Chapter 66

Sam burned her dress that night in silent contemplation. Everything about the evening had been too close for comfort, from the fit of her dress to the near-battle with the Uriel to the way Tristan’s eyes wandered over her small but still-present curves. She was sick of it all – the hiding, the lying, the constant guilt churning in her gut. She’d run away from home to gain control over her life, and yet somehow she’d lost it. Sam observed Sander, who leaned back against the tree he was tied to. In some ways, he was freer than her; the rope that bound him could be cut. Not Sam – the chains of her sex would hold her back forever. She wanted to be a warrior and a woman, but she wasn’t allowed to be both.  So she’d made her decision, and she didn’t regret it. She just hadn’t expected it to chafe. After the small fire consumed the last of the green cloth, Sam shifted closer to Sander. She’d been assigned the first watch of the night – they were to take turns making sure the Uriel leader didn’t escape. Sander was wily, Tristan warned, and she needed to be careful. “Don’t engage him in conversation,” Tristan had said. “The man has a silver tongue, and before you know it, he’ll have convinced you to undo his binds and run away with him, too.” With his torso wrapped in rope and his head drooping into his chest, Sander didn’t appear to pose much of a threat. He was old enough to be her father, with an attractive but unremarkable face, apart from his very crooked nose. If his tongue were his only weapon, Sam wasn’t too concerned. Whether he spewed venom or poetry, nothing he could say would persuade her to his side. She crept closer still, a twig snapping under her feet. Sander’s head shot up and his eyes pierced through her. He smiled at her and said nothing, turning his gaze to the stars. He began to hum softly—an old, familiar song—the notes rising and falling in his rough, compelling voice. “Stop that!” she snapped. His humming ceased. “Singing is good for the soul.” “Perhaps you should have become a singer, then.” Sander’s smile widened. “I should have liked to be a singer, but life had other plans for me. You know a thing or two about that.” Sam furrowed her brow. “About what?” “Duty and capability. Isn’t that why you joined the Paladins?” Sam had no answer for that; her reasons for joining the Paladins were intertwined and complex. One duty had been allotted to her at birth, but she cast it aside for another. She had natural talent with a sword—that was no boast but plain truth—but did that give her the right to follow the path she’d chosen? Sander searched her, his eyes amber in the glow of firelight, like a wolf’s. “How long has Tristan known?” “Known what?” she asked. “Known that you’re a girl.” Sam froze as her world crashed down around her. “I’m not a girl.” “Beg pardon. How long has Tristan known that you’re a woman?” Fear made her stomach heave. “Tristan doesn’t know I’m a woman because I’m not one.” He didn’t believe her; she could see it in his face. “So he doesn’t know.” “I’m a boy, a man, a male,” Sam lied with conviction. “How else would I have become a Paladin trainee?” She drew the short sword from the scabbard at her hip. “Shall I demonstrate I am worthy of the name?” Sander eyed the sword warily. “Are you going to kill me now that I know your secret?” Horrified, Sam dropped the point of the blade to the ground. “Of course not! And-and there’s no secret to know. I was just going to show you a few sword forms, to prove my point.” “I already know you’re good with a sword, Sam of Haywood. Adelard lauded your skill in Pirama.” Adelard had spoken well of her? He was unlikely to praise her again. But she had bigger worries at hand than the loss of Adelard’s favor. “So then why would you think me a girl? I fight as well as any man.” “From what I hear, you fight better,” Sander said, eyes crinkling at the corners. “But swordplay and boys’ clothes does not a man make.” “I’m not a girl,” Sam repeated, clinging desperately to the lie. And to think she’d thought Sander had no real weapon. He could destroy her with his words, armed as they were with truth. Sander flicked his gaze over her. “Any man who sees you in a dress would have to be a fool to believe you anything but a girl. You moved in that gown like it was second nature and you curtsied like a dream. You wouldn’t have pulled off tonight’s charade unless you’d been playing the part your whole life. You can deny it all you want, but I won’t change my mind.” Sam’s heart thudded against her chest. There would be no veering Sander off this course; there were no clever lies he would fall for. “I’m not confirming I’m a girl,” she said, “but are you planning to tell Tristan you think me one?” “Not my secret to tell,” said Sander. “Although I assumed he already knew. You’re a lovely young woman, and he must be half blind not to see it.” She wasn’t sure if she could trust in Sander’s discretion, but nevertheless, she was angry on Tristan’s behalf. “You met me as a woman, Sander, so you can think of me as nothing else. The reverse is true of Tristan.” Technically, he had met her first as a young girl, but she wasn’t about to divulge that to Sander. The Uriel leader studied her, his thoughts visible on his expressive face. “Nay, that’s not it. He knows, I think.” “Not a chance,” she said confidently. “I’d be home back in dresses or hanging in the gallows if that were true.” Sander smiled kindly at her. The damned man was always smiling. “Maybe he hasn’t acknowledged it to himself, but he knows on a subconscious level. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. For a man like him, it’s easier to believe convenient lies than to face the consequences of the truth. He can’t fathom breaking the rules, so he denies the obvious.” “That’s a hefty analysis considering you’ve known him one day,” she said. Sander shrugged his shoulders against the tree. “I’m good at reading people. For example, I know you’re terrified right now.”