Page 23 of Blood of Wolves

The clang and clash of steel rang from the practice yard below, but the figures whirling and sparring in the streaked snow were not soldiers.

Revna had donned a pair of leggings, tucked into tall, fur-topped boots. Without a cloak, she was down to shirtsleeves and an embroidered tunic in her family’s deep blue, belted tight around her waist. Her hair had been braided and coiled up at the back of her head.

The hefty sword she held in a two-handed grip didn’t look at all out of place there. She held it across her body, in a ready stance, squared off from a similarly dressed and armed woman – Lady Estrid, Tess realized with a pulse of shock.

Revna advanced, Estrid parried, blocked – then Revna whirled, and struck, and disarmed her with one strong swing that greatly resembled her sons’ movements in the arena.

Estrid made a face as she bent to retrieve her sword.

Revna rolled her shoulders and shook her arms out, lifting the sword high overhead in both hands a moment, cross-wise; stretching her upper back. “You’re plenty strong, but your footwork’s not fast enough.”

“I know,” Estrid huffed, unhappy, impatient, and went through her own sequence of stretches.

The evening air was frigid, as the sun began its swift descent out across the glittering plains of snow. Tessa didn’t have a cloak, but she didn’t feel the cold as she stood, transfixed, watching the two women move through exercise after exercise, feet leaving marks like runes in the snow of the yard. Revna was clearly the older, more experienced swordswoman, but Estrid landed more than a few good hits; she caught Revna’s shoulder with the flat of her blade once and Tessa could hear the dull sound of impact all the way up on the balcony. Save a fast flicker of the muscles in her face, Revna didn’t react. She shifted her grip, and went back on the offensive.

She had known, or at least suspected, that the old, smooth calluses on Revna’s palms weren’t the result of needlepoint. But it was one to thing to suspect the Lady of Aeretoll of having warrior training, another to see it in action.

Andanotherto think that she was planning on using those skills against a true opponent here soon. Because the enemy was at the gates, and a war was coming, and…

Tessa gripped the banister in front of her hard and chased the thoughts away. She couldn’t think of that now, or she might sink to a puddle on the floor and not be able to get back up.

But another, near-equal distress gripped her, as Estrid finally stepped aside to accept a waterskin from a maid and another of the visiting young ladies stepped forward to go up against Revna.What use am I?she wondered. She could tote, and carry; could pour tea, and embroider a dress. She could even marry a lord – a prince – and would someday run his household, give him heirs.

But she didn’t know the first thing about fighting.

They wouldn’t expect her to, she reasoned. They valued her beyond what she could offer on the battlefield. She hadn’t come to them a warrior, and no one had breathed a word about her becoming one.

Still…

By the time she returned inside, Rune was awake, bleary-eyed, sleep-creased on one cheek, and communicating mostly in mumbles and grunts. It was terribly cute.

Rather than bother anyone with serving them, she’d taken a cold supper up for the two of them, and Hilda and Astrid, and they ate in the common room of the royal apartments.

Over thin slices of salt pork, pickles and fresh bread, Tessa said, “I saw your mother sparring earlier.”

He nodded, unsurprised, and sipped his tea. “She doesn’t do it much anymore. Or, at least, I don’t see her working on it. She used to with my father.” A faint frown touched his face. “That’s what Leif says. But, with Uncle sometimes, too.”

She reached for her own tea, stress tightening her throat. “Do all the women of Aeretoll train as warriors?” She tried to school her features, and hoped she was successful.

In her periphery, she noted Hilda pausing with her ham roll halfway to her mouth, studying her with concern.

And whatever Tessa’s face did, it caused Rune to set his plate on the low table between them, and sit up straight, wincing only a little as the movement pulled on his injury. “Some do, but not all of them, no.” His tone was soothing; his gaze said he knew exactly what she was thinking – worrying about. “It’s an old practice,” he elaborated. “From back when Aeretolleans were a clan people instead of a kingdom.” He offered a sideways smile. “Sleeping in tents and moving with the reindeer herds. No farming. Like I said: old.”

“Yes, but…” She broke a bit of bread crust into smaller and smaller pieces, at a loss.

“Beg pardon, my lady,” Hilda spoke up. “But I can’t think you’d enjoy learning to fight. It’s dirty, sweaty, bloody business.” She clucked and shook her head. “Nothing for a refined young lady like yourself.”

Rune’s tone was curious, though, when he said, “Tessa,” and waited for her to meet his gaze. His head cocked to the side. “Do you…wantto learn how to fight?” Did he sound hopeful, or was that just her imagination?

As she debated, his face brightened. “I could teach you a few things, if you wanted. Not much, because…” He made a face and gestured to his side. “But, when I’m better, and after the–” His eyes widened, and his mouth snapped shut. He shook his head, but she knew what he would say next; the same thing she’d begun to say in her own head.

After the Sels are gone. The threat that hung over them, moment to moment, one that they couldn’t be at all certain of getting past. No one could be certain that Erik and the others would return in time. No one could be certain that the Sels wouldn’t…wouldn’t…

She flicked bread crumbs down onto her plate, took a deep, unsteady breath, and said, “No, I want to learn now. I want to fight.” Her voice shook horribly, and she couldfeelthe color drain from her face, but she pressed on. “I want to be – to be useful in this war.”

Rune’s eyes widened another impossible fraction, but this time his mouth fell open. “Use…war…Tessa.” He leaned forward – too quickly, too boldly; it had to tug at his side, but he didn’t show it, big hands pressing flat to the tabletop on either side of his plate. “I thought we talked about this! About you wanting to be useful – that doesn’t – it isn’t about that! And besides, youareuseful.”

His earnestness bordered on desperate, and, in truth, she knew that he was right. Surviving a siege wasn’t all down to repelling ladders and returning fire. Every single pair of hands inside the walls would be useful: cooking, mending, tending to the wounded. No job was unimportant when the health and safety of an entire city was on the line. Sheknewthis…but deep down, she couldn’t help but feel…lesser. Like an extra mouth to feed.

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