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“You can’t keep play-fighting with the guards.”
Alexia Cousland glared at her brother, crossing her arms with the soft creak of well-worn practice leathers. “Why not? You train with Rory.”
Fergus sighed with all of the seriousness of a teenage older brother. “Ser Gilmore is one of father’s full knights, even if he is young. It’s entirely appropriate for him to spar with the heir who’s going to eventually lead the Cousland troops.”
Alexia sprung to her friend’s defense. “Ali’s training to be a knight, too!”
“No, he’s not.” Fergus shook his head sadly. “He may think he is, but he’s not going to amount to more than a guard, officer if he’s lucky.”
“But he’s better than every other boy his age – and half of the older ones. He deserves it.”
Fergus put a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Alexia, a boy without a family name is never going to be knighted.”
“That’s not fair!” Alexia felt her eyes prickle with tears.
“Fair doesn’t matter, little pup.” Fergus ruffled at her disheveled hair, and she stuck her tongue out at his use of father’s favorite nickname. “You’re a teyrn’s daughter, and Alistair’s a bastard with no name.” He held up a hand to forestall her defense. “I’m not judging him for it; Maker knows it’s not his fault how he was born. But think about how it looks. You have to understand.”
Alexia nodded. She did understand. She understood that they’d have to start being more careful about where they met for their sparring bouts in the future. Maybe the stables would work. Hardly anyone ever went in there.
Alexia blinked rapidly to clear the sweat from her eyes and tried to ignore the grit clinging to her face. The stables had given them privacy for the past two years of sparring matches, but the privacy came at the price of a lot of old straw dust getting stirred up into the air. Even with the protective masks they wore during practices, the grit always found a way in. Alexia was very much looking forward to a bath after this. But first she had to win.
Alistair blocked a fast cut with his shield, knocking her greatsword aside. Alexia danced back, keeping out of range of his sword until she could bring her blade back to guard position. She’d never gotten the hang of coordinating a shield, so she preferred the greater reach of a larger weapon.
Alistair tried to press his advantage, regaining the ground she’d yielded. Grinning behind her mask, Alexia waited until he was off balance, then took a wide swing, bringing the flat of her blade hard against his midsection, sweeping him from his feet.
He hit the ground with an oof of surprise, practice blade dropping from his hand. Springing forward, Alexia pressed her own sword to his chest, standing over him and gloating. “I win. Yield, Ali.”
He laid there unmoving, getting his breath back. Alexia pressed the blunted tip of her sword a tiny bit harder. “Ali, yield.”
If she’d been able to see his face, the grin would have given her a split second warning before he wrenched his shield up to push her sword aside. At the same time, he managed to hook a leg up into the back of her knee, sending her tumbling to the straw-covered floor beside him.
The impact knocked her sword from her hand and her breath from her chest. By the time she’d worked out what had happened, Alistair had rolled her onto her back and pinned her. “You yield.” She could hear the smug grin in his voice.
“To what? Your sword’s over there.” She gestured with a tilt of her head, not having free use of her arms.
He glanced over. “Oh, right. Good point.” He sounded defeated for a moment but then brightened. “Yours is too.”
“So what do we do now?” Alexia was pretty sure the combat instructor had never covered how to resolve a duel when both parties ended up disarmed.
“If this were a real fight, this is probably where we start punching each other in the face until one of us passes out.”
“Is that your plan, then?” Alexia knew he couldn’t see her raised eyebrow, but the skeptical amusement was evident in her tone of voice.
“Maker’s breath, no!” Alistair recoiled, releasing one of her wrists. He pulled off his padded mask and ran a hand through his already-disheveled hair. “I’d never hit you, Lexia. Fergus would murder me if he saw you with a black eye, and I don’t even want to think about what your father would do after that.”
“Worse than murder?”
“Oh, sure, he seems all kind and friendly to you because he’s your father, but the teyrn is really a very scary man. He’s just good at hiding it. But underneath the cheery good humor… cold-hearted monster. Really.” A look of realization slowly swept across his face. “I probably shouldn’t say things like that about your father, should I?”
Alexia couldn’t help but laugh. “No, Ali, probably not. If you let me up, I might be persuaded not to tell him.”
He started to shift his weight off her, then hesitated, looking at her suspiciously. “What about telling Fergus? Because that’s almost as bad. He really is that scary, and he’s not bound by a noble obligation to care for helpless orphans taken in by the household.”
Her mask had come loose in the struggle, and Alexia used her free hand to pull it off, letting the cool air reach her face. She grinned up at her friend. “Convince me.”
“Lexia, that’s not fair!” Alistair pinned her arm back down and then appeared at a loss for what to do next.
They realized at about the same time that they were back at the same impasse that had started all of this. Their eyes met, and they burst into laughter.
“Honestly, Ali,” Alexia gasped out as she caught air, “I don’t want you in trouble. Who would I train with if father sent you away?”
“Nice to know you’re so concerned about my well-being. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
They were so engrossed in their own laughter that neither of them noticed the stable door cracked open as someone watched them.
“I hear you’ve been sneaking off to meet with serving boys in the stables, pup.” Her father’s tone of accusation cut Alexia deeply. She looked away, only to be confronted with her mother’s dark stare. Alexia cringed under the force of parental disapproval.
“Only one boy. And he’s a guard trainee, not a servant.” It sounded like a feeble defense, even in her own ears, but the distinction mattered, for reasons she couldn’t clearly articulate.
“That’s hardly going to excuse clandestine encounters.” Eleanor’s voice was flat.
“We were practicing at swordplay.” Alexia squirmed under her mother’s scrutiny, feeling a blush come to her cheeks and hating it. “Actual swords! We’ve just been sparring, not… whatever else you think.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think.” Eleanor sighed and looked away. Suddenly, she sounded more defeated than angry. “We trust you, child, but not everyone is so forgiving.”
“Truth be told, pup, in the eyes of your future father-in-law, actual swordplay may be just as damning as metaphorical.”
Eleanor’s lips narrowed, and she sniffed with disgust. “Rendon never did have any use for women who could handle themselves. I think he was always afraid one of us might turn out to be stronger than him.”
Bryce put a cautionary hand on his wife’s arm, and she dropped the subject. He turned back to his daughter, a frown etched onto his face. “I’ve always suspected that the Howes had ears on our staff, and that seems all the more likely now. Regardless of his reasons, I’m afraid the betrothal has been called off.”
Alexia stared at him for a moment, trying to process his words. Then a wave of indignation rose up in her. “But I didn’t do anything wrong!”
It was her mother who responded. “I know, dear. Unfortunately, appearance often counts for more than truth.” She placed a hand gently on Alexia’s back and shepherded her out of the room. “Come along. Things will look better after a cup of tea.”
Three hours later, Alistair found her sitting in the hayloft, knees drawn up to her chest. She heard him climbing up and tried to wipe the tears off her cheeks, knowing that the gritty dust smeared across her face would give her away regardless. She refused to look at him, and he didn’t say anything, settling in next to her.
Alistair had never been good at silence; he babbled even when sparring. She wasn’t surprised that he only lasted a few minutes. “Would you feel better if you pushed me off here? It probably wouldn’t hurt anything much important. I’ve got a very thick head. Everyone says so.”
Alexia ignored him. She wasn’t in the mood for his jokes.
The renewed silence stretched for a few moments longer. Alistair shifted uncomfortably, rustling in the straw. When he spoke again, the light tone was gone and he sounded almost as miserable as she felt. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble, Lexia. I never meant to.”
She shook her head, still not looking at him. She didn’t want him to see the wreck her face turned into when she cried. Of course, he probably already had, but if she didn’t look him in the eye, she could pretend. “It wasn’t your fault. Mother says Rendon probably would have found a reason eventually.”
“Still, I’m sorry.” The straw rustled again; he was obviously still uncomfortable about something. “Do you love him?”
“What, Rendon?” She forgot herself, turning to stare at him in utter confusion.
“No, his son. The one you were supposed to marry. Until I screwed it up for you.”
“Nate?” Alexia shrugged. “It’s not about love. It’s about doing what’s best for the family. But… I think I would have come to love him. He’s a good person. Smart and quick and generous. He was teaching me archery.” She chuckled. “I’m terrible at it, but he’s been very patient with me. I like him. I think I would have been happy as his arlessa. Not that it matters now.”
Alexia shrugged and turned back to staring across the stables, watching the dust motes swirl in the air and slowly settle.
“I’m sorry, Lexia. I really am. You deserve to be happy.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” Alexia repeated herself, hoping it would get through his misplaced guilt.
There was silence again for another long minute. She heard Alistair inhale deeply, and there was a catch in his voice when he spoke. “Anyway, I just came to say goodbye.”
Alexia felt a surge of panic. She whirled her head to stare at him, stunned. “Father’s sending you away?” She started to struggle to her feet. “Ali, no! He can’t. I’ll tell him not to. This wasn’t your fault!”
Alistair grabbed her arm before she could get far, shaking his head and gently pulling her back. “No, of course he isn’t. Your father is the kindest, most generous man I know. No matter what I said the other day.” A small grin crossed his face, quickly chased away by the sad determination that lingered in his eyes. “I’m not leaving Highever. But I think we should stop training together. I don’t want to be a problem for you, Lexia.”
“Absolutely not.” She glared at him firmly, trying to mimic her mother’s most imposing look of authority. “I’m a ten times better swordswoman that I’d be without your help, and I’m not giving that up for the sake of some stupid gossip. Besides, the harm’s already done. What worse could happen?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t want to risk finding out.” His jaw was set. Alexia knew that stubborn look from the practice ring, a sign that he had no intention of backing down. The only way she’d ever managed to beat him when he looked like that was by employing decidedly unorthodox tactics. She decided it was time to try one: sincerity.
Gently, she placed her hand over his where he still clutched at her forearm. “Ali, I’ve just lost my fiancé. Please don’t take away my best friend, too.”
He blinked, and the determined expression was replaced by shock. After another couple of blinks, a shy grin crept onto his face. “Is that an order?”
Alexia grinned back. “Yes. I absolutely order you to keep pummeling me on a regular basis until I learn to avoid getting bruises.”
“You’re going to regret that.”
“I always do. But the bruises fade.” She squeezed his hand. “This doesn’t.”