Page 107 of Crown of the Courtesan

“Pair up and give each other space,” I call, my voice traveling across the grounds. They separate, dresses twirling wide as they seek their friends. Some stare at the grassy lawn or glance about before Beatrix finds them partners.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Rett walking through the yard before pausing at the swinging garden gate with Gorrash and Drakka in tow. They hang back but keep watching us.

My stomach plummets.

Trained warriors are the last people I want scrutinizing me as I attempt to teach my first lesson in combat. I take a deep breath and try to block them out, which is made all the harder as the youngest girl runs to Beatrix, hiding at the sight of the orcs strapped with shields and weapons.

Stepping forward, I adopt a defensive stance, feet planted firmly apart, arms raised. “Imitate me,” I instruct, making eye contact with the nervous students. “Just like this.” They mimic my posture with hesitant movements, discomfort visible in their slouched shoulders and clumsy legs.

It takes a while, but after teaching the basic postures, I instruct them on footwork. “Keep your steps light and nimble. Move sideways and diagonally on the balls of your feet, staying balanced.” Raindrops fall from the overcast sky, lightly speckling our faces.

The teen girl with sea-moss eyes and onyx hair practices with Alisse—and not very well. The younger girl yelps as she trips, scraping her arm on the ground. Blood forms on her wrist as she holds it close to her body.

“Try again,” I order, ignoring Alisse’s scoffing as she crosses her arms and backs away to gossip with a cluster of girls.

“I can’t,” the onyx-haired girl cries. “I’m not good at this.” Her eyes sparkle with tears, so I tell the rest of the group to take a break. Motioning for her to follow me, I walk with her toward the back of the manor, where we can’t be overheard.

I give her a sidelong glance before I ask, “What’s your name?”

“Elodie,” she says with a quick sniff, clearly trying to hide her distress.

“That’s pretty.” I pick up a fallen twig. “You know I was scared my first time too?”

She eyes me suspiciously but keeps quiet.

“It’s true,” I explain, snapping the wood into pieces before tossing it. “I used to be with a team of female warriors who trained constantly. It seemed impossible that I’d ever catch up with them.”

“What happened?”

“I kept training.”

“That doesn’t help someone like me. I can never seem to move my feet the right way. It wouldn’t matter if I practiced a hundred thousand times. I can’t even complete dance formations correctly. The instructors say I’ll be a lousy Lady Courtesan someday, and I just know I’ll be miserable at this, too.”

“Those instructors are wrong, and you’re wrong if you think you can’t learn. Training isn’t about perfection—it’s about not staying helpless.”

Elodie scrunches her face. “But the other girls are so much better already. What if I’m a dolt when it matters most?”

I wonder if she can tell I’m just as rattled as she is. “If you weren’t so focused on your flaws, you’d notice that the other girls are too worried about not making a fool of themselves to pay any attention to your mistakes. Slow progress is the only thing that matters.” I place my hand on her shoulder in reassurance. “Don’t worry about what might happen and focus on training your muscles to think for you. Instincts are half the battle in an attack,” I say, repeating the words Valora told me when I first joined Stormwatch.

Elodie manages a small but crooked smile. “I’ll try—I’ll do that much at least.”

“Good,” I say. “Now, let’s get back to the others.”

She nods, standing taller as she readjusts her raven braids. We round the corner of the manor once more, and I hear a rumbling of voices.

Rett’s voice booms across the training yard as he dumps newly carved staves into a pile. “A gift from the orcs.”

The girls pause their chatter to gather around, giggling behind their hands, the self-doubt melting from their expressions. I roll my eyes and wonder if they’ll be more enthusiastic now that Rett’s handsome presence is getting involved.

He selects a staff and demonstrates beginner attack techniques—overhead swings, low sweeps, and quick jabs. As he practices its use in both defense and offense, he recounts a tale of a heroic one-eyed warrior who faced impossible odds against a giant cyclops. They raptly listen, mirroring his movements. Rett finishes, and I catch him looking at me. He winks, and a grateful smile plays on my lips.

I call the girls back to sparring practice.

The rain falls in earnest now, the heavy drops drenching our hair and clothes. I motion for them to continue, ignoring their girlish groans.

“Keep your motions tight and fast.” He spins the staff behind him in quick circles. “The weapon is an extension of your arm.”

“It’s also okay to take it slow and steady,” I say, trying to balance Rett’s approach.