It was Jesha’s. So much so that he’d never seen her without it. Drinking in the down taverns or fighting in the training yards with practice blades, if the thing wasn’t in her hands it was sheathed on her back. Cadogan’s stomach twisted, something had happened to its owner.
Slowly he reached out, fingers pausing inches away from the weapon. The air around it reverberated, and he drew his hand away before his skin started to burn. It was Jesha’s, not his, and sword made that clear. The burn explained the silk and mail.
Cadogan gingerly rewrapped the caustic metal, taking pains to cover the length of it. Until he found his human, Jesha wouldn’t want the sword in his family’s hands.
Alas, alak, there is no honor among thieves. I am the victim of a most grievous heist, my first line has been stolen. See the spoils of treachery over at the Legal Theft Project.