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Meg tried not to smile as Kiam’s voice rang out across the garden. Erasmus coughed politely and Brent gave a little growl of disapproval, which only served to make her really smile. “Meg, Meg,” Kiam called, and when he arrived beside her puffed and bent, Brent turned on him.
“I think you forget yourself,” he snapped. “The Princess Megora does not wish for a man of your station to address her so.”
Kiam paused for a moment. “Forgive me, Brother.” He gave a bow towards Brother Erasmus.
“Apologise to the princess,” Brent said firmly.
“I have a gift for the princess, which will make up for any impropriety.” He bent into a low bow before her, then withdrew a slender sword from behind his back and held it out across his hands.
“I do not understand,” she said slowly, reaching out hesitant fingers towards the steel. “You wish to practice with a real sword?”
“It is for you, Meg,” he said, holding the handle towards her. “I think you need more practice, but it is easier to lift, for you cannot expect to handle a broadsword just yet.”
She flushed and clutched her hands in front of her, strangely overwhelmed by the small sword before her.
“This is what you have been up to?” Brent asked, and when she looked up she noticed the Brother watched her, yet Brent was looking at Kiam.
“The blacksmith was happy to do it,” he said, holding the sword out again.
“Does he know why you had him make it?” Brent asked slowly.
Kiam glared at him. “No, sir, he does not.” His voice was too firm to address his superior. “But I thought it would give her some confidence. A wooden sword can be hard on the soul.”
The Brother’s booming, unexpected laughter quelled the rising tension and made them all turn. “Let her take the little sword, Commander; I think Princess Meg appreciates the gift from such a friend.”
She smiled at him and as Kiam held the sword again, she took it firmly and gave it a small experimental wave. “It is so light,” she said, lifting it up and pointing it at Kiam.
He raised his eyebrows, but the familiar grin was back.
“Ensure the queen does not see it,” the Brother said quietly. “For I do not think she would see your exercise in the same light, nor may most of the court.”
Meg nodded and lowered the sword, suddenly disappointed with herself, as though she were playing games when she should be doing her duty. She met Kiam’s sad eyes as though he too realised the games were over.
“You mistake me,” the Brother said. “I do not suggest you stop your exercise, for I feel it is important for your leg.” Meg breathed with relief and nodded slowly. “And you may have been right; you may need to stand before an army with a sword.”
She blinked at him. Were they headed for war? “Have you had news?” she asked Brent.
“Nothing to indicate trouble.” He shook his head slowly, looking between her and the Brother. “Do not think that I would place the princess in danger,” he said to Brother Erasmus.
“There may be little option,” the Brother said. “And I think the princess will do what she wishes.”
Meg gripped the sword more tightly in her hand.
Meg shook her arms out and hopped from foot to foot. She glanced around the empty yard again, but she was definitely alone. She always felt silly in her warm-up with the men before she practiced with them, but with no one to watch her, she was a little more confident. Not that any of them had ever laughed at her, despite her change in status when she entered the yard.
She rolled her shoulders and lifted her new sword above her head. She brought her hands together, gave a little bow to the empty yard and thrust the sword into the air before her. She pulled it back, stepped to the side and swung it at an imaginary foe beside her. She pulled her feet together, drew the sword back and then thrust forward again.
She tried to go over the movements in her mind the way Brent had shown her. It was almost dancelike, and she smiled at the memory of his muscular body as it moved fluidly around the yard. Her face warmed at the thought, and she tried to refocus on the movement she was supposed to be making.
He had been scary in his force, even with no foe there, and he said she was to be serious at all times. She was to fight for her life every time she lifted the sword, whether she faced a real enemy or not. Even when she faced her friends, the competition was fierce, and there were times she feared she might be really hurt by a sword as one of the men swung at her. Brent was as right in that as he was with everything else. She fought better and harder, and she was stronger than she thought she could ever be.
She stopped and looked at her feet for a moment. Brent always seemed to be commenting on her feet. Now she was alone, she found she was trying to think of it all—the placement of her feet, the thrust of the sword, the swing of her body, the defence. She stopped and took a deep breath, closed her eyes and re-centred.
“I’m thinking too much,” she murmured. She focused on the sword, held her arm tight as though she held her shield and silently thanked Kiam for his thoughtfulness in having a lighter one made. It was beautiful, and she had spent the first session looking at its shiny surface rather than using it. In the end, Raf had put a dent in it just to put her focus where it should be.
She took another steadying breath and thrust forward. Within a couple of moments, she was moving without thinking about it, focused solely on the power behind her thrusts. Her body seemed to lean the right way, her feet found the right position and her shield arm raised when required. All with very little thought.
When she was spent to the point she could hardly raise the sword again, she turned abruptly to loud clapping behind her.
“Well done,” the royal commander said as she bobbed into a curtsy with her sword raised. He grinned at her. “The commander seems to see talent in a soldier before I,” he said, and as she let the sword drop to her side, he motioned her over to a table by the wall.
“Sit down, lad,” he said with a friendly smile and poured wine into two rough cups. “I think a workout like that deserves a drink.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, placing the sword on the table and reaching forward for a cup. She gulped down half the contents before he put a hand on her arm.
She put it down, wiped her mouth across her sleeve and smiled at the grin he wore.
He nodded. “He does know a soldier,” he said again.
“I’m not sure I am a soldier,” she said, “but I want to be able to do my best for Rocfeld if I’m needed.”
The royal commander nodded. “And get some exercise.”
“That too,” she said, tapping her leg. “Kiam seems to know his share of the world as well, my lord.”
“That he does, lad, that he does.”
She smiled all the more then. “Why have you not travelled out to the border?” she asked.
“I am getting a bit old for this now,” he said. “The queen talks of my replacement.”
Meg shook her head. “I cannot see why she would do that.”
He shrugged and picked up his own cup. “There will come a time when I am not capable of the task.”
“But you are not there yet.”
“Perhaps, but it is time for Brent and Rainger and the others to prove their worth,” he said.
“Who do you think would be next?”
He shrugged. “I cannot guess at the choice,” he said, and took a large gulp from his cup. “I know who I think it should be.”
Meg looked at him expectantly, but he slowly shook his head, despite his smile.
“There are some things, lad, that no matter your status I could not discuss with you. It is not the business of a princess who the new royal commander would be.”
“I could argue that point,” she said.
“Nor is it the place of a young lad new to the barracks to be privy to such information.”
She nodded and sighed. “Not much use anywhere,” she murmured.
“Now that is certainly not true,” he said sternly, and for a moment she heard her father’s voice.
“Well,” she said slowly, “perhaps it is that I do not fit.”
“You certainly fitted in here easily enough, and I have watched you at court since you came of age,” he said, his voice soft. “There is something special in you, something people look to, and you have certainly won over their hearts here in the yard.”
“As a lad with a sword?”
“Yes, Meg, and it may be that they see you as a princess leading them.”
She shook her head.
“However it is that they see you, they all care for you and would follow wherever you led.”
“But I am a lad,” she said, and was surprised by his laugh.
“Perhaps,” he said. “But it is because you are prepared to be that lad that you will always be more to these men.”
“I am not sure I understand,” she said softly.
“You will,” he said. He stood slowly and gave her a little bow, and then slapped her on the shoulder hard enough to throw her forward. “Now practice some more with that sword, or I have boots for you to polish.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said, jumping up. She moved back to the spot in the yard and despite her aching arm, she lifted the sword and thrust it forward again.
“The men love you; stay close, for they will keep you where you need to be,” whispered on the wind as she moved the sword again and again.