Fencing Academy Pt. 02

Adriana watched Gwen search for words. Gwen pursed her lips, making false starts and deep breaths. Finally, after looking to either side, she whispered, "There's another reason I'm here, Adriana. I'm here to pass on a message to you, from my brother Ferdinand, the next Count of Merida."

Adriana had hoped there would be no politics today, but she was graceful enough to pretend to be surprised. "Oh?"

Gwen shifted awkwardly on the canvas. "Yes... he intends to propose marriage to you."

Oh no.

Adriana's brow furrowed. "Impossible. My people would never accept it, they'd take it to be a consolidation of power. Besides," she added, "Merida is a thousand miles from Rotham. One person could never run both."

Evidently, Gwen had prepared her arguments earlier, and she began to follow them like a stuttering cart on a rail. "My brother is very handsome," she said, "one of the most popular men in the kingdom. You'll look very good together, by his side."

Adriana had seen photographs of him, riding horses, playing violin, dancing with ladies... he was handsome indeed... to girls too immature to appreciate an actual man. Adriana found his features too soft and feminine, his chin too pointed and unsquare, his cheeks naked of any facial hair. It was the throngs of hopeful adolescent girls who pined for him.

"I'm not attracted to him," she said firmly.

"He's a more distant cousin than Marcus..." she said hopefully.

Adriana gave Gwen a sidelong glance. She sensed a note of desperation in Gwen's voice.

"Why do you need this so much?" asked Adriana pointedly, "Ferdinand could have any woman he wanted."

Gwen shifted closer to Adriana. "We need someone we can trust..."

Adriana did nothing but frown, hoping that would communicate that she needed the full truth. Gwen evidently got the message, Adriana waited for it with interest as she sidled up to her ear.

"He's... he's a boy prince," she said in a whisper.

Adriana shrugged. "That's not unusual for lords. When he gets married and starts doing his husbandly duties he will forget all about other men."

Gwen shook her head. "No... I mean, he's a boy prince in the old sense of the word..."

An instant of confusion passed over Adriana before she let out an "Oh."

Adriana had heard the term many times, mostly rumors about gentlemen acting the "boy prince" at night, being as a women to other men, fornicating in ways against the laws of nature. But the word had a far older meaning: a noble's daughter who is passed off as a son, for the purposes of inheritance. It was a common thing before women had such legal rights. There were rumors of men who had run entire kingdoms, marrying, somehow managing to impregnate their wives and siring children, before it was found on their deathbed that they were never really men at all.

Gwen whispered even more urgently. "Svieg must not learn! If he does, he might use it to press our son's claim on Merida!"

It all made sense now. When Adriana had visited her cousins in Merida six years ago, Ferdinand was inexhaustible, a son any noble would have been proud of. He climbed and rode and studied and chattered endlessly on every subject. Adriana had doubted whether there was an aspect of boyhood Ferdinand hadn't explored... until that day by the lake. Ferdinand seemed so miserable on the shores as everyone paddled naked and laughing in the blue waters. His excuses were clumsy and out of character. "I might get wet," he might have said, or, "there are lampreys in there," but each time he would say it he had the same bitter glower.

What she had always assumed was an irrational fear of water turned out to be a kiss from the sword dangling over Ferdinand's neck. In a world wet and drooling for the bucolic lands of Merida, Ferdinand needed someone who would not use his... rather, her... female sex against her. Adriana was an obvious choice... they were family, she was already very powerful, and she was a Challette.

In fact, I might be the only choice...

Adriana cleared her throat to give her a moment to think. Marcus adored her in a way she could never feel about him, it would be an uncomfortable relationship, but even that was preferable to a loveless marriage with Ferdinand. As much as she appreciated Jenny, she did not want another night servant for the rest of her life... she needed a man.

"I would like to help you cousin, but if I were to marry Ferdinand, I might lose Rotham... Marcus's father plots against me..."

"Let him have the Duchy," said Gwen.

Adriana's eyes widened with shock.

"Yes... let him have the Duchy," said Gwen, more confidently. She gestured at the smear of brown and black that smog over the Rotham skyline. "What's here for you, in this hideous city, full of smoke and ignorance with its river of... of... excrement? Your brothers are dead, your father is dying, your uncle is most likely a murderer... We're your family, Adriana. Marry my brother. Move to Artisia. Become my sister."

Adriana heart was thumping. No one had ever put it to her in quite that way... she had suddenly felt tempted... and she was right. She did not want to marry Marcus. She did not want to rule Rotham. There was nothing for her here but blood and death... but...

"I made a solemn vow I wouldn't..." lamented Adriana, her eyes on the ground.

Gwen took her by the shoulder and looked her in the eyes. "To who?"

"To him..."

There was a mighty crack, and Sveig fell off a tree. As he got up he released a torrent of Svandish curses.

"...Zachonian trees are weak! Weak!" he shouted.

The guards raced toward him to pick him from the ground.

The distraction was so timely that Adriana thought it the work of the Saints. "...I will think on it," said Adriana.

The perturbed look on Gwen's face did not leave. "You had better think on it soon... Ferdinand is coming to Rotham."

Adriana suddenly felt like slapping her. "What?!"

Gwen flinched. "He wants to woo you."

Adriana had to stop herself from shouting. She said in a hasty whisper: "How can he woo me, he's a girl!"

Gwen took a glance at Svieg, who was still muttering and cursing. "Please, quieter!"

"He didn't think to consult me!?" Adriana hissed, shaking her head.

"My brother he's..." Gwen searched for words, "he's never doubted himself, and he wears his boyhood like he was born with it. He's... he's truly convinced he can win you, with his own efforts."

"I'm not... I'm not... a pervert..." Adriana spat the last words.

"That is good," said Gwen firmly, "neither is Ferdinand. You'll find he is as much a man as any you've ever met, and he'll conduct his husbandly duties with no dissatisfaction."

"...He can conduct no husbandly duties. He's a she... and what do you mean by that anyway? Will he knit me a nice scarf?"

Gwen blushed. "Will you make me say it? You... you employ a night servant, don't you?"

Adriana was careful with her words. "She provides assistance with the issue of a woman's virtue..."

It was as though a flash of fire had erupted in Gwen's eyes. "She eats your cunt, you mean."

Adriana went stiff, appalled by Gwen's words.

Gwen continued, eyes blazing. "You call my brother a freak. Yet you abuse that poor girl each night, using her like a toy for your own pleasure. She can never have your love, your kiss. You use your virtue as an excuse to be a selfish lover. What a sick, perverted, loveless relationship you have."

I'm not a selfish lover, she wanted to say, I've always wanted to give back. But that would imply Adriana wanted Jenny at all. Which I don't. She only managed to say, "The Book of Saints says that—"

Gwen took a breath. "Saints be damned, Adriana. I will not allow a bunch of dry old corpses and their old book tell me whether I can love my brother or not. When she touches you, does the universe come apart? Are you smote by thunder? Do you feel Darkness crawl into your soul? The... the Saints aren't real, Adriana..."

Adriana stiffened like a nun. "You can't mean that. The Saints gave us Light and Civilization, they set the rules by which we must live, or else Darkness and Chaos would return—"

"Fairy tales, all of it," laughed Gwen, "something to keep peasants from killing and raping each other. But we don't need those ideas any more. This is the dawn of the Age of Reason. Science will be our new religion."

Atheism... Adriana recalled. A fashion spreading across Artisia like a rising tide, she'd heard.

"I had heard that Artisia was becoming a debauched, immoral society," said Adriana calmly, "but I never imagined it would infect my own family."

Gwen did not take that well. A purple vein popped on her neck and temples for a brief moment, and after some labored breaths she managed, "I see the Light of Reason hasn't quite pierced the smog here. Good day, cousin."

She stood up, and strode angrily from Adriana's presence. Adriana remained seated, a queer feeling of shame soaking through her. Perhaps I should not have been so obstinate... Rulership had made her headstrong and proud sometimes, though she endeavored not to be.

But Jenny, sweet Jenny... the girl forswore all men for her so that she could please her. No husband nor sweet kisses for her, her existence permitted by a loophole in the Divine Laws. No acts of passion were to pass between those of the same sex, unmarried women were forbidden physical contact with men, and self-pleasure was sinful. But an unmarried woman could provide service to another without breaking the Divine Laws. It was, as the street preachers crooned, against the spirit of the Divine Laws if not their word.

Adriana puzzled it out. But if that's true, then the only virtuous act would be to dismiss Jenny... so why do I feel so loathe to do that? That left a strikingly uncomfortable feeling inside. When Count Ferdinand comes, I will be courteous to him. That much I owe Gwen.

###

When Adriana grasped a sword, her worries usually evaporated, but Gwen's words had robbed it of that power. As she thrust the rapier into the training dummy repeatedly she tried to imagine her insecurities into it, but they remained firmly locked inside her mind.

I'm not selfish, she stabbed and stabbed, I've sacrificed so much for this city, more than anyone knows...

"Your stance is bad," observed Sara.

Sara Sunderland often watched students with a frown, but in a way that did not necessarily mean displeasure. Adriana sometimes thought that fencing instructor was an odd fit for her; she was a specimen of Solissian womanhood. Her flesh was the golden color of sultanas, a ponytail dyed royal purple descending down her back. She wore a plain bolero the color of sand, unfastened at the front to allow her weighty breasts to press against a tight white shirt. Her pants matched the bolero.

Sara had her arms wrapped tight around her chest, fingers tapping her sleeve.

Adriana swallowed her embarrassment as she shifted her feet.

"Your stance is still bad." Sara shook her head. "Your shoulders are lopsided. That's why you aren't thrusting straight."

Sara used the pommel of her sword to lift the Duchess's back. Adriana usually recoiled at such contact, but she took it this time with silent dignity. But when she was was done she found Sara to be right, she stood an inch taller, and the blade pointed straighter.

Sara nodded, pleased. "Good... now you look presentable to my handsome brother."

Adriana felt like throwing her sword down and walking out the school, but when Sara's lips turned to a faint smile her frustration evaporated immediately.

"We all have a burden on our shoulders. Yours happens to be a Grand Duchy. The trick is we don't show our opponents that."

She understands... marveled Adriana.

Sara had turned away from her at the point, attending to a different student. The symbol of Rotham was the peacock. Since the death of her father's male heirs that peacock on her back had grown bloated and foul-tempered. But a peacock can also be made from feathers, she thought. It was just a matter of perspective. It couldn't hurt her if she didn't let it.

She made another thrust, and this time it pierced straight through.

Sara clapped her hands. "Enough drills. It is time for some demonstration sparring."

The academy consisted of about fifty students. They sat in their paddings, forming a circle. Adriana, being a senior cadet, stood on the outside. Sara rubbed her chin, considering who would put on a solid demonstration.

"Marcus Challette," said Sara.

Marcus raised his head.

"...and Tom Hawker," she finished.

Tom rose with an arrogant grin.

"Madam Sunderland," swallowed Marcus, "I was hoping to spar with someone else, like the Lady Adriana—"

"—In your free time. In my class you will spar with Tom Hawker," said Sara.

Marcus controlled his voice. "Why must I always fight Tom?"

"Because you haven't beaten him yet," said Sara.

Tom sauntered into the circle, training rapier drawn. "No worries, Marcus. I shall make it quick."

Marcus grunted and reluctantly stepped into the ring, drawing his own sword and slipping on his mask.

"Put your mask on, Tom," said Sara boredly.

Tom was handsome, a fact Adriana had noted very quickly. But more than that, he was, physically, the utter male analog of Lyza Dunwall. Their hair was the same shade of orange, and the same freckles speckling their noses, and the same ruddy skin. There were but a handful of things Tom could do to look more like her. There was no fixing his broad male features, but he could grow his cropped hair out, and scar his face diagonally, then people could be excused for mistaking one for the other.

"Performance duelists never wear masks," he protested.

"I'm sure the girls will go wild over the eyepatch you're seeking, but you'll not get it in this class. Put your mask on."

"Fine," he sighed. He slipped the visor on and patted it down securely.

"En garde, pret, allez!" shouted Sara.

They experimentally swatted each other's blade, testing each other, pacing around each other. Then they were at each other, a flurry of attacks and parries exchanged quicker than any words could. Their footworks was phenomenal, each one circling the other without giving ground. The room was filled with the sound of clashing steel.

"This isn't a ballroom dance, Tom," said Sara, "Your fancy footwork is wasted here."

Tom had made an absurd spinning attack. The boy was prone to flourishes, something which irked Sara immensely, made worse by how often he got away with it. But Tom wanted to be a performer more than he wanted to be a swordmaster. It would be his bread to be fancy.

Sara commented on the fight. "Good lunge, Marcus... Clumsy parry, though... Watch your feet... You left yourself open there, Tom..."

They were huffing after several minutes of exchanges. The blades danced up and down, low attacks answered with low blocks and high ones answered with high. They were even.

Then...

Tom spoke from under the mask. "You've really been studying up, Marcus. You'll need to be a good swordsman to impress the Duchess."

"Nothing about the Duchess, Tom," warned Sara.

Marcus's blade had shivered at his words though, and he made a heroic effort to keep it steady. Adriana almost thought it wouldn't, like the blade would come shrieking out from his hand to off Tom's head. It could have happened, sensing the rage seethed behind Marcus's mask. But it didn't, to Adriana's great respect. After a momentary lapse Marcus was back up to form.

"...At least, that's what she told me last night..."

It was pandemonium. Adriana's cheeks burned. Marcus cried out, lifting his sword for a killing a blow. Sara screamed, "TOM!" The musketeers were at attention. Everyone else gasped.

And it ended in such silence. Tom's sword whipped out and struck Marcus in the chest, who was frozen with his blade still far in the air. He ripped off his mask, Tom's face glowing in pride. "Didja see that Lyza?" he asked eagerly.

Marcus ripped off his mask next, his face having turned to the color of prunes and just as wrinkled with rage. He bellowed: "TOM HAWKER, I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL TO THE DE—"

His words were declared slowly and deliberately. With each syllable, Adriana was more certain of what she needed to do. At the start of the last word she bounded over to Marcus and slammed her fist into his jaw.

She heard and felt a snap.

The next she knew, he was on the ground, and looking up at her, a hand nursing his jaw and his eyes brimming with betrayal. A total silence compounded the dark, uncomfortable feeling that invaded the room. Even Tom Hawker was at a loss for words. It was though plumes of Marcus's trauma escaped into hall, thickening the air. Everyone seemed to be waiting for someone to do something.

Thoughts returned to Adriana. I suppose I am the Duchess, so I should—

"Guards," said Sara softly, "escort Marcus Challette to an infirmary."

Two musketeers nodded and helped Marcus to his feet. But they could not turn his head away from her, and close those shocked, accusatory eyes. The squeal of Marcus's shiftless gait on the hardwood floor was the only sound.

But with Marcus gone a weight was lifted. Sound returned to the hall. Sara patted Adriana on the shoulder and bid her to return to the circle.

Then she turned her attention to Tom Hawker. The boy went cold when he saw her expression was Not Happy.

"I told you not to speak of the Duchess," said Sara. She let the words hang a bit.

Tom opened his mouth but no words came out.

"...Taunts and bluffs are all fair game," continued Sara, "but make sure it doesn't cost your head. Adriana saved your life twice over."

I did? thought Adriana, I thought I had saved Marcus's...

"I would've been able to kill Marcus," muttered Tom.

"Marcus is a better duelist than you," Sara put it bluntly, "If you can't catch him off guard with that tongue of yours, he'll beat you. That's what I've been trying to teach Marcus: to focus on the fight. You need to learn to fight, period. That fancy footwork will get you killed."

It was Tom's pride which was wounded now. He made a face as he shuffled back into the circle.

Sara paced around the inside of the circle. She gazed at all of their faces, as if she was looking for something in each of them. "Let's see... let's see..."

Sara stared at Adriana. "We'll have the Grand Duchess Adriana Challette..."

Adriana stepped inside. Sara clucked her tongue, taking another long, laborious rotation around the circle.

"...and Lyza Dunwall."

Lyza's scar went crooked as she stepped into the circle. She still looks at me with those same angry eyes, thought Adriana.

"Yes," said Sara, "it will be just like when you two met. Though I'll hope you'll fight a bit better than that day two years ago, Lyza."

Yes, remembered Adriana, Lyza and I crossed swords for the first time those two years ago. She couldn't forget that fight. She had put on her best impression of the calm, collected Duchess. In truth, she had been terrified. Lyza had glowered at her with such hatred before she slipped on the mask, and when they fought she swung her sword with such ferocity and speed she had feared counterattacking. That day, Lyza seemed less a girl of Adriana's age, but a wild animal. Adriana thought she would lose to the beast within Lyza, who had only so recently slain the storied swordswoman Margaret Fey.

But she had won.

She had won because she collected herself. She remembered how to redirect a lion's wrath, how to tire them, how to be patient, how to strike a killing blow. She had hit Lyza hard that day, not once but many, many times, so many times that the blunted sword left purpling bruises all over her.