Duke Kaen’s soldiers used the same training facilities as Xivan’s new recruits; none of the men appreciated sharing those facilities with women. Which meant all the while the women trained, the men watched, harassed, and heckled—or at least as much as they thought they could get away with under Xivan’s baleful stare. There had been incidents. Soldiers who had groped or, on three occasions, done worse. Some thought the duke wouldn’t mind if someone else helped themselves, if he no longer cared to claim them as his own.

Xivan took those men away, and we never saw them again. After the third “example,” the incidents stopped.

But now every eye turned to me.

Xivan’s eyebrows rose up. “Get in there, now. If I ask a third time, you’ll be fighting me rather than Talea.”

Talea, Xivan’s apprentice I’d first met in the caves, had started her lessons eight months earlier, which gave her an edge over the other students. I returned to reading my book.

I knew I was being childish, but I couldn’t make myself stop. My anger was a slow-burning fury, and the fact I had no clear direction for my rage made it worse. How much easier it would be if I could just hate a special singular someone and not the whole world.

A curved Khorveshan sword landed, dull side down, against the book’s spine and then pulled the entire folio from my hands. I had enough time to recognize Xivan sliding another sword within my reach before she swung her own blade toward my head.

She fought with live steel.

I rolled to the side and grabbed the sword, grinning as I stood. The grin faded as I felt the weapon’s weight. I’d never fought with a weapon I couldn’t swing around like a piece of silk. I could lift this, but only just. Making this weapon an extension of my arm and will? Out of the question.

This was a problem.

“No more smiles?” Xivan mocked.

“I’ll smile when this is over.” I swung at her, but the force of my blow was inconstant and slow. She blocked me and came inside my reach to nick me on the arm. I hissed.

“When you’re ready to start,” Xivan said, “just let me know.”

Muscle memory and instinct had trained me to fight a certain way. Without the strength of a dozen men, those instincts became pitfalls.

I ran at her again, screaming, determined to at least have something to show for my efforts. She watched my approach with amusement, blocked me without effort, and turned on her feet at the last minute like changing leads in a race. “No wonder Oreth didn’t think you should be a stallion. You fight like a mare.”

My vision turned red. To the side, someone screamed.

Xivan’s tunic caught fire.