Kepi laughed. “I am,” she said. “I’ve never been better.”
Dalla helped her dress, though the servant was clumsy with the mannish clothes and had to be instructed how to properly tie the breastplate on, how to adjust the straps, and how to pull Kepi’s hair away from her face so that it would not interfere in the ring. When she was dressed, Kepi looked down at herself clad in leather, feeling how soft the material was, how well worked. It all fit her too. With an imaginary sword in her hand she feinted and riposted. It was perfect.
Dalla smiled. “Are you ready?”
“Ready?”
“For the boy, your master-at-arms. He asked to see you for a training session.”
Kepi’s face darkened. She had no desire to see Seth. “He did? Where?”
“Outside in the yard. Mistress? Are you okay?”
“I think I will be, Dalla. Thank you for your help.”
“It’s all right. I hope … I mean, you are not like us. It’s good. I’d like it if we could be friends.”
Kepi smiled and patted the girl’s arm. “We are.” Like her father, Kepi had a way of making people trust her, making them loyal to her, simply by appreciating the kindness they wanted to give her. The girl gave her a quick squeeze and went back out of the room.
She found Seth waiting for her near the practice yard, weighing swords not far from the grove where she had joined hands with Dagrun to become his wife. It did not seem that long ago, and yet in many ways it was already a lifetime. In the distance she heard saws and hammers, the workers building the Queen’s Chamber, the bed, the furniture, and the roomful of books that would all soon be hers. If only she would accept them as such. She shook her head again. The world was strange, and she was a stranger in it—new, even to herself.
When he saw her in the new clothes, the leathers and tunic, Seth was confused.
“Where’d you get that armor?” he asked.
“It is not your concern,” she said. She would have him replaced, she decided. It was too dangerous for him to be so intimate with her.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Not now,” she said. She had avoided Seth with nearly the same vigor with which she had avoided the king of the Ferens. He was no longer quite a friend, she realized, and he had never been her lover. Though she had wanted to love him once, she had told herself she loved him, but that seemed foolish now, almost childish.
“Very well then, mistress,” he said, his voice dull with hurt. Seth tossed her a wooden blade. “Shall we begin?”
She stood back and waited. He advanced slowly, kicking up a little dust. He tipped his blade at the last moment, feinting right, but not convincingly. The blade turned at the last moment, his arm too limp to make an effective strike at her. She parried, beating his sword into the dirt.
“Good work,” he said, though she knew he could not tell good work from bad—his poor upbringing was showing. He wiped the dust from his blade. “Again.”
She advanced, legs bent, back straight, feet perpendicular—right leg first, left leg trailing. She kept her practice sword low, her left hand held out for balance. He took her patience for sluggishness and lunged crudely. She stepped backward, and he missed. He recovered, took a step back and scowled, then started again, advancing with his sword held level. Seth feinted, but Kepi watched the direction of his eyes rather than his arm, anticipating the move, and countered in the opposite direction, touching him on the back of his thigh. He tried to parry, but Kepi stepped back, and when he lost his balance she caught him in the middle of his chest. “You’re dead,” she said.
His face reddened. “Again,” he said, taking a deep breath and frowning.
Soldiers stopped to watch, and the slaves too paused at the field’s edge—they had an audience. Seth appeared to take notice, his knees trembling when they bent. He steeled himself on his back foot and lunged at her. He was angry, embarrassed, not paying attention to what he was doing but determined to land a blow, to prove that he could. A moment before he touched her she stepped to her right, and Seth, hitting nothing but air, fell on his knees into the Feren mud.
Quiet laughter rang through the court. She pitied the boy and offered him her hand, but he would not take it.
“Once more,” he told her as he pushed himself up with the wooden blade. He lifted his back foot as if to retreat but lunged forward instead. A clever trick—an advance disguised as a retreat—but he had forgotten that she had taught him the move. His blow struck her shoulder, but it landed too late: She had tapped him on the chest while his feet were still deciding which direction to take.
She heard a hoot, and then a round of chuckles. One soldier clapped, and the other slapped his friend on the back. “You are making a scene of yourself, Seth. Stop this,” she said with a sigh. She did not want to humiliate him.
He shook his head. “Just once more. It’s okay, I’m just having fun.”
His face turned ugly. He was not having fun at all—he was competing with her.
He came at her with blade held high. His hand wavering, his grip loose. He was taller than she was, his arm longer, and he used his reach to his advantage, thrusting his sword at her from a distance. The dull edge caught her on the shoulder, the same spot as the last hit. The blow stung. Kepi beat the flat edge of his sword with hers, knocking the weapon from his grip.
From the edge of the yard a soldier came toward them, but Kepi gestured to stop him, “No cause for alarm,” she told the man. “We like to play it rough.”
“I see.” The man snickered as he walked off the field. Their observers had doubled. In a moment half the guard would be watching. She hoped Seth was smart enough to keep quiet. She waited while he caught his breath, stood idle while he bent to pick up his sword.
“All right then?” she asked.
“All right?” he answered, his voice high like a young boy’s. “What was that?”
“Sparring.” She wanted it to end.
“If you say so.” He gripped his sword, then threw it into the dirt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this.” He came up close so that only she could hear and breathed out his excitement. “I only wanted to meet to tell you I found us a way to escape. We can be gone by nightfall, Kepi. We don’t have to stay here another moment.”
“Maintain your distance, Seth.” There were eyes wherever she looked.