Page 52 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

She demonstrates the way my fingers should sit on the grip, explaining how it will give me the best control and flexibility, then makes me run through a series of movements, clumsily copying her for the better part of an hour. It isn’t long before my arm is aching, and I’m a sweaty mess. I drop the tip of the sword to the ground, resting my weight on it.

“Halima, how long does the average High Fae train in swordsmanship like this?”

She sheathes her blade, looking utterly unruffled by our training session, though she’s barely stopped moving the whole time.

“A High Fae child will take weekly lessons alongside the rest of their education. But unless they’re planning to specialize in work as a swordsman or woman, they’ll usually only do so for ten years.

“Ten years?”

“Yes. Not enough, in my opinion, to properly equip the average civilian, but most Seelie tend to prioritize other things.”

“Halima, how is any of this going to do me any good? I don’t exactly have a decade to work on this, and if I can’t fight well enough to hold my own against a High Fae, what’s the point?”

Halima gives me a long look. “I’m trying not to be insulted at the suggestion that I’m an idiot who hasn’t thought this through.”

I gape. I’ve gotten so used to Halima just taking everything at face value, it never occurs to me to try to be sensitive in my phrasing around her. But I suppose when it comes to this—the thing Halima lives and breathes—she won’t take any perceived criticism lightly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything like that.”

She nods, immediately accepting my apology.

“Of course, your limitations had occurred to me.”

I don’t bother pointing out it’s more a limitation of time itself, and allow her to go on.

“That’s why you’re going to have to cheat.”

She crosses her arms across her chest, like she’s waiting for me to argue.

“Okay, sounds sensible to me,” I say.

She purses her lips. “It’s not the way of a warrior, no true soldier would stand by it, but in your circumstances, I think we’ll have to make an exception.”

“Great,” I say. “So how exactly are we going to do that?”

“Your magic.”

“Oh.” I was expecting some kind of secret set of forbidden sword moves.

“Your powers are the perfect shortcut and unique enough that most fae will be unable to combat it. And you should be able to pick it up quickly. After all, you’ve moved weaponry before with some success, correct?”

I think back to the time I disarmed a young fae with a knife, but I didn’t tell anyone about that. And then there was also…

“You mean when I killed Cebba?”

“Yes. Ruskin told me how you directed a sword with your power. Moreover, you did it with enough intent to kill a powerful enemy. That’s good—it means you won’t back down when you need to stay strong. I believe we can use your ability to speed things along. We don’t have the time to turn your body into a honed weapon—but we can turn your magic into one.”

“I see. You really think I can skip over a bunch of stages that way?”

“The goal for every swordsperson and archer is for their weapon to become an extension of themselves. You have a way to get there quicker than most.”

“I just have to know how I want my weapon to move?”

“Precisely.”

She unsheathes her sword again, spinning in a motion as quick and smooth as a dancer, whipping her blade through the air, up towards the outstretched limb of a training dummy. But rather than striking it directly, her blade slices right past it, then twists to take off the dummy’s head.

The cloth ball of stuffed straw bounces across the ground.

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