And if Achan—the king—tried to have her arrested, best of luck to him because he’d have to catch her first.
Chapter 3
Cole
A horse whinnied, jerking Cole awake. He opened his eyes and squinted at the golden light from a lantern hanging at the apex of the tent. Movement by his feet made him jump, but it was only Kurtz, his back to Cole, looking out the door flap.
The man had issues with the dark, hence the lantern. Cole much preferred it to an open flame. Months ago, a candle Kurtz had left lit one night had nearly burned down their tent.
“What are you doing?” Cole asked, his voice groggy.
Kurtz didn’t move. Not even a twitch. “Watching.”
“Who’s out there?”
“Just some travelers. Look to be merchants. They didn’t see us.”
That anyone could miss an entire army camped on the side of the road seemed strange to Cole, but it was the middle of the night.
Kurtz stepped deeper into the tent and sank onto his bedroll, draping his arms over his knees. “What woke you?”
“I heard a horse.”
Kurtz grunted. “You were ten minutes too late. They’d have killed you and taken everything you own.”
“I own very little.”
“They’d have taken your lute.”
Cole rubbed his face and scowled at Kurtz. “How can I make myself wake if I’m asleep?”
“That’s another thing to practice.”
Cole rolled over and put his back to Kurtz. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your training. I do. I simply question the fairness of learning everything at once. In the middle of the night.”
“We’ll reach Tsaftown before you know it,” Kurtz said. “If you’re not ready, it’ll be too late to learn, it will.”
“How do you know? Have you posed as a minstrel spy before?”
“Have you ever had to keep yourself from being killed in your sleep?”
“Of course not.”
“Then we both have lots to learn. Get up, eh? We’ll run some drills.”
Cole groaned. But his lack of skill had nearly gotten Kurtz killed. That couldn’t happen again. He had to learn—whatever it took—so he pushed himself out of bed and followed his friend out into the darkness.
Steel clanged through the quiet dawn as Cole parried Derby Wenk’s longsword. The impact sent a jolt up his arm, and he repeated Kurtz’s mantra: Distract, disable, don’t overthink.
But Derby’s strikes were too fast, too precise. Cole couldn’t keep up. The squire had two years on him and had earned his place as Lord Livna’s squire through years of training—unlike Cole, who’d only had Achan’s pity.
With each step Derby forced him back, the squire’s grin widened.
“Hold your ground!” Kurtz yelled from the sidelines. “Push back with the shield. When you retreat, you give your opponent control.”
Cole tightened his grip on the shield, breath fogging in the cold.
Derby lunged, blade arcing down. Cole blocked with his shield, but the impact rattled his teeth. Before he could recover, Derby feinted left, then deftly twisted his blade around Cole’s sword.
