Honor's Paradox-ARC Read Online Free PDF Page B

Timmon,” she said thickly, rubbing her face. “He’s gotten into my dreams again and between us we’ve ensnared Tori. But who else’s dream was I in? That finger, that ring . . . ah, never mind,” she added, seeing Rue’s confused, concerned expression. “Fetch me something to drink, please.”
    The Ardeth Lordan was a charmer, a dream-stalker, and a would-be seducer, except every time he tried to entangle her in one of his erotic fantasies, between them they seemed to open the door to her brother’s sleeping mind which, while fascinating, was hardly fair to Tori.
    As for that last dream . . .
    Timmon had adored his father and still tried to imitate him. Jame suspected that therein lay the source of half the Ardeth Lordan’s personality flaws, not that Timmon saw them as such.
    “Damn him,” she muttered again, accepting a cup of cold water from Rue. In so many other ways, he was almost worthwhile.
     
     
    II
    As it happened, their first class was together.
    Timmon arrived with his ten-command, looking aggrieved, with dark smudges under his eyes.
    “What’s the matter with you?” he demanded. “I try to arrange some harmless fun on a fur rug in front of a cheerful fireplace, and you drag me from one immolation to another.”
    “Good morning to you too. Sorry about that, but I did warn you to keep out of my dreams.”
    “If I were Torisen, you wouldn’t fight me so hard,” he muttered. It was a sore point that, despite herself, Jame found her brother more interesting than she did him. “And what about that last bit? My father called your brother a liar!”
    “I have no more idea than you do what that was about. Of all people, you should know that dreams don’t always make sense.”
    Seeing that he was about to argue, she abruptly changed the topic.
    “For that matter, I’ve a bone to pick with you. Why did you tackle me in Greshan’s quarters before the Winter War even started?”
    “I didn’t think you’d let me do it afterward.”
    “Let you? Huh. And how did Torisen get my scarf back from you?”
    At this, Timmon looked distinctly sheepish. “If he hasn’t told you, I’m not going to.”
    “Could it be . . . oh no!” She burst out laughing. “You tackled him in the Knorth kitchen thinking he was me. He took the scarf and locked you in!”
    With that, Jame stifling mirth and Timmon very red in the face, they reached their destination: a room in Old Tentir with rush mats strewn about the floor. Timmon stopped on the threshold.
    “Oh no. Not the Senethar this early in the morning. I’m for my bed again.”
    “Not so fast.” The randon instructor entered behind them.
    Timmon smiled, all dimples with the trace of a pout. “I didn’t sleep well last night, Ran. Really, I’d rather not.”
    The randon, an Ardeth, smiled back with more teeth than humor. “Like it or not, young Lordan, you’ll learn your lesson. Everyone, coats off and take your places for the fire-leaping kantirs.”
    “Losing your charm, Timmon?” Jame asked.
    “I don’t understand. Usually the only one who denies me is you. What’s gotten into the randon of my house lately?”
    Still grumbling, he and Jame dutifully squared up as their ten-commands followed suit. Fire-leaping Senethar consisted of a series of kicks and blows. Its kantirs could be practiced alone but when in class two opponents mirrored each other, starting slow, getting faster, not seeking to connect. Jame’s fist brushed past Timmon’s ear, and his past hers. Simultaneous kicks pivoted them away from each other, then back. So far, properly speaking, they were engaged in the Senetha, the Senethar’s dance form. The pace quickened. Each focused on a point just short of the other. Timmon’s booted foot stopped close enough for her to smell its fine leather and to see, cross-eyed, the dirt engrained in its sole. Hers brushed the tip of his nose.
    “Sorry,” she murmured.
    You broke my nose, Pereden had said to Torisen. When and why?
    . . . two