Chapter 5

Mom doesn’t blink when she orders kings and presidents around. She never falters when she chastises friends and political allies, or enemies and rivals. She’s utterly stoic as she sentences criminals to death.

But right now her lips part and she splutters in a satisfying way. “For a few weeks?”

I shake my head. “For the foreseeable future.”

Mom’s eyelids flutter like I’ve wounded her. “Why?”

I don’t want to break Mom’s heart. I don’t even want to crack it. Maybe I should just keep soldiering along. But then I think about Judica stabbing me with a fork today while Mom looked on impassively. Not a raised eyebrow, not a cluck or a murmur.

“It’s not that I want to leave you,” I say, “but I have a lot to learn, and I can’t stay here forever.”

“You’re learning everything you need to know from me.”

What she doesn’t say is that I don’t really need to learn anything, not really. Because I have no purpose here. Not like Judica, or Lark, or every other evian I’ve met. I have no future. I just follow Mom around, keeping her company, like a really sophisticated and interactive pet. I can’t do it forever. I need to find a place where I can grow, stretch, learn. And that place can’t be anywhere near my twin. It can’t.

Mom’s grandfather clock chimes and I realize I only have half an hour before I need to check in for my challenge with Lark. “Can we talk about this later? I need to prepare to be decimated right now.”

“You’re far faster than she is,” Mom says. “All you need to do is focus on your strengths. And stab her with the pointy end.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say.

“Oh I think I can offer more than encouragement. I’ve got a few tips to share to help you prepare.”

I lift my eyebrows. Mom’s advising me outside melodics? “Uh, sure, great.”

Mom ducks into her closet and comes out wearing training gear: white pants and a white shirt. She tosses me the same. “Put these on.”

I do, quickly.

“We’re fighting in your bedroom?” I glance at her pristine furniture, carpet, and bedding.

“Of course not.” She tosses her head toward the courtyard and snags two swords from a rack above her door, handing one to me as she walks toward the back door.

My eyes widen. Alright.

She steps out onto the cobblestones barefoot, and I follow her lead.

“Your forms are perfect, your melodies precise and true. Think of what you’ve learned like making cake batter. You’ve got the basic ingredients, and you’ve mixed them up. You just haven’t baked it all together or frosted it yet. But you’re close, and that part is easy once you understand the method.”

“Meanwhile Lark can open her own bakery.”

Mom shrugs. “As a warrior, Lyssa’s technique is flawless. I’m sure she’s passed that skill and focus along to her daughter. Ironically, no one’s seen Lark fight before to know, just like you.” She closes her eyes briefly, as if she’s praying silently. “I’d slap that little brat right now if she showed up in the doorway.”

“Good thing she won’t,” I say.

“I suppose that’s true. I love her mother, and I always thought she kept Lark out of the public eye to take the pressure off of you.”

“Why didn’t you train me publicly?” I wish the words back almost immediately. I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

A gentle smile steals across Mom’s face. “First it was that I was greedy and didn’t want to share you, but then as you grew older, I didn’t want to draw Judica’s attention to your development. Your upbringing diverged so much that I didn’t want her watching you, preparing herself to defeat you specifically.”

Emotion surges in my chest. Mom did want to keep me safe. She did try to protect me from Judica.

Mom drops into andante, one of the warrior poses, and begins to circle me slowly. “You know the proper positions. Normally I’d wait a while before adding blades, but who knows what may connect or when? My mother insisted no melodics master truly succeeded in going off book without being forced. She challenged me herself on my eighteenth birthday, and our fight was a terrible mess.” Mom shakes her head. “I suppose we all meet our trial by fire at some point. And maybe I’d never think you were ready, you’re so precious to me. I hate to see you struggle, and I know that has held you back from rising to your potential.”

“I’m not ferocious like Judica, but I’m still your daughter.” I drop into andante and hold it, opposite her, lifting my sword arm in mimicry of hers.

“First thing you do is assess your environment. You’ll be in a ring, so raised from the floor, with only small ropes to hold you in place. A natural skylight overhead and people watching.”

I nod, because duh. I’ve seen challenges before. Maybe she’s talking to herself, preparing herself by starting at the beginning.

“Keep moving, because that’s how you find openings and keep changing the target you present to your opponent.”

“Okay.” I shift the heavy hilt in my sweaty palm.

“You’ve got a heavy sword there, so grip it with both hands. I wish we’d had time to test you with a variety of blades, including short swords, broadswords, daggers, scythes, and the like. Everyone has a natural propensity for a particular offensive method, but for now, you get one of mine.”

Maybe I can blame my failure on using the wrong blade. “What about deflecting?”

“Your grandmother preferred to use two swords, one to block and the other to attack. I prefer vambraces. I’ll give you a pair.”

I glance at my mom’s shiny metal cuffs. She’s worn them my entire life, and I almost forgot she had them on. “Thanks.”

“Now, keep your sword here, at the ready.” She angles sideways so I can see hers, at a forty-five degree angle from perpendicular. “You can move it up or down, right or left from here. Choose your lead, probably right for you, and keep that foot forward, just like you hold your hand in the second and third arias.”

“We’re short on time, Mom.”

“I know that, and I have a point. I’m trying to connect a few dots for you first. For instance, you know your eight basic angles of attack, you just may not know you know them because you haven’t ever used them. Your goal is to drop into the music of the room, without hearing any.”

I shake my head. “I have no idea what that means.”

She smiles. “I know, but one day it’ll click.”

“Very helpful.”

Without warning, Mom leaps toward me, sword extended. I shift sideways, acting on pure instinct, but my sword is heavy and it slows me down. The edge of Mom’s sword slices my right forearm near my wrist.

“Oww,” I complain.

Mom swings around, her sword halting an inch before my throat. She laughs. “And you’re dead.”

“Okay,” I say, my arm healed. “Let’s try again.”

She does, lunging at me from a basic andante and waiting for me to block. I do better the second time, and much better the third and fourth.

Then she stops and drops the tip of her sword. “But you don’t win by blocking.”

“Okay.” I have no intention of even trying to win, but she can’t know that.

As if she can read my mind, Mom’s sword arm goes slack. “Do you even want to beat Lark?” Her eyes fill with compassion. “Be honest.”

I shrug. “I’ve never been a warrior. It’s not part of who I am like it is with you or with Judica.”

“You’re stronger than you know, Chancy. Truly.”

I wish strength didn’t mean hurting people, but for us it does. “Well, lay it on me then. How do I win?”

“It’s not the same for everyone, but your hurdle will be overcoming your disdain for causing pain. You can really only win a fight on the offensive. Defense just prolongs your defeat. It may help you to know that a quick win is much less painful than a protracted one. So a few calculated injuries may be the most merciful course.”

“I need to strike you quickly and with purpose. That’s what you’re saying.”

Mom’s lips compress grimly.

Before I have time to think it through, I swing at her, and she’s close enough that my borrowed blade will connect. She doesn’t block or make any move to stop me.

Horrified, I pull back. “Mom!”

“And that’s the crux of your problem.”

I frown. “What is?”

“You can’t bring yourself to hurt people, Chancy. Until you can, it doesn’t matter whether melodics clicks for you or not. You can’t survive among our people without hurting anyone, and you certainly can’t leave me and go to New York City until I believe you’re capable of defending yourself.”

Great. Now Mom will use my loss to Lark as ammunition to keep me here, under Judica’s thumb. Or fork, as the case may be.

I glance at my watch. “Five minutes. I better go wash off this blood and get ready to be destroyed.”