“I have heard so many wonderful things about you, Amadine,” Yseult said, her hands reaching for mine as I straightened.
Our fingers linked, both pale and cold, a passion and a queen. For one moment, I imagined she was a sister, for here we stood among a room of men, daughters of Maevana who had been raised in Valenia.
I vowed in that moment that I would do everything I could to see her reclaim the throne.
“Lady Queen,” I said with a smile, knowing the Maevans didn’t bother with “highness” and “majesty.” “I . . . I am honored to meet you.”
“Please call me Yseult,” she insisted, squeezing my fingers just before she let go. “And sit beside me at dinner?”
I nodded and followed to a chair beside hers. The men filled the spaces around us, and the ale was poured and the dinner platters set along the spine of the table. Again, I was surprised by the sentiments of a Maevan dinner—there were no courses set down and taken away before us in orderly fashion. Rather, the platters were passed about, and we filled our plates all at once to overflowing. It was a casual, intimate, natural way to partake in a dinner.
As I ate, listening to the men speak, I marveled at how well they had forced their accents into hiding, how Valenian they truly seemed. Until I saw little glimpses of their heritage—I heard a slight brogue emerge in Jourdain’s voice; I saw Laurent draw forth a dagger from his doublet to cut his meat, instead of using the table knife.
But for all the Maevan air that had settled about the table, one thing I could not help but notice: Yseult and Luc still maintained the strict posture, the correct handling of their forks and knives. For, yes, they had been born in Maevana, but they had both been very young when their fathers fled with them. Valenia, with her passion and her grace and etiquette, was the only way of life they knew.
No sooner had I thought such did I glance down to see a dagger belted to Yseult’s side, nearly hidden in the deep pleats of her simple dress. She felt my stare and glanced at me, a smile hovering just over the edge of her goblet as she prepared to take a sip of ale.
“Do you fancy blades, Amadine?”
“Never held one,” I confessed. “You?”
The men were too absorbed in their conversation to hear us. All the same, Yseult lowered her voice as she responded, “Yes, of course. My father insisted I learn the art of swordsmanship from an early age.”
I hesitated, unsure if I had the right to ask such of her. Yseult seemed to read my thoughts though, for she offered, “Would you like to learn? I could give you a few lessons.”
“I would love to,” I answered, feeling Luc’s gaze shift over to us, as if he knew we were making plans without him.
“Come tomorrow, at noon,” Yseult murmured and winked, for she felt Luc’s interest as well. “And leave your brother at home,” she said loudly, only to rile him.
“And what are you two planning?” Luc drawled. “Knitting and embroidery?”
“How did you ever guess, Luc?” Yseult smiled demurely and returned to her dinner.
No plans or strategies for recovering the throne were discussed that night. This was merely a reunion, a pleasant gathering before a storm. The Laurents—Kavanaghs—did not ask me at all about my memories, about the stone, although I could sense that they knew every single detail. I felt it every time Yseult looked at me, a hoard of curiosities and intrigue in her eyes. Jourdain had said she had a trace of magic in her blood; I was about to recover the stone of her ancestors, set it about her neck. Which meant I was about to bring forth her magic.
It was my all-consuming thought as we prepared to leave, bidding the Laurents good-bye in the foyer.
“I shall see you tomorrow,” Yseult whispered to me, folding me in an embrace.
I wondered if I would ever feel comfortable hugging her, the future queen. It went against every Valenian sentiment in me, to touch a royal. But if there was any time to shed my mother’s heritage, it was now.
“Tomorrow,” I said with a nod, bidding her farewell as I followed Jourdain and Luc into the night.
The following day, I returned to the Laurents’ a few minutes shy of noon, Luc on my heels.
“I am not opposed to this,” my brother insisted as we stood on the front door and rang the bell. “I only think it best that we focus on other things. Hmm?”
I had told him about the sword lessons but not that my foremost motivation was to convince Jourdain that I could protect myself, that I could be sent to Maevana for the stone’s retrieval.
“Amadine?” Luc pressed, wanting an answer from me.
“Hmm?” I lazily returned the hum, to his amused annoyance, as Yseult opened the door.
“Welcome,” she greeted, letting us inside.
The first thing I noticed was she was wearing a long-sleeved linen shirt and breeches. I had never seen a woman wear pants, nor look so natural in them. It made me envious that she could move so freely while I was still encumbered by a flurry of skirts.
Luc hung his passion cloak in the foyer, and then we followed her down the hallway into an antechamber at the back of the house, a room with a stone floor, mullioned windows, and a great oaken chest. Atop the chest were two wooden long-swords, which Yseult gathered.
“I must confess,” the queen said, blowing a stray tendril of her dark red hair from her eyes, “I have always been the student, never the teacher.”
I smiled and accepted the scuffed training sword that she extended to me. “Don’t worry; I am a very good pupil.”
Yseult returned the smile and opened a back door. It led into a square courtyard enclosed by high brick walls, sheltered overhead by woven wooden rafters that were thickly knotted by vines and creeping plants. It was a very private space, only a few splotches of sunlight caressing the hard-packed ground.
Luc overturned a bucket to sit against the wall while I joined Yseult at the center of the courtyard.
“A sword has three foremost purposes,” she said. “To cut, to thrust, and to guard.”
So began my first lesson. She taught me how to hold the pommel, then the five primary positions. Middle, low, high, back, and hanging guard. Then she transitioned to the fourteen essential guards. We had just perfected the inside left guard when the chamberlain brought us a tray of cheese, grapes, and bread, along with a flask of herbal water. I hadn’t even been aware of the hours that had slipped by, fast and warm, or that Luc had fallen asleep against the wall.
“Let’s take a break,” Yseult suggested, wiping the sweat from her brow.
Luc woke with a start, wiping drool from the corner of his mouth as we approached him.
The three of us sat on the ground, the tray of food in the center of our triangle, passing the flask back and forth as we ate and cooled off in the shade. Luc and Yseult teased each other with a familial affection, which made me wonder what growing up in Valenia must have been like for them. Especially Yseult. When had her father told her who she was, that she was destined to take back the throne?