Heartless

Both Felix and Aethelbald looked around the practice yard, and once more Felix had the sense that everyone had been watching him but had just in that instant turned away and now pretended otherwise. He glanced toward his attendants, who yawned and leaned against the wall, dozing like so many cows in a pasture.

Felix turned back to Aethelbald and shrugged. “I’ve been trained,” he said. “And by the best fencing master in the kingdom, I’ll have you know.”

“Not a soldier, I would venture,” Aethelbald said with a smile.

“Common soldiers don’t train princes.”

“Common soldiers would advise you not to drop your guard. Unless you wish to be skewered, of course.”

Felix huffed, exasperated, and indicated the dummy with his wooden sword. “It’s not alive. It’s not going to skewer me.”

“Which is why you should practice with someone who might.” Aethelbald uncrossed his arms, and Felix saw that he held a wooden practice sword in one hand. He stepped forward and stood beside the dummy, his arms limp at his sides, no more lithe and mobile than a dummy himself. But his eyes twinkled. “I can see by your face, Prince Felix, that you’re itching to hit me a good one.”

Felix eyed him up and down, his eyes half closed. “You say my form is bad. Look to your own!”

Aethelbald shrugged but otherwise stood still. “Hit me,” he said.

Felix adjusted his grip on his wooden sword. “Will you salute first?”

Aethelbald smiled again. “I’m a dummy, Prince Felix. Has a dummy ever saluted you?”

Gritting his teeth, Felix assumed first position. He executed his attack with precision – his feet placed dead on, his arms extended in opposite directions, the point of his sword perfectly parallel to the ground. He was quick as a dart flying toward its mark, and even his fencing master should have been proud.

But an instant later he found himself stumbling forward empty-handed, his arms spinning to catch his balance, and Prince Aethelbald stood behind him, motionless save for his sword arm, which slowly dropped back into place at his side. Felix whirled around and immediately shot glances across the yard. None of the guards looked his way, but who could say how many had watched the engagement? He turned on Aethelbald, trying to mask his anger. “How – ”

“Where is your sword?” Aethelbald asked.

Felix cast about for it and saw it had landed a good three yards away. He ran to fetch it, but Aethelbald called out, “You’re exposed again, prince.”

Felix swept up his sword and stood with it before him, point at the ready. “I was getting my weapon!” he snarled.

“Do you think your opponent will always give you that opportunity?” Once more the Prince of Farthestshore stood like a wooden doll, his feet rooted to the gravel. “Hit me.”

Felix went on guard, his arms extended in a straight line in opposite directions, and lunged again. It was perfect, an artistic movement like a dancer’s performance on stage. Yet at the end of it, he stood disarmed once more, glaring in unconcealed fury.

“Your weapon?” Aethelbald said.

Felix retrieved it and lunged again. A third time he was disarmed. He grabbed up his sword, attacked, and lost. Glaring daggers Aethelbald’s way, he shouted, “You don’t fence by the rules, sir!”

“Neither will your enemy,” Aethelbald replied.

Felix took in the man’s horrible form. Aethelbald’s stance screamed inexperience, yet Felix noticed suddenly something in his posture that hinted otherwise. Though Aethelbald stood like a wooden block, his knees were ever so slightly bent, and something in the set of his shoulders implied strength and quickness. One might not notice such details if one had not experienced, in four successive encounters, being disarmed by a single stroke.

Felix lunged again and was once more disarmed, but this time he snatched up his sword in an instant and attacked without preamble, forcing Aethelbald to move out of his wooden stance and actually engage him. But at the end of the engagement, Felix stood empty-handed.

“What are you doing?” he cried, but now his voice held less anger and more curiosity. “You’re doing something I haven’t seen. What is it?”

Aethelbald smiled, but though Felix looked for it, he detected no smug amusement, only pleasure. “I’ll teach you. Fetch your weapon. Watch your back, prince!” He slapped Felix lightly across the shoulders as he retreated. Felix rolled his eyes and groaned but took up his weapon again and whirled into a defensive stance.

“Teach me,” he said.

–––––––

That morning Una woke freezing. Nurse scolded her, saying it was her own fault for letting in all that unhealthy fresh air when sensible people would have left the windows shut. Monster refused to leave his nest beneath the covers at the foot of the bed, obliging the maid to make the bed around him. Una wished she could join the cat there, keeping the quilts pulled tight over her head all day. She was cranky and ill-rested. Vague impressions of dreams haunted her, but she could remember nothing specific.

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