Cinda Chima - The Exiled Queen

I’ll go and find him, she thought. We’ll have a frank discussion, no tears or drama, and get this settled. But she needed to find a way to slip off on her own.

“I guess I will rest in my tent for a while,” she told Talbot.

Hallie grunted approval and laid another log on the fire.

Leaving her empty mug where it was, Raisa crawled into her tent, which was only fractionally warmer than outside. She found her baldric and strapped it on. Crouching at the rear of the tent, she thrust her sword under the tent wall. Then she flopped down on her back and slid underneath the rear wall and back out into the rain.

Once on her feet, she shoved her sword into the baldric. Keeping at the back of the tents, she walked toward the entrance of the canyon until she reached the privy tent, the one farthest away from the others. She waited until Hallie was occupied stacking firewood, then slipped through the border of trees and out of the canyon.

Raisa had studied tracking with the Demonai warriors. She scanned the ground until she spotted boot prints amid the ruck of leaves. And there, another, where water collected and froze at a low place. She picked out a path beaten into the slushy ground from Amon’s daily trips to wherever he went.

Raisa followed his trail for a mile or so, wiping rain from her face and blinking ice from her lashes. The path followed a clear, half- frozen stream for a while, then veered sharply off to the west, climbing into an aspen forest, ending in an upland meadow. Raisa stopped amid the trees edging the meadow and peered out.

Amon stood centered in the meadow, stripped to breeches and undershirt. His sword belt and other gear were arranged in a neat pile at the periphery of the field.

He held a long staff in his two hands, and he was in constant motion, bending, twisting, circling around, the staff a whistling blur as he swung it over his head, swept it forward, lifted it high, and skimmed the ground. It was an elaborate dance, and he’d clearly been at it for some time. His dark hair lay in wet strands on his forehead, and his skin steamed in the chilly air.

Raisa stared at him— at the muscles rippling across his chest and his corded arms— and all her good intentions flew out of her head. He was beautiful and deadly, totally unself-conscious. He went at it as if determined to work himself to exhaustion. He didn’t look like he was enjoying himself. More like it was punishment. She could hear the rasp of his breathing from where she stood.

How in the name of the Lady could he be coatless? It was freezing out. Raisa shivered, the cold penetrating deeper now that she’d stopped moving.

She stood (almost literally) frozen for another long moment while her courage drained away. This was wrong, her spying on him. Whatever was going on, he meant it to be private. She’d find another time to speak her mind. She’d go back to camp, sneak into her tent, and stay there until he returned.

You’re just a coward, she thought.

But before she could move, Amon paused in the midst of a sequence, the staff horizontal in front of him, his head cocked. He flipped the quarterstaff to a vertical position, turned, and looked directly at where Raisa was hiding.

“Rai?” he whispered.

Bones. How did he know? Timidly, she stepped out of the woods. They stood staring at each other across an expanse of frozen grass and stumpy shrubs.

“I came looking for you,” she said finally. “I wondered what you were doing.”

“You came by yourself ? Where’s Hallie?” he demanded, looking around as if the other cadet might be hiding in the brush, too.

Hallie’s supposed to be watching me, Raisa thought. So much for being just another soldier. “I slipped away. She thought I was in my tent.”

“You shouldn’t have come. It’s not safe for you to be out here on your own.”

“If it’s not safe for me, it’s not safe for you,” Raisa said. “Aren’t you cold?”

“No. I’m not,” Amon said, as if it hadn’t occurred to him till then.

The silence coalesced around them once more.

“That’s impressive. What you were doing,” she said. “What is that called?”

He studied the weapon in his hands as if he’d forgotten it was there. He seemed absent, distracted. “I learned it from the Waterwalkers. They call it sticking. Their staffs are made of ironwood— it grows in the marshes. They don’t use metal weapons, but a weighted staff is deadly in the hands of a stick-master.” He shut his mouth, as if to cut off the flood of words— a whole month’s worth for him.

“Were there Waterwalkers at the academy?” Raisa asked, surprised. “Was that where you learned it?”

Amon shook his head. “No. I fostered in the Fens for six months during one of my terms at Wien House. I was sponsored by the marshlord, name of Cadri.”

“Is this what you do every day? When you leave?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Pretty much. I . . . ah . . . train in different ways. It helps relieve the tension.”

Tension? Raisa squinted at him. It was miserable, true, what with the rain and ice and wind and bad food and all. But it was more tedious than tense, in Raisa’s opinion. She almost wished something exciting would happen, to break the boredom.

Was he really worried about an attack? That seemed unlikely, despite his warnings. They were still in the Fells, and Demonai Camp kept this area well patrolled. Besides, who would venture out in this weather if they didn’t have to?

Perhaps it was just the stress of knowing his father was counting on him to keep the princess heir safe; of not knowing what would happen when they reached Oden’s Ford.

It had been too long since they’d had any fun. Raisa yanked off her gloves and stuffed them inside her coat, then strode toward him.

Amon flipped the staff horizontal, making a barrier between them. “We’d better get back to camp,” he said, jerking his head in that direction.

Raisa stopped a foot away and looked up at him. “Amon. Could you teach me?”

“Teach you what?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“That battle dance. How to fight with a staff.” She took hold of the staff, slippery with ice. She couldn’t compete with his swordplay, but she could learn this.

It would be like the old days. Amon had been her first weapons master.

He shook his head. “It’s too heavy for you.”

“You can take most of the weight. Just show me the moves. If it works out, I can always get something lighter.” She could see how it could work, using the staff. Being small wouldn’t matter so much when she had a long staff to leverage her reach and the strength of her blows. Once she had the moves down, any kind of staff would serve. With a reinforced staff, she could fight off a swordsman. And the weight of it would build up her shoulders and arms.

“You might get hurt.” Amon seemed to be looking everywhere but at her.

“I’m not breakable,” Raisa snapped. “I’ll try not to hurt you, either.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m just . . . it’s not a good idea for us to have a go at each other.”

“Oh, really? Why not?”

“Just trust me, all right?”

Amon had never been one to be threatened by capable girls. And he’d never taken it easy on her in physical competitions because she was female. Any more than she gave him quarter in those areas in which she excelled. Was he angry that she wanted to be part of his military life? Maybe it had been a relief for him to be away from her, to go down to Oden’s Ford and live with less demanding people.

“I’m stronger than you think,” Raisa insisted. She should be, after all that drilling. “Here. We don’t have to fight against each other. Let’s try this.” She ducked under the horizontal staff so she was inside the circle of his arms, between him and the staff. She turned her back to him, gripped the staff with her two hands, positioning them beside Amon’s. “Now, give me some of the weight and let’s try some moves.”