“Do not forget to move. Evade with your feet first, then your body.” Adel held the paddedmanicaas Dreda wiggled her arm into the tube of layered fabric and leather straps that made her arm resemble a body wrapped for burial. But there would be no burials today. Adel tightened the last strap with a yank and slapped Dreda’s shoulder. “Remember, quick feet. Ducking and dodging only gets you so far.”
She went down the line, murmuring encouragement and final instructions as she tugged on straps and fitted helmets. The armorer met her at the end of the row, ready to fit her own armor. She lifted her arms and allowed him to settle her breastplate into place, the polished metal cold against her collarbones where it fell just above the green band binding her breasts. A cruel thing. Small enough to allow serious injury. Large enough to protect her heart and lungs, preventing a quick death. Leather straps crisscrossed between her shoulder blades, holding the breastplate in place. Other straps tightened the manica around her arm, bit into her ankle and just above the swell of her calf as the armorer attached the fasica to her left shin. A drape of green fabric fell down her back from the high neck protector rising from the shoulder of the manica like a shimmering cloak. If only it were a whole gown, and not merely an illusion of femininity. The rest of her body was near bare to the entire world.
She fought the urge to cross her arms over her stomach and rolled her shoulders back instead. Her only revenge was to be bold and proud and not allow them to feel the satisfaction of knowing how it bothered her to be on display.
The armorer tightened the final strap with a yank. “Before you go out, the medicus wants a look at you.”
Adel gave a nod, steeling herself for the elder medicus’s derision. That his son had been killed in the raid that made her a captive had not been her doing. But logic mattered little to Sergius. She was Visigoth and that was enough for him to hate her.
She spun and nearly trod on Felix’s feet.
She choked back her surprise with an irritated growl. What was he doing, standing so close? Hoping to pinch and prod when no one was looking? So much for his claims of compassion. He was no different than anyone else. “Well?” She raised an eyebrow and both arms. “You wanted to look at me?”
He blinked twice and coughed. “At—at your arm, yes.”
Fitting him with a glare, she turned her left arm toward him, unable to ignore the confusing flush of pink rising in his neck. She’d rattled him. And... and he had not looked at her like Wulfula had. Like a man willing to steal before he’d starve.
“How is the pain?” Felix lowered his gaze to the bandage, checking the firmness of the wrap and security of the knot.
“It is not there.”
“Not at all?”
“No.”
The down-turned corners of his eyes sank further into a look that might have been disappointment or hurt had it not been... impossible. His voice lowered. “You can tell me, you know. I’m here to help you.”
She stared past him through the bars of the gate, willing anger to send fire through her veins, energy to her limbs. His kindness,gentleness—weakness—would not help her today. “You are here to help Jovan, to keep his money flowing into your coffers. Not to help me. Both of you only care that I fight well, and that this”—she lifted her bandaged arm in a shrug—“does not stop me from doing that.”
He let out a slow breath, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
She’d rattled him again, though this time the triumph was bitter on her tongue.
“I only want you to be whole.” His next quiet words came at her with the force of a blow. “I pray strength and safety over you in the name of Jesus.”
Sudden tears stuck in her throat. Aipei had said something similar before Adel had left with the warriors. Stroked her cheek with a tender touch, and then murmured prayers for safety as she twisted Adel’s hair into three thick braids that hung to her waist.
Some good those prayers had done. Look where she’d ended up.
As soon as the thought entered her mind, another met it. She’d been spared in battle. Made into a warrior of a different sort. Cared for and beloved by her enemies. If that was not safety, what was?
Adel clenched her jaw against the emotions that threatened to undo her focus. Felix meant the prayer for himself, of course. Her regained strength meant his job security. But that was not what his eyes said.
“Why do you not stay?”
He bent to pick up his bag of supplies. “My duty is to wait in the clinic. Don’t come rushing to find me there.” He straightened, his mouth tipping in a smile that was both tender and sad. “Be careful, Adelgard.”
The sound of her name, her real name, sent a jolt to her chest sharper than any spear. He remembered hername? She didn’t have time to recover, to respond before Ignacio nudged Felix aside and pressed a sword into her right hand.
“You face the Strix.” He lifted a scutum in front of her and held it steady as she slid her left arm into the straps on the backside. It wassmaller and lighter than her normal shield. Easier on her arm, but less sturdy. Less safe.
Ignacio buckled it in place and squeezed her shoulder. “Mars be your strength.”
Her gaze flicked toward Felix. It was not Marshe’dspoken of.
Felix disappeared when Ignacio slid the close-fitting helmet over her head and leaned to peer through the eyeholes.
“She knows you are injured and will strike hard and fast.” He spoke in low tones as he cinched the leather strap beneath her chin. “You are strong and equally quick. Evade her at first, wear her down. She’ll get sloppy and you can make your move.”
