Part 6: Girls don't fight with swords

By Nina Windia

From outside the city came mouthwatering smells; the hawk swept down low, over the wagons of the vendors, men hunched over firepits with haunches of sizzling meat. He passed over a woman with a basketful of ripe oranges, a snatch of her shrill call "—juiciest oranges, this side of Shyde—" and then he'd left her behind, his beady eyes fixed on tender leg of lamb in a child's hands. He swooped, and with his talons tore the meat out of her hands. She screamed, and the hawk took back to the clouds with his prize.

There were thousands of people gathered on the plains. He soared over the clamour by the betting wagons, men with fists full of ticket stubs calling out the name of their favoured victor. "Prince Avalon of the Faeries!" "Lord Arryn!" "Prince Ryu to champion the swords contest!" "His brother, Prince Locke!" Past the hubub, he flew above the chatter in the stands, seats designated for highborn families and standing space for the rest. The whispers and gossip of the royal party, rising on the updraft. The glint of King Philip's crown that did nothing to disguise the bald patch, large as an eagle's egg. His daughter and her golden tresses, looking out disinterestedly.

The shh-ing and clang of metal. In the middle of the stands on the dusty ground, two men were dueling, swords in hand. The hawk circled above them: he felt a strange smell from them. Though they had the bodies of men, they had the scent of another creature entirely.

I won't let you beat me, Ryu thought.

Shh-ing!

Ryu's sword clashed off his brother's. He recovered quickly, with the nimble footwork he'd shown Christina so many years ago. When Locke slashed at him, he simply stepped back, out of the way, and swept in again, tight and fast, blade crashing against his brother's.

Locke's face was tight, eyebrows anchored together, sweat gleaming on his temple. His scar was stretched tight, shiny as a blister.

This was familiar dance: they'd gone through the steps so many times, for so many years before.

The smell of straw and sweat in the yard. Lebanon's puzzled face, as Ryu, ten years old exclaimed, "You heard me. I want you to teach me how to fight!"

"But…" Lebanon had said, looking down at his little princess. Though, it was true, he did not have to look down far now.

"Locke learnt to wield a sword when he was eight years old. And Sevvy's only six and he's got his practice sword already. So why not me?" Ryu demanded. His voice was high, but clear, like the carrying note of a flute.

"But Princess, you're…"

A girl, he meant to say. But it was true that Ryu didn't look much like a girl. For years, she'd dressed in boys clothes. She was a changling child, her tunic scuffed and dirty, her bare knees bruised. Her hair, cropped herself, was short and ragged. Her mouth was set in a firm frown and her eyes— there was something wrong about those eyes on a girl's body. They were fierce, not even a boy's. They were a man's.

Strange to admit, but Lebanon couldn't refuse those eyes.

Sliding his sword out of the sheaf, he tossed it to Ryu. She caught it deftly by the handle. Lebanon watched as the girl felt the weight of it, moved it around in her hand.

"How does it feel?" said Lebanon.

She heaved it up. Strange, how it suited her. "It's heavy… but it feels good." The frown was gone. She was smiling, watching how the blade reflected the light.

"It would be heavy. It's my sword. I'll get the forge to make one suited for your hand."

The man was gone. A child gaped at him. "Really? You're not kidding?" she said.

"It'll still feel heavy though, especially if you're used to playing with sticks. We need to build your strength up. You'll need to meet with me every morning, before dawn, if you want to be any good."

Ryu nodded furiously. "Of course. And I'll polish my sword, every day."

"Well of course you will. When you are fully trained, your sword will be part of your body. And a warrior must take care of his whole body if he's ready to fight, Prince Ryu."

Ryu's eyes widened. "Prince…" he said.

Lebanon put his hand on Ryu's shoulder. "Girls don't fight with swords."

Ryu saw what Lebanon was offering him, and slowly, he nodded. He accepted it inside himself like a gift. "Girls don't fight with swords," he repeated.

Girls don't fight with swords.

Ryu sliced through Locke's defenses, a human blade in action. Locke grunted in suprise and fell back, barely scraping out of harms way. Seeing Locke going into the defense, the crowd was going wild.

Ryu saw nothing of it, only his brother, his sword.

Locke's mouth was open. He was panting. Ryu should have felt tired, but as soon as he began to feel fatigued, one of his brother's old taunts would ring inside his head. The ether would be in his veins and he'd spring, again, like a cobra, sword flashing.

"Freyjr, what do you think you're doing?"

Locke's voice went through Ryu like a ghost. He started, and his blade slipped. Lebanon's sword was pointing at his chest.

"Dead," he said. "What have I told you about losing focus? The moment you stop paying attention—"

"Lebanon, what is this?" Locke, sixteen and stocky strode between them. Lebanon did not show his impatience.

"Teaching young Ryu the art of the sword, as I did with you Prince Locke," he said.

"Her name is Freyjr," he said, "and she doesn't need to learn to fight."

Ryu stood his ground. "My name is Ryu," he said. "And I need to learn to protect myself."

Ryu expected Locke to get mad, as he had the other times. Instead, he rolled his eyes, and as though Ryu was a child, ruffled his hair. Somehow, it was almost worse. "Freyjr, you've got me to protect you. You don't need to go through with all this nonsense." To Lebanon he said, with the threat of warning: "I hope you've told the Queen what you've been teaching Ryu?"

"Mother knows," said Ryu defensively. "And she said she doesn't mind. Not if I dress like a boy neither."

"She humours Freyjr," Locke said to Lebanon, eliminating Ryu from the conversation. Lebanon said nothing, though his mouth was set in a firm line.

And Ryu felt like he was floating. The same feeling he'd had so often as of late. That he was lost somewhere, unattached to anything, drifting away.

Was everyone really just humouring him? He didn't ask to be born a girl. Why couldn't he be a boy? For years, when he was small, he thought he was a boy. It wasn't until later he learnt the difference. Ryu thought— it just wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair.

Like that, the feeling changed. No longer was he weightless. Instead, he was angry.

"I'll fight you," he said.

"Excuse me?" said Locke.

"I'll show you. I should be the one protecting you."

"Don't be idiotic." Locke refused to take him seriously. So, Ryu hit him with his sword.

Locke rubbed his arm where Ryu had hit him with the flat.

"Fight me," Ryu said again.

Lebanon stepped forward. "I think that's enough for one day. If we—"

Locke stepped forward. "No," he said. He pulled his sword from its sheath. "I've had enough of this. I'm going to knock this rubbish out of your head, once and for all."

He lunged forward with the blade, and was surprised when Ryu, small and nimble, parried out of the way. Several weeks of training had already made their mark. When he went on the attack again, his brother blocked all his blows.

And for the very first time Ryu felt it: the ecstasy of the fight, the adrenaline lighting up his whole body like a flame. He went on the attack, and his heart sung at the look of shock on Locke's face as he pushed through, their metal clashing inches before his brother's face.

The crowd in Wyndia was cheering. Their blades met, again, Ryu danced out of the way: Locke's sword struck the sand. Ryu moved in— just in time, Locke caught it with the tip of his blade.

"Close, but not close enough," he said, before he struck.

However, for all Ryu's natural finesse, his brother was older, bigger, and better trained. Over the shock, Locke came blazing back into the fight. Like the increasing tempo of a drum their swords clashed again, again. Ryu stumbled back, breathing heavily, barely managing to fend off the blows.

But Ryu was older now, almost as big and far more nimble. Their swords scraped together, Ryu forcing it down to the ground, swooping in quick for a thrust to his exposed chest. Only just in time did he move away.

Locke forced him back, all the way back to the wall of the citadel, pinning him there. Ryu was so exhausted it took nothing to knock the blade from his hand. It went flying, spinning into the dust.

"What was it Lebanon said? Right. 'Dead.''" His voice was triumphant. He was unnerved when he looked down, and saw Ryu's eyes. He didn't look defeated: they were fierce, cold, an animal's.

"Hah!" The movement was too quick: Locke lost his balance. And in that second, Ryu was in there fast. He thrust in, his sharpened blade against his chest, resting against his vital organs. There, he stopped.

"Dead," he said.

The crowd exploded into applause. Someone had run over, and had him by the shoulder, congratulating him, but Ryu wasn't paying attention. His eyes were fixed on his brother's. He noticed, he'd cut him on his arm, under the shoulder, and blood was trickling down. But if Locke had noticed, he didn't show it. He gave Ryu a curt nod, and walked away.

Ryu was flying high on the wings of victory as he was led toward the royal family. He stepped up onto the stage with buoyant steps and approached Philip, who congratulated him. He waved his daughter forward. "Nina."

She came forward, a fey creature in a dress like a gentle stream, her golden hair pinned into a circlet on her head. She was holding a crown made of laurel leaves in her hands. Ryu knelt, and she came closer. The scent of her perfume encased him: jasmine.

Perhaps this tournament would change everything, Ryu thought. He'd regain his dignity that was stolen from him by Locke. He'd beat him at every single event. As Nina laid the crown onto his head, he decided he would take her home as a prize. With a princess by his side, who would ever dare say he wasn't a man?

In the hall, as the musicians broke into a rendition of The Lion and the Maiden, Sevvy was trying out his best moves. A slinky Wyndian girl, one of the staff leant against an alcove in the wall, coyly resisting his advances as he edged in closed.

"Really, you're too much!" she giggled.

"Really? There's much more to see." He slid in beside her, hand on her shoulder. "Wanna get out of here and come back to my room?"

"Sevvy I'd love to… I really can't though."

"You're breaking my heart, darling."

"You'll get me into trouble! I'm meant to be attending on Lady Eurydyke."

"The Queen?"

"Don't you know anything?" Her voice dropped lower. "Lady Eurydyke is the King's mistress. She's a real tyrant. And she'll want to go to bed soon."

"So, put her to bed… and then you can put me to bed, too."

"Well…"

"Eumeme! What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, nuts!"

It took only that. Like a shellfish, the girl darted away and vanished into the crowd. Sevvy looked round for the speaker, though he couldn't seem to find her. Instead, he recognised the blue haired little girl he'd met at the feast.

"Hey," he said, feeling disappointed.

"Your date ditch you?" she said.

"Seems that way," he sighed.

"Shame."

"Hey," he said, remembering, "did you ever find your sister?"

"Oh yes." She smiled.

Ryu couldn't for the life of him find a single quiet place to train. It was approaching midnight, yet there were still a dozen people on the track. He wandered the palace aimlessly, too wound up and energised to go to bed. He could hear the sounds of the festivities from the hall, cheers and drinking songs. No doubt Sevvy was there.

His mind as busy as the wings of a flock of cicadas, he didn't notice where he was going till he felt the cool night air. Ryu looked about. He was in the Water Gardens.

The garden lay in darkness, lit only by a pale moonlight. He heard the sound of water and the creaking of the windmills.

A good a place as any.

There was no guard on station, and Ryu began to look for a good place to train. The gleam of white marble in the moonlight caught his eye: it was a whimsical spiral staircase, rising to what must be an observation platform. Out of curiosity, Ryu started to climb the stairs. They went up what must be several stories, and opened out onto a round platform bordered by a railing. Ryu could see why— he was high above the city. This must be the highest part of the palace: he could see the lights in the towers, and the stained glass of the hall, movement leaping about inside.

He stepped forward to approach the railing, and then stopped. His body froze, completely motionless.

He wasn't alone. There was a young woman balancing precariously on the railing, about to jump. It was Princess Nina.

Ryu's instinct kicked in. Without making a conscious decision, he darted up, silent as a panther and wrapped his hands around her waist. He fell back, taking her down with him. The impact, as he hit the floor.

She struggled against him almost immediately. The girl in his arms was soft and weak as a kitten.

"Don't worry. I've got you," he said.

The second unexpected moment of the night occurred: the princess bit him. Out of shock he let go of her, his hand throbbing. She darted away from him, throwing herself back against the railing, which clashed. Her eyes were bright and furious, like an animal's.

Ryu found himself at a loss for words. Before he could form them into coherent sentences, they slipped out through his fingers like sand.

"What," she said, "do you think you're doing?"

"You… you were going to jump," the words left him lamely.

"Idiot," she hissed.

"What?" he said.

"I wasn't going to jump."

"But you—"

Nina stood. Ryu stopped. She'd spread her wings wide. They were white, feathery and huge. How had he not noticed them before? "Even," she said, "even if I did, I wouldn't fall. Heights can't hurt a Wyndian. Didn't you know that?"

Of course he did. He just hadn't thought. He'd acted on instinct.

But, all the same—

"What were you doing up there? You looked like… as though you were…"

In the moonlight, she'd looked translucent. So fragile looking, as though she might blow away. Her eyes: he still could still see them now. So many things at once: fierce and solemn and beneath that, terribly sad.

"As though I was what?" Nina asked. She looked straight at him: her eyes pierced him, dared him to answer. All his words died in his mouth.

The fierceness of her eyes faded. She seemed quietly satisfied by something. She turned now, pulling up the hem of her chiton, and stepped up onto the railing.

Ryu stayed as quiet as though he were under a spell. She clambered up, and with amazing balance stood on the railing, no more than an inch wide. Then, slowly, she began to lean up onto the balls of her feet. Further, until she was standing on the very tips of her toes above the abyss.

Ryu couldn't breathe. He was afraid to speak: what if she fell?

Her mouth was set in a hard line. She gazed far into the distance. She looked as though she was in pain.

The moment stretched on for what felt an eternity.

Ryu stepped forward. "Princess, why are you doing this?"

She was quiet for so long Ryu didn't expect to get a reply. Should he fetch one of the guard? There had to be something wrong with the girl.

At last she said: "Tell me."

"Princess?"

"What must it be like?" she let the words hang there. She stretched further, as if that were even possible, balancing on nothing. "To stand on the very edge and prepare to jump. To extinguish your life like a candle, with your own hands. To fall… sometimes I come up here to think about it. To wonder what it must be like."

He took another step forward. His heart was beating fast.

She stretched out her wings. Then, she closed her eyes and fell forward.

"Nina!"

He ran to the railing. It clashed loudly. She saw Nina swooping off over the city, caught up the updraft.

His hands were sweating.

When Ryu returned to their rooms, Sevvy and Raj had already come back from the hall. They sat by the fire, drunk and merry.

Ryu threw his cloak over the couch.

"Ryu! Where you been?" Sevvy said.

"Training," he said.

"Ryu, friend. Come join us!" said Raj.

He kicked off his boots. "I don't feel like it." He slammed his bedroom door behind him.

He fell down on the bed, exhausted. Even then, he could still see her: that girl, standing on the edge, ready to jump.

The image was burnt into his eyes.

To be continued.

A/N- Lol at me trying to write a sword fight. Oh well. Please drop me a comment if you've got time and let me know what you think; who your favorite characters are, what your favourite flavour of juice is, whatever you'd like. Next chapter will be up soon.