She was getting better. One trick here, another there, and she could win most of the sparring matches against her fellow trainees. She even took down Gunnar, Jory's massive sycophant, once. It wasn't that she was stronger than he. But she had learned to be quick and clever in her actions. And it was all thanks to Murtagh. A year and a few months, and she had turned from a girl to a true soldier.

But bad luck turns even the greatest warriors to novices.

They were sparring, the two of them, Siv and Erik, during the captain's training. She always went easy on him, trying to save his pride, though perhaps it was cruel.

They stood across from each other, swords raised. She took a few steps toward him, and he walked backwards, nearly knocking into the circle of their fellows. He stumbled, and she jumped forward, swinging towards his head. He ducked and threw a blow at her chest, which she parried. He was gritting his teeth, and the tips of his ears were red. And she couldn't help it. She smiled. His eyes widened. Then he started to strike the air wildly with his sword, trying desperately to make contact with some part of her body. She let him back her up to the edge of the circle, but she wasn't expecting him to do it so quickly, so when her back bumped into warm flesh, she swiveled her head to look.

So she didn't see the sword.

[Scene II]

She woke up later in the healing tents, her head throbbing. She tried to sit up, then moaned and fell back.

"I'm so sorry!"

She turned. Erik was by her bed.

"Shush, child," said a familiar voice. Bryn. Siv smiled, dizzy. "I'll not have any noises louder than a whisper," she boomed.

"I didn't mean to hit you, Devan. I had my eyes closed, and I was just so frustrated because I can never win anything and…and…I'm sorry."

Maybe it was the medicine, maybe the blow to the head, but Siv was drunk, or as good as. She reached up, still smiling, and cupped Erik's cheek in her hand.

"You're talking," she giggled. But it made her head pound, so she stopped and closed her eyes.

He blushed and started to stammer nonsenses.

"Oh, welcome, m'lord," said Bryn. Siv turned her head. Standing in the tent flap was Murtagh. Erik's back went stiff.

Murtagh walked in, found a seat, dragged it over to her bed, and sat, ignoring all the while Erik's vicious glare.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"He is," said Erik through clenched teeth. Murtagh looked at him with unbearably hard eyes. But Erik did not shrink back. "He doesn't need you."

"Erik, stop," she said, her voice cracking.

She saw tears forming in his blue eyes. "Why? Why do you—"

And she knew then what he was going to say. "Erik, stop!"

"That's enough, you three. Out, both of you." Bryn said. Siv suddenly felt a great rush of affection for the bustling woman.

Murtagh and Erik walked out, one after the other.

[Scene III]

Her injury was nothing serious, not a bruised brain as Siv had feared. She was out of the healing tents in a day, her headache, though terrible at first, gone.

Murtagh wanted to wait until he was sure she was fully healed before they sparred again, but she was having none of that. Eventually, he conceded.

It was on the third week after her injury that it happened.

She parried his blow, then feinted and disengaged, once, twice, three times against his blocks. And, that third time, her sword slipped past his guard and hit him lightly in the chest.

They both froze, her in a low lunge, him with his sword still in the air. She had won. She had won. She had won.

She fell to the ground, exhausted, but smiling and laughing as she went down.

"And now I can die in peace!"

He sat down next to her, and she noticed that he was grinning.

"Wait. You weren't going easy on me, were you?"

He just shrugged.

She decided she didn't care. A victory was a victory.

"That friend of yours," he said.

"Erik?"

"Yes. He's in love with you."

"I know."

"He hates me."

"Yes."

He said nothing more.

Until he played at their old game again. "What's your name?"

She thought about it. "Leon."

"Leon the dragon rider?"

"Leon the me."

"Why will you never tell me?"

And it was her turn to shrug.

Then a question formed itself on her lips, something that had haunted her sleep since the ball. She didn't mean to say it. But she did. "What did you think of Bera?"

"Your other friend?" he asked. She nodded, and he shrugged.

"Did you like her?"

"She was all right."

Siv's heart sank. "But did you like her?"

Murtagh furrowed his eyebrows. "No."

And her heart rose again.

"Oh." She smiled.

[Scene IV]

The next day, when the trainees had all gathered together, ready to spar, the captain stopped them. In a line, they waited, discipline keeping their backs straight and their heads forward. There was snow on the ground that day. Usually, they fought through the cold.

"You're still weak as women," said the captain. It was strange how the quietness of his voice continued to shock Siv. "But not as weak as the girls you once were." Well. And that was almost a compliment. Something was definitely wrong. "You may not be ready for battle, but you'll be going into it nonetheless. Half of you will be going to Dras-Leona, the others to Teirm. We'll start you off slow. You'll be doing guard duty, maybe for the rest of your lives. You'll report tomorrow to leave. Take the day off. It's your last in this home."

It happened too quickly for Siv to be surprised. She just stood there, the words still registering themselves in her brain. She would be sent to another city. Leave Uru'baen forever. Leave her city. Leave her friends. Leave….

And then she was running, searching for him among the soldiers training with wooden dummies. But he was nowhere.