Page 69 of Crown of the Courtesan

—Cliodna

Valora pokes her head in the door. I want to keep reading, but I welcome her instead, pushing the books aside and ensuring the diary is out of sight.

She strides in and plunks a wad of leather gear at the foot of my bed. “Here, get changed,” she instructs. “If you’re truly joining Stormwatch, you’ll wear the uniform. Since I had a personal matter to attend to, we’re training later than normal. It’s your lucky day.”

I look at her incredulously. There is no way I’m leaving this room and risking running into Ashland after our altercation last night.

Grabbing my stomach, I let out a little moan, but she cuts me off before I can fake my sickness any further.

“I’ve already heard all about it. Now get your stuff. We’re practicing on the shore before it starts raining again.” She peeks through the window, looking at the moody clouds above.

“What do you mean?” I squeak.

“He told me about your little incident before he left this morning.”

Embarrassment seeps into me, striking me speechless. No doubt he painted me unfavorably rather than admitting his role.

“I don’t care a whit what you two get up to. I’m simply relieved you’ll make the number of sparring women even. You do not know how tiresome it is to pair with someone while helping others at the same time.”

I clear my throat loudly. “So what exactly does Stormwatch do?” I’m eager to change the subject as I slip into the leather uniform. It’s snug but allows for a full range of motion.

“We’re tasked with special missions.” Valora laces the back of my vest. “And we also keep the castle safe when the men are away.”

“Sounds dangerous,” I say, braiding my hair and pulling on my boots.

“It can be. Speaking of which, I don’t have a breastplate for you yet, but I’m working on it. I’ll let you know when you can get outfitted at the forge.” Valora hands me a basic yet elegant silver sword with its belt and sheath. “This was my first, many years ago. Treat her well, and she won’t fail you. Her name is Neriene, which means valor. For you, too, shall behold true courage as you wield her.” I accept the blade with a hesitant but grateful smile, finding the weight surprisingly comfortable in my hand. She grins, studying me. “Good. You look ready. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

“Valora…”

Heading toward the door, she hums in response.

“Does the Witch-King’s sword have a name as well?”

She gives me a glance over her shoulder. “Of course. Now quit your yapping, or I’ll assign an extra lap during warm-up.”

I grip the pommel of the sheathed sword tucked at my hip as we wind through the castle, and I hope against all hope that Ashland is truly gone this morning. The events of last night seem far away now, but I know with one sight of him in the corridor, they would come crashing back.

We exit the gates without interference and head for the rocky shoreline. From the ridge above, I spot the other female warriors sparring with blades, their expert skills on display. Apprehension coils within me like a jealous snake.

Valora notices my hesitation. “Don’t worry. You’re learning quickly for someone so new,” she says. “That distant fae lineage those Alexandrian royals are always bragging about is strong in you. It comes out in your fighting spirit.” A thoughtful expression spreads across her face. “Or perhaps it’s that weird potion your lot drinks on Bidding Day. Either way, it’s working for you, so work for it in return.”

“Maybe it’s just dumb luck,” I mutter, taking a deep breath and following her down the cliffside path. But my nonchalant dismissal doesn’t prevent me from wondering if courtesan daughters are natural-born fighters, just like the courtesan sons who train as warriors. The Rite of Allurement bestows extraordinary strength upon the bloodline of the males, but perhaps it does the same for females—and we’ve simply never had the opportunity to test it.

The sea wind whips my hair as the clash of steel grows louder. When we reach the pebbled beach, Valora officially introduces me to the other women—though I believe it’s a bit late for that. They appraise me curiously but not unkindly. Their attitudes have clearly shifted, and I wonder if Valora recently had a few words with them.

She passes me a shield emblazoned with a storm cloud and lightning bolt, ordering, “No time like the present to start—take a defensive stance.”

My muscles strain as I attempt to copy the others, raising my sword and shield at the same time. Eventually, I calm my nerves and complete the practice, moving in formation with the others.

“Know your enemy, their flaws exposed. Savor their weakness; let vengeance compose,” chant the women as we take turns blocking blows.

After Valora is satisfied, we pair up and transition to offensive drills. My partner this time is a woman in her forties who’s much more pleasant than the redhead in the courtyard. Though we continue to trade strikes, I find my focus drawn out to the harbor. Small boats bob on the waves as men cast nets and lines.

After several botched attempts, I return my concentration to the task at hand and I learn to undercut my opponent.

But—I’m caught off guard, dropping my shield, when a rowboat crunches against the shore. I peer up as Ashland leaps out, followed by a handful of sailors.

He snatches the sword from my hand, rounding on Valora. “I warned you—no weapons!”