Chapter 31
Thirty-One
At dawn’s first light, a clanking and clattering rouses me from sleep.
I climb out of my new bed and, through the misted window, watch Valora sword-fight three figures in the courtyard while an assembled group of twenty or more women observes from the side.
With a growing smile, I realize that not a single person is able to best her.
Framed by the feminine rays of the sunrise, Valora snaps her head up, her pink hair bouncing on her shoulders as she meets my gaze.
I duck under the window frame, hitting my head with a thunk, but I slowly peek back over—more stealthily from behind a curtain this time.
“You can stare all day if you want,” she yells, brandishing her broadsword in my direction, “or you can get your prissy ass down here and learn something.”
My heart nearly leaps from the window!
Not only does she notice me, but she also invites me to train…
Running erratically around the room, I slam my feet into boots and throw on a plain gray dress without stopping for breath.
Only vaguely aware that my guard is following and shouting, I sprint through the castle, pinning my hair up as I go, and dash into the courtyard before he can stop me.
“Good of you to join us.” Valora smirks, pressing a wooden sword into my hand as I skid to a stop in front of her.
It feels clumsy and strange. I try a practice swing and nearly lose my grip. My fingertips tingle.
Could I really do this?
She clucks her tongue and shakes her head, declaring, “I don’t care who you are—no woman will go untrained under my command. Welcome to the Stormwatch.”
Standing in two parallel lines, the other women wear matching leather uniforms and iron breastplates. They appear to be a unit of female fighters. Age, height, weight—none of it seems to matter; they are all here for one thing: training.
I hold the practice sword and stare at it with awe. It’s rare for a woman to become a warrior in Alexandria. There are unspoken rules. Etiquette and manners.
But here, it seems they encourage these skills.
I don’t know what I could learn in a single morning, but I’m willing to find out.
She paces between the rows. “Today, we practice the basics of swordplay. A much-needed refresher for some of you—but do not worry. No matter your skill level, you’ll find something to help you with your drills and sparring.”
From the corner of the courtyard, a man snickers while splitting wood.
His ax comes down noisily, so Valora raises her voice.
“Your greatest asset as a woman will be men’s underestimation of you.
” She plants her feet shoulder-width apart and bends her knees, ready to sidestep.
The blade in her hands reflects orange and red in the early light as she transitions into deflection drills and demonstrates the proper grip with fluid movements.
The group mirrors her stances, and I follow along to the best of my ability—which isn’t saying much. The other women are clearly judging my novice skills with their sideways glances. It makes anxiety painfully twist my gut. I’m desperate not to embarrass myself.
“Let go of your fear,” Valora says, moving her steel blade in a graceful arc. “Your wooden swords are lighter than their metal counterparts. Allow yourself to tap into a natural rhythm and move with me. Are you listening, Polly? Copy me, Griselda.”
After we practice for what seems like hours, the bleeding sunrise gives way to a bright robin-blue sky, and Valora declares we are ready to partner up.
Feeling my face drain of color, I step forward and spar against a woman with fire-red hair who’s around the same age as I am.
She attacks with a flurry of blows, instantly becoming aggressive.
Again and again, she strikes with her wooden sword as if she wishes the blade were real.
With each blow, I angle my blade slightly, deflecting and dissipating the force—until finally her weapon cracks in half.
Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging them.
I’m honestly surprised I’ve persevered this far.
My opponent sneers, throwing the splintered wood at my feet as she gasps for breath. Her gaze is drawn upward, and she suddenly looks as if she’s pissed herself.
I twist around to see a furious Ashland striding into the courtyard, his dark cape billowing from his black-armored shoulders. “Why are you teaching her to fight?” he snaps at Valora.
She bites back, “You know damn well every woman is welcome to train.”
“Sometimes you should make an exception to that rule.”
“Sometimes you should mind your own bloody business.”
“She is my business.”
He pivots sharply on his heel, his glare burning into me. “You wish to train? Yes?”
“Ash,” Valora protests, “she’s—”
He pulls a steel sword from the weapon box, the clanking of metal drowning out Valora’s voice. He pushes it into my clenched palm. I can barely grasp it before he reaches toward his back and draws his own sword, the midnight blade reflecting its wine-colored hues in the harsh light.
I freeze.
Fighting him is the last thing I want to do, but it appears he’s giving me no choice.
My sword trembles in my grip; my palms grow slick.
Not waiting for a response, Ashland lunges without warning, his first blow nearly knocking me off my feet. I stumble, my pulse thundering. He’s not holding back.
This is no training session.
It’s an unleashing.
I don’t even attempt to strike at him. My only half-thought-out strategy is moving and ducking quickly out of the path of the ruthless blows—all my dancing lessons paying off with strained agility.
By some miracle, I deflect a few of his strikes, making my shoulder muscles feel as if they will rip out of my arm sockets.
He increases his ferocity, pushing us away from where we started.
Panic rises in my throat as I trip and fall to the ground, scraping my hands and knees against the flagstones.
He could end everything in a single move—he could end me.
I brace, dread spiraling tightly in my chest as he allows me time to stumble to my feet. More sweat runs down my face as I ache from the strain of holding and swinging the heavy blade. If Ashland’s trying to make a point, he’s succeeded, like the bastard he is.
The whispers crash in my mind like a deafening roar until I can’t hear anything else.
He doesn’t stop.
And neither does the noise inside my head.
“Please!” I gasp, swinging my sword wildly. “Please, stop!”
Metal meets metal, but my desperation spikes as the two blades collide.
An explosion of magic and sparks erupts between our bodies, sending both of us flying in an arc through the air.
I land on a half-rotted hay bale while he crashes onto his back on the ground, his armor crunching and grinding beneath him.
Smoke clouds the air and burns my nostrils as a hush falls over the courtyard.
Groaning, Ashland rolls over and slowly rises to his feet. With his hands outstretched, he searches for balance and growls, “What did I say about using magic?”
“I d-didn’t d-do it on purpose.” I clutch my ribs, my breathing erratic.
Valora steps forward and interjects, “Don’t blame the girl for your stupidity.” Her eyes flash to the iridescent pommel, and she lets unspoken words fall. “She’s a natural talent, same as her mother.”
“You flatter her when you know I used restraint. Talent is an overstatement,” he says, a cold edge to his voice.
The whispers return as a low hum. I’m dizzier than ever as I process their words.
He spits blood onto the ground and barks, “Get inside. We have a meeting with the commanders.” After rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, he bends down to retrieve his fallen sword and sheathes it with one smooth slide.
Straw pokes through my dress, and my scraped hands sting. I force myself upright, wobbling as my ears adjust to the ringing from the explosion. My side hurts as I stagger after him through the arched entrance.
Despite my difficulty keeping pace through the castle, Ashland doesn’t slow his stride.
My legs practically have to skip down the corridor to keep up with him until we reach the meeting room at the far end.
He stops abruptly and opens the iron door to the chamber, where whiskered commanders sit around a long table.
I groan inwardly. Another kingdom, another group of men who will undoubtedly make everything uncomfortable. Or difficult. Or both.
Ashland pushes me through the doorway. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
My eyes grow wide.
He wants me alone with them?
Their combined authority emanates throughout the meeting chamber as it weighs the air down like an anvil. The semicircle of commanders waits for me to move closer, and I oblige them—reluctantly.
By the time Ashland returns with Valora and an armful of maps, the commanders have relentlessly interrogated me, even though I have no adequate answers for them.
Still burning from training and now barraged with an endless influx of questions, I can’t prevent the perspiration running under my arms and slithering down my back.
“I already told you everything I know about the food storage and the new mining locations. I’m sorry it’s still unsatisfactory”—my voice cracks—“but please, why won’t you tell me what’s happening in Alexandria, as you promised?”
Lying scum.
Even a hint of news could provide some relief to my churning stomach, and yet they toy with me.
The surliest-looking man follows Ashland’s movements around the room and rasps, “I hope your courtesan isn’t as useless in bed as she is at the war table.”
My eyes grow wide, and my cheeks burn—but what can I possibly say to put him in his place? Especially here in this room…
Ashland calmly places the scrolls on the tabletop before turning to him.
“Priapus, be very careful talking about others’ sexual habits.
It isn’t wise to be a hypocrite when everyone here knows your dick fails you at every opportunity.
” Priapus turns a blotchy purple, and he clamps his nonexistent lips shut.
The eyepatch-wearing general yells over the riotous laughter, “Are we going to get this fucking meeting started or not?”
“Not with her in here,” another says, jerking his head toward me. “We’ve gotten all the information from her that we can… for now.”
Ashland gives me a nod toward the corridor—a dismissal.
I stand and make my way across the room. My hand hesitates over the door handle, my fingers hovering. A wave of doubt surges in my mind about the things left unsaid. I glance up and meet Ashland’s perplexed face.
It’s now or never.
Letting the words tumble, I confess what I know about the missing womenfolk and General Metalla. A chaos of shouting ensues, and I slip out.