Page 106 of Crown of the Courtesan

“Then what happened?”

Verity’s shoulders hunch, making her appear small and frail. “Theodora came to live and train here. Unfortunately, the bullying began when she was young and never let up. Theodora was gentle, scared, and shy, yet her eyes reminded everyone of the transgression of her birth. The perfect target for their taunts.”

My nails dig into my palms. I can only imagine the hardships she went through.

Then I remember Valora describing her as a swordswoman, so skilled in combat that she became famous despite her station in life. My head hurts as I struggle to understand these different versions of her. Putting my cup in the washing tub, I turn to thank Verity.

Before I’m able to speak, she interrupts, “Make their sacrifices your stepping stones, and do not falter.”

* * *

Pale dawn peeks through the lace curtains, casting a gentle glow over Beatrix’s cramped chambers as we lie in her bed, which is almost too small for the both of us. The sheets rustle as I roll over, the crisp cotton cool against my skin. Beatrix’s eyes are already open, fixed on the dust dancing in the sunrise. Her head turns and her worried gaze sinks into me; I can tell she’s been awake for a while.

Sitting up, I push my tangled hair away from my face. “The courtesan pupils need to start a different type of training,” I announce. “Swords, fighting, defense—even learning about poisons.”

All night, I tossed and turned, thinking about how my mother trained and transformed herself—and how we could do the same.

Beatrix frowns, her brow creasing as she props herself up on her pointy elbow. “Training? But they are just young girls…”

“Exactly.” I straighten my posture. “They’re vulnerable and need to know more than dancing and conversation.” I clutch her hand, meeting her uncertainty.

Beatrix’s bloodshot eyes widen. “No. It’s too dangerous,” she protests, her voice quivering. “Besides, we don’t have weapons here, and we’re certainly not warriors.”

“When I was in Ashland, they trained every woman who wished to learn. Their leader taught me to fight and defend myself. Well, she started to, but I can show these girls the basics. It’s the least I can do.”

Beatrix opens her mouth to protest, but I refuse to let go of how important this is. “You want to keep everything as routine as possible, and I understand that. But they need to learn how to protect themselves, or they might not survive because none of this is normal anymore.”

She’s silent for a long moment before nodding. “I won’t stand in your way.” Something similar to disbelief lingers in her gaze. “I’ll gather them after breakfast.”

“You won’t regret this.” The hardwood floor creaks as I rise from the bed. The knot in my chest loosens before it retwists with the responsibility of teaching these young girls how to stay alive when we have only a couple of days.

Beatrix swiftly dresses and readies herself alongside me, the swishing of our skirts filling the tense air. We study each other in our instructor gowns until our manic laughter breaks the silence. When we were younger, we worried endlessly that these purple-hued dresses would be the worst thing that could ever possibly happen to us.

Oh, how wrong we were.

We exit her chamber to rouse the students. She pauses to look into my still-laughing face. “It looks like we’re preparing for war.”

Forty-Seven

Gathered on the dew-covered lawn, the courtesan girls appear tense and downcast under the gloomy clouds rolling in to cover the morning sky. The littlest ones tightly clutch each other’s waists, making me want to send them inside to play with dolls—but I remind myself it’s important for them to be here too.

I stop to adjust the laces on my boots before joining them. While I’m reaching down, I purposefully overhear their conversation.

“I can’t believe we’re learning to fight,” one whispers. “This isn’t supposed to be part of our training!”

“It was bad enough when we had to start doing chores. My blisters haven’t even healed. Now we must train like boys too?”

“Of all the things!”

“At least learning to fight is more interesting than our music lessons,” chimes a young girl.

“Interesting? More like terrifying,” the older one retorts. “I don’t want to end up covered in bruises.”

“Must we really learn defense?”

There’s a shuffling of feet. “I was getting flour in the village yesterday, and there were strange men I didn’t recognize. They asked a lot of intrusive questions, so I don’t think we should be arguing about this.”

They fall silent, standing together, fidgeting with their skirts as I approach.