“Either would suit me,” Arian said. “I wish to cause no more work for my hosts than necessary.”

“Never mind that,” Fralorn said. “Perhaps—I see you are wearing a banda—you would enjoy a brief session this evening? Then, should you wish other partners, I will know which might suit you best.”

“Yes, indeed,” Arian said.

“Perhaps you would like to work with your own escort first,” he said.

“Certainly.” Arian turned to Garrion. “Shall we?” He nodded and she led the way to the center of the salle.

Fralorn turned to the others for a moment, his tone crisp and commanding as he said, “Kirgan Marrakai, Nigan Serrostin, I see you laid your blades ready; you two and the king may warm up with footwork exercises on the targes at that end. Sequence five from Mathalion’s Classics. Remember to keep time accurately.”

“Yes, Armsmaster,” they said, meek as mice. Arian laughed to herself. They knew they were caught.

“Now, milady, if you permit, a brief warm-up. Keeping distance; I will call the pattern for your escort. Will that suit?”

“Excellently,” Arian said. Garrion followed the armsmaster’s instructions; Arian inverted them, and after a very short time Fralorn nodded. She and Garrion squared off, beginning with one of their standard drills. They had sparred many times; they knew each other’s tricks and rarely got a touch on each other on level ground.

“Hold, please,” Fralorn said. “Milady queen, you are the equal of any blade in the kingdom, and so is your escort. Have you ever instructed?” His voice held no flattery, only a professional assessment.

“Yes, but not recently.”

“Would you consider crossing blades with me someday?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“At the moment I believe the young gentlemen need an instructor’s eye on them. The king should accompany you, of course…” Fralorn approached the three, who were keeping a reasonably good tempo and distance in what Arian saw was a complicated footwork pattern.

“Sir king, your guest would appreciate your guidance. I am certain, however, that Kirgans Marrakai and Mahieran and Nigan Serrostin would enjoy continuing their exercise with me. Perhaps Marshal-Judicar Oktar would care to join us?”

Arian stifled another laugh. The young men looked anything but eager for the exercise, but they bowed and said, “Yes, Armsmaster.”

The king led the way out of earshot of the salle and then turned to Arian with a mischievous grin. “They will regret they broke the rules,” he said. “I myself would not dare to drill without him or one of the approved auditors present. Not now, anyway. I did that with Juris once when I was a boy Cam’s age, and it didn’t end with a footwork drill. I had bruises through the banda.”

“At Falk’s Hall, we students tried to get in some practice time when the instructors weren’t hanging over us. Punishment was footwork drills while holding a pike overhead.”

“You broke rules?” He sounded disbelieving.