“Just watch yourself, Rebecca,” Hallie advised her. “Talia and Pearlie—they’re moonspinners. They don’t have to worry about making babies.”

The word moonspinners referred to members of the Temple of the Moon back home in the Fells—women who chose other women over men. Talia was a member; had been since she was twelve. Pearlie wasn’t officially—she was Ardenine.

Hallie stood. “Listen to Talia, and you’ll end up with a baby in your belly.” She patted her midsection for emphasis and walked back toward the food line, her broad back very straight.

Hallie was the single parent of a two-year-old daughter, Asha. She’d had to leave her back in Fellsmarch, with her parents. She was an old soul—not prone to romantic musings.

Hallie needn’t have worried. Raisa deftly parried all of Talia’s hints and suggestions. She couldn’t very well tell Talia that she was in love with their commander.

So much for all her plans to play the field before marriage.

Raisa genuinely liked Hallie and Talia. She enjoyed their company and admired their grit and determination. Talia loved whom she loved, not caring that spinners were frowned upon in the down-realms. Hallie was determined to further her education even though she missed her daughter terribly.

They’d become friends despite all the secrets that divided them.

Having female friends was new to Raisa. Relationships at court were competitive, politically charged, with everyone jockeying for a position next to those in power. No one could be trusted, all motivations were suspect. Amon had been her only real friend, and now that relationship carried its own baggage.

It was no wonder Hanalea had walked about in disguise. It was the only way to find out what people were really like.

The session bells clanged through the dining hall. Raisa carried her bowl and spoon to the scrappers and crossed to the door.

“Give Pearlie my love!” Talia called as she exited into the autumn darkness.

Cadets were already running circuits on the parade grounds when Raisa arrived. She peeled off her jacket and set it aside, knowing she’d be sweating before long.

A half hour of running, and she was drenched. Then they drilled with weapons as a group. Wielding pikes, they charged back and forth across the field in a line ten across, screaming like banshees until Raisa was hoarse and her arms so heavy she could scarcely keep her weapon from dragging on the ground.

This was flatland warfare, and alien to Raisa’s eyes. There was no room in a mountain pass for lines of soldiers to maneuver together. Clan warriors battled as individuals or small groups in an alternating attack-and-retreat fashion. But that kind of fighting required cover, and there was no cover in the flatlands.