Chapter 47
Forty-Seven
Gathered on the dew-covered lawn, the courtesan girls appear tense and downcast under the gloomy clouds rolling in to cover the morning sky.
The littlest ones tightly clutch each other’s waists, making me want to send them inside to play with dolls—but I remind myself it’s important for them to be here too.
I stop to adjust the laces on my boots before joining them. While I’m reaching down, I purposefully overhear their conversation.
“I can’t believe we’re learning to fight,” one whispers. “This isn’t supposed to be part of our training!”
“It was bad enough when we had to start doing chores. My blisters haven’t even healed. Now we must train like boys too?”
“Of all the things!”
“At least learning to fight is more interesting than our music lessons,” chimes a young girl.
“Interesting? More like terrifying,” the older one retorts. “I don’t want to end up covered in bruises.”
“Must we really learn defense?”
There’s a shuffling of feet. “I was getting flour in the village yesterday, and there were strange men I didn’t recognize. They asked a lot of intrusive questions, so I don’t think we should be arguing about this.”
They fall silent, standing together, fidgeting with their skirts as I approach.
“Pair up and give each other space,” I call, my voice traveling across the grounds. They separate, dresses twirling wide as they seek their friends. Some stare at the grassy lawn or glance about before Beatrix finds them partners.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Rett walking through the yard before pausing at the swinging garden gate with Gorrash and Drakka in tow. They hang back but keep watching us.
My stomach plummets.
Trained warriors are the last people I want scrutinizing me as I attempt to teach my first lesson in combat. I take a deep breath and try to block them out, which is made all the harder as the youngest girl runs to Beatrix, hiding at the sight of the orcs strapped with shields and weapons.
Stepping forward, I adopt a defensive stance, feet planted firmly apart, arms raised. “Imitate me,” I instruct, making eye contact with the nervous students. “Just like this.” They mimic my posture with hesitant movements, discomfort visible in their slouched shoulders and clumsy legs.
It takes a while, but after teaching the basic postures, I instruct them on footwork. “Keep your steps light and nimble. Move sideways and diagonally on the balls of your feet, staying balanced.” Raindrops fall from the overcast sky, lightly speckling our faces.
The teen girl with sea-moss eyes and onyx hair practices with Alisse—and not very well. The younger girl yelps as she trips, scraping her arm on the ground. Blood forms on her wrist as she holds it close to her body.
“Try again,” I order, ignoring Alisse’s scoffing as she crosses her arms and backs away to gossip with a cluster of girls.
“I can’t,” the onyx-haired girl cries. “I’m not good at this.” Her eyes sparkle with tears, so I tell the rest of the group to take a break. Motioning for her to follow me, I walk with her toward the back of the manor, where we can’t be overheard.
I give her a sidelong glance before I ask, “What’s your name?”
“Elodie,” she says with a quick sniff, clearly trying to hide her distress.
“That’s pretty.” I pick up a fallen twig. “You know I was scared my first time too?”
She eyes me suspiciously but keeps quiet.
“It’s true,” I explain, snapping the wood into pieces before tossing it. “I used to be with a team of female warriors who trained constantly. It seemed impossible that I’d ever catch up with them.”
“What happened?”
“I kept training.”
“That doesn’t help someone like me. I can never seem to move my feet the right way.
It wouldn’t matter if I practiced a hundred thousand times.
I can’t even complete dance formations correctly.
The instructors say I’ll be a lousy Lady Courtesan someday, and I just know I’ll be miserable at this, too. ”
“Those instructors are wrong, and you’re wrong if you think you can’t learn. Training isn’t about perfection—it’s about not staying helpless.”
Elodie scrunches her face. “But the other girls are so much better already. What if I’m a dolt when it matters most?”
I wonder if she can tell I’m just as rattled as she is.
“If you weren’t so focused on your flaws, you’d notice that the other girls are too worried about not making a fool of themselves to pay any attention to your mistakes.
Slow progress is the only thing that matters.
” I place my hand on her shoulder in reassurance.
“Don’t worry about what might happen and focus on training your muscles to think for you.
Instincts are half the battle in an attack,” I say, repeating the words Valora told me when I first joined Stormwatch.
Elodie manages a small but crooked smile. “I’ll try—I’ll do that much at least.”
“Good,” I say. “Now, let’s get back to the others.”
She nods, standing taller as she readjusts her raven braids. We round the corner of the manor once more, and I hear a rumbling of voices.
Rett’s voice booms across the training yard as he dumps newly carved staves into a pile. “A gift from the orcs.”
The girls pause their chatter to gather around, giggling behind their hands, the self-doubt melting from their expressions. I roll my eyes and wonder if they’ll be more enthusiastic now that Rett’s handsome presence is getting involved.
He selects a staff and demonstrates beginner attack techniques—overhead swings, low sweeps, and quick jabs.
As he practices its use in both defense and offense, he recounts a tale of a heroic one-eyed warrior who faced impossible odds against a giant cyclops.
They raptly listen, mirroring his movements.
Rett finishes, and I catch him looking at me.
He winks, and a grateful smile plays on my lips.
I call the girls back to sparring practice.
The rain falls in earnest now, the heavy drops drenching our hair and clothes. I motion for them to continue, ignoring their girlish groans.
“Keep your motions tight and fast.” He spins the staff behind him in quick circles. “The weapon is an extension of your arm.”
“It’s also okay to take it slow and steady,” I say, trying to balance Rett’s approach.
“You can’t coddle them. They should be pushed hard if they’re to have any chance of making progress,” Rett argues as we stand at the edge of the group.
“I’m aware of that.” I cross my arms. “But they still need to build up their skills.”
He frowns, unconvinced. “In battle, the enemy will show no mercy.”
I call out, “It’s time to pair up for sparring with the staves. Elodie, you’re with Alisse again.”
Beatrix’s head snaps toward me. “Are you sure?”
“They’re the oldest and biggest. It wouldn’t be fair to group them with the other girls.” My eyes dart between the two, wondering if I’m making the right call. Alisse smirks as Elodie shakily stands opposite her.
At my signal, Alisse immediately launches an attack, raining down blows. Elodie grimaces and stumbles backward, struggling to deflect, taking a strike across her back. She gasps out in pain, and my feet move toward her, but Rett places a hand on my shoulder—
Lines furrow on Elodie’s brow as she focuses on her footwork while Alisse presses harder, her staff a blur of aggression.
Rage pulses in Elodie’s eyes, but she stands her ground, dodging.
Their staves crack together, the impact resonating through the courtyard.
Elodie grits her teeth at the jarring collision, but a crooked smile lifts across her face.
Satisfied, Rett and I walk through the sparring groups. The rain pounds down, flattening the girls’ hair and causing their feet to slip, but the harsher the elements become, the less they complain.
“Keep the attacks aimed between the shoulder and the hip,” Rett critiques as the pairs spar. He adjusts wrists, guides elbow direction, and ensures proper follow-through. Their techniques slowly sharpen. They lack strength, but this is more than I thought we could accomplish on the first day.
Rett looks over at me grinning, and my stomach squirms. Not wanting that sort of attention, I turn away and pick up two staves, handing one to Beatrix. “It’s our turn now.”
* * *
The rain tapers off, and a crisp breeze sends pinpricks of a sweaty chill across my skin now that we are finished training.
Rett gathers the supplies, and Beatrix ushers the girls inside for their midday meal while I hesitate to say something that’s been weighing on my mind since overhearing it earlier.
Rett lets out a small laugh through the drizzle. “Who knew courtesans could be so vicious?”
I snort. “They’ve always been skilled at that.”
“The little one turned absolutely feral…”
“You should know, one of the girls mentioned that strange men were in the village yesterday. Do you think they could be Metalla’s soldiers? What if they follow the girls back here?”
Rett’s laughter fades into a severe frown. “It could be anyone passing through, but I don’t like the sound of it.”
I squint through the glaring clouds. “What should we do?” My mind races with the possibilities of Metalla’s men being this close.
“It wouldn’t hurt if we checked it out. We’re close enough to the border that your silver eyes shouldn’t draw too much attention. Some witches have migrated this far south over the years. You might get some dirty looks, but I’m more worried they’ll recognize your face.”
“But they won’t recognize a famous half-orc prince?”
Rett laughs. “You might be right about that.” He ponders for a minute. “Beatrix could go with Drakka while we stay back and guard the girls.”
“I am not sending Beatrix into Borealla if I’m not willing to go myself!”
“Tabitha, you’re their deceased queen. Imagine their reaction.”
My heart trips at his warning.