11. Daggers

"As you are a human," River began, that morning, at 10:30, "and female, brute strength is not on your side." I had to agree with that. "So, skill is what you will need to perfect."

"Okay… what sort of skill?"

"Knife throwing," River said casually, taking the box he had in his hands and setting it on a large stone. We were in the garden near the stonewall that enclosed the maze garden. I could see targets etched into the stone of the wall – I just didn't see the point of a stone target if the arrow or whatever couldn't actually pierce the stone. The large stone we were standing by had obviously been designed to hold weapons. River opened the box carefully and produced two long, sliver knives. They were fairly dull with no design, shine or edge. I have to say, I was a little disappointed. But they were long. Including the blade and handle the whole knife would have been as long as my forearm. They had an extended blade with a handle as big as the inside of my palm and hilt like a sword. They looked like medieval daggers. River took out two more strapy things from the box, and then pushed the box aside. He motioned for me to come closer to him, hands holding the strapy things.

"What are they?" I asked.

"These are the sheaths. Put out your right hand," he told me. I gave him my right arm. He pushed the sleeve back, palms brushing my skin, and then strapped the leather sheath to my arm. While he touched me, he kept his eyes down, as if uncomfortable to look me in the eye. It didn't look like the kind of sword sheaths you saw in the movies. It was really just three straps of leather that fastened across my arm with buckles. There was another piece of leather that was fastened to the first three lengthways, running up and down my arm. Once River had fastened the first three buckles he took the knife from the table and placed it on the fourth piece of leather, blade facing my hand. There were more straps that held the blade in place and protected my skin from the edge, but they seemed to be woven together sort of like a shoelace. Then, there was a last piece of leather that extended up my palm and around my middle finger. A clasp rested on the inside of my palm, over the knuckle of my middle finger. River pulled the clasp tight and fastened it with a click.

"What now?" I asked when River was done with my right arm.

"I think we will just start with one blade at the moment," he told me. "See how you cope."

"Okay, but how do I get the knife out of this?" I asked, holding up my arm to show him the contraption strapped to it. It was heavy and I felt constricted by the sticky leather. River smiled and took my hand. He pointed to the clasp that was sitting on the inside of my hand, just below my middle finger.

"See this? All you have to do is flick it up with your finger and the blade will be released."

"Really?" I asked.

"Try it. The edge is blunt, so it will not cut you."

"Okay," I said. I pulled the clasp, it didn't take much force, and I watched as the leather holding the blade snapped back, releasing the knife and sending it sliding into my palm. I tried to catch it, but it slipped through my fingers, dropping to the ground and piercing the grass, standing upright, wobbling slightly. To my surprise River laughed. The soft angelic laugh that seemed so strange paired with his coldly blue lips, pointed teeth and black tongue.

"We will need to work on that," he said. I frowned, as he picked up the knife from its position in the grass. He passed it to me, and then said, "Just wait for a moment, please." He sounded like a recording. He disappeared in magic for a few minutes, the reappeared by the wall with the stone-etched targets. Except this time he was holding a large target made of what I thought to be hay. He hung it over one of the etchings, and then returned to me.

"That is your target. We will move a little closer to make it easier for today."

"Sure." River gave a position much closer to the target and marked it with a line on the grass.

"The basics of throwing a knife, is more in the stance and preparation than the throw. A throw is meaningless if there is no aim or direction," River informed me. "Stand on a slight angle, legs apart for balance."

"Like this?" I asked, trying out what he told me.

"Yes. Now, keep your left arm to your side at the moment. With your right, I want you to bring it up, keeping your elbow in, and passing the knife just by your ear." Slowly, I brought the knife to my ear, keeping my elbow in a straight line, towards the target. "Good," River murmured. "A throw is not in the fling of the arm, but in the flick of the wrist. A controlled flick. So, I want you to throw, but only release the knife when you arm is fully extended. You need a strong flick of the wrist to get the knife spinning. Make sure you are keeping an eye on the target."

"Okay," I said, ready to throw. I pulled back and swiftly swung my arm forward, trying to flick my wrist like River showed me. To say my first throw was bad would be an understatement. To say it was disaster would be closer to the truth. Instead of the knife spinning through the air in a perfect line, like River's did, mine made a huge arc, wobbling and spinning awkwardly, before hitting the target with the butt of the knife, and so little force it didn't even mark the paint. I looked to the knife as it cluttered to the grass heavily, then at River, who seemed to find it all very amusing.

"Not bad," he said through muffled laughter. I gave him a look and his face straightened. "It was only your first try. Here. I will help you." He passed me another knife and walked to the back of me, putting one arm on my waist and the other on my throwing arm. My stomach muscles clenched and I bit my bottom lip. River didn't notice. He pulled my arm back slowly, past my right ear. I couldn't really concentrate, since his lips were next to my left ear and whispering, "Hold your body up. Stance strong. Elbow in. Take a few breaths. Yes, that is good. Now, with some power, throw the knife, only releasing it at the very last moment." River pulled my arm back and then forward. I let go with a flick of the wrist and watched as the knife sailed through the air and hit the target. Sure, it hit with the butt of the knife, and it may have been a little wobbly, but it was better. Better than my first atrocious attempt anyway.

"Better," River said softly into my ear. He still had me in his grip, our breathing in sync, his cool skin against mine. He didn't move for a long time; too long. Before I knew what was really happening, I felt River's lips brush gently along my neck, from nape to collarbone. He was still behind me so I couldn't see him, but I could feel his warm breath on my skin, giving me goose bumps and making me shiver. His hair tickled the bare skin on my shoulder, making me smile. His lips felt good on my neck, and I couldn't help thinking of my prince. I closed my eyes, imagining I was in the ballroom, adorned in my midnight blue gown, my prince dancing with me.

Suddenly, River jumped back quickly, making me open my eyes. "I… I…" River began. I turned, watching him carefully. He was standing a few metres away, hands by his sides, not looking at me. "I should not have done that," he said, shaking his head.

"I don't mind so much," I said, so softly, I could hardly hear myself.

River suddenly looked outraged. "You should mind. You should mind very much. I am dangerous, Giselle. I am not one to be attached to."

"You wouldn't hurt me," I said, even softer.

"How do you know that?" River snarled. I was taken aback by his tone. His usual coolness had gone, leaving him angry and sour. He moved closer to me and put a hand to my neck, closing a hand around my skin. "I could have you on you knees, begging for your life. I could have you on your knees, begging for death." River stared demonically into my eyes, making me feel cold. "I could have you pleading for mercy. Pleading for me to take away your memories. I could have you begging for one touch, one kiss, one last time. Begging for anything." River's hands were cold at my neck, but I refrained from reaching up to try and move them.

"I know," I told him. River growled and dropped me hard against the ground. I fell roughly, gulping back tears of pain and rejection. River turned away, walking to collect the knives I had thrown so poorly.

"You are foolish," he muttered, putting the knives away, not looking at me. I hadn't moved from my position on the floor. I was trying to stop the tears from coming, but it wasn't working so well.

"No need to be so callous," I muttered, voice breaking, as the tears began to run down my cheeks.

"It is what I am," River answered.

"No. You're not."

"And what would you know?" River asked hotly, spinning quickly. I stood, tears staining my cheeks. River's face softened when he saw me. I walked close to River, waiting for the action that would prove my point. River's shoulders slumped as he reached up and wiped the tears from my eyes so tenderly it was no more than a whisper on my cheek.

"That's what I know," I told him. River dropped his hand quickly and looked away. "You are not callous. Not really. You can pretend to be, but that doesn't mean you are."

"I am not for you, Giselle," River said softly. Then, with a swooping sound, he was gone. I gritted my teeth and picked up a knife from the bench next to me. Without any thought but frustration and anger I threw the dagger at the target. I heard a thud and looked up. Through my tears I could see the dagger quivering, embedded in the centre of the target.

Tonight the dream was different. Well, everything was the same up until the kiss. Then it changed.

The music ends and we stop dancing. I wait in anticipation for the kiss. But this time my prince repeats those words to me first, "For now, this is all the time I can spare. But I will be waiting tomorrow." I worry I won't get to feel my prince's lips tonight, until he brings his face to mine and pulls my body into his chest. He entwines one hand in my hair and kisses me more deeply. More deeply than I have ever felt in my dreams. His arms around me tense with more pressure than I am used to and his lips massage mine with so much intensity I feel weak. Then he pulls away and is gone.

I woke gasping for air, trying to get oxygen into my lungs.

The next day River wanted to practice more. Even after the incident yesterday. He just seemed determined to give me a way to protect myself. I felt a little stupid. I was hardly worth the effort. It was obvious I had no skill in the knife thing.

Anyway, we were back in the garden, River making me throw these knives over and over again. He taught me the method and science of how to get the knife to fly in a straight line, rotating in the best possible way to maximise distance, while also making sure the blade – rather than the hilt – hit the target.

I tried, I really did, but I mostly got frustrated. River stayed patient as ever.

"River," I sighed. "I can't do this. Maybe we could try archery. I've always wanted to learn. And it'd be fun."

"And do you think it would be acceptable to carry a bow around the streets in this day and age?" River asked rhetorically.

"And what makes you think carrying knives as long as my forearm would be?"

"These can be hidden by sleeves. So unless you become magic and can glamour, a bow is not a very useful tool. And you need to be at a distance. It makes no sense for you, Giselle."

"Yeah, I get it. It's not practical, but couldn't I learn, anyway? It would be fun."

River looked at me for a moment, seeming resigned. Then he sighed and shrugged. "Fine. I guess we have the time."

River took me to the fourth floor of the west wing where the armoury was. But he didn't just take me straight to the bows. He showed me all the weapons, what they were used for and if they were suitable for me. He showed me how to use some and gave me a few demonstrations. It was the first time I'd ever seen River so… loose. He seemed almost normal. He even smiled and laughed when I tried to pick up one of the swords, finding it too heavy. The weirder thing was that, I also smiled and laughed. We did make it to the bows and he showed me the different types, cross bow, longbow and others I don't remember. He made me hold a few in a certain position to see which one fitted me. Some – most – were too heavy. Others too large, or I didn't have the strength to use them.

It was surprisingly warm in the marble room, and I took off my jumper before trying another bow. River seemed caught for a second. His mouth opened slightly, before he turned, busying himself in something else. Finally we found a bow that River decided fitted me. He gave me a case for both the bow and the arrows, and gave me careful instructions on how to care for the weapon.

"Do you look after all these weapons?" I asked.

"Yes. Of course."

"You know, I could help you. If you taught me how to service them, I'm sure I could work with you."

River frowned, looking at the floor. "No. I am fine. I enjoy what I do here."

"Okay," I nodded. "Just a suggestion." Shrugging, I began to walk away.

"Wait," River called softly. I turned. "I have something to show you." He walked away for a moment, and I could only hear his footsteps. It wasn't long after that he returned with a golden box. It would have been as long as my forearm, and half that width. As he came closer, I gasped at the beauty of it.

"Is that… gold?" I asked, in awe.

"In its most pure form," River nodded.

"It's beautiful," I breathed. The whole box had been so intricately designed I wouldn't have been surprised if the maker had gone blind with the work. The patterns were Celtic and trailed over the whole box in no real order or relationship. Embedded in the perfect gold were soft opals. Black opals, fire opals, white opals. I was in awe. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

River held it out to me.

"Are you giving this to me?" I was confused.

River nodded. "Of course, you will need to improve your skill before I let you use them. But yes. They are yours. My gift to you."

I set the box down on a bench and opened it. Inside were two beautifully engraved silver blades. The hilts had the same design and opals as the box, looking too beautiful for their purpose. I put on hand to my mouth, smiling.

I looked to River. I was surprised to feel tears in my eyes. "Thank you." I began to take my hand away from my lips, brushing past River as I did, surprised to find how close we were.

River caught my fingers. We both froze. River looked down at me, his endless eyes weighing me up. He tugged me gently towards him and my feet followed. Perhaps it was warmth in the air. Or maybe the dream last night. Or the amazing gift. I couldn't be sure, but in moments I was in River's arms. He held me like he would hold a porcelain doll, fearful of breaking me. I rested my head on his chest as River stroked my hair. I listened for a heartbeat, but from what I could tell, there was none. His breathing was soft and steady against my cheek, and he seemed so much more human in that moment than I could ever remember. River touched my chin and tilted my head towards him.

"I will never understand you, Giselle," he said softly. He sighed and released me. I was unwilling, but pulled back when River made it clear I wasn't wanted.

"I should go," I muttered and turned to leave.

And as I was walking away I heard River say under his breath, "And I should let you."

Over weeks, I practiced and practiced with the blunt blades. Once I'd mastered one hand, I mastered the other. Then I tried both. I learnt how to judge distance and what style I'd need for certain circumstances. Sometimes River would coach me, and other times I'd just spend hours throwing at targets by myself.

I also tried learning how to use the bow, but I wasn't nearly as good, and I didn't enjoy it quite as much. So mostly I stuck with my daggers. The only problem was the I never felt good enough to use the silver daggers River had given me. I was worried I would damage them. Or taint them. I wasn't sure, except that I couldn't use them. Maybe it was a fear thing.

River and I kept our distance mostly. Especially after those two days. Though, there had been a change in River. He was softer. Gentler. Kinder. I was less scared and worried of him. Instead, for him. He spent so much time locked up in the mansion it was hardly a wonder why he was so weird. I often tried to tell him this; all he said was that he couldn't leave – the iron and sun weren't good for him.

"You need company," I'd say.

"I have you," he'd reply.

I'd shake my head and say, "That doesn't count. I'm almost as unstable as you. You need to be with others who aren't… crazy."

"You're not crazy," he'd tell me, getting frustrated. Then he'd walk away and say, "You're just beautiful enough to drive someone else crazy."

Then I'd get annoyed. Frightened that the thought of him thinking I was beautiful made me feel somewhat elated.

I never told River about the engravings I'd found. The two on the hilts of the daggers he'd given me. One that said Jocelyn, in the same perfect etching as the stone I'd found. And the other, on the second dagger, that said my name. Giselle. In the same beautiful etching.

I wasn't sure if he knew I'd found them, or even expected that I'd find them. But he never brought it up, and I never said anything.

Although, there was definitely something there. Something that had meaning. Something I was too scared to think about.