The edge of her swords made hardly a sound as she practiced the familiar form before sleep. Time was lost; there was nothing but the gleam of metal and controlled breaths, striving for a silence equal to the blades. The balcony was a cage of cold marble and moonlight, enough to envision an invisible enemy and initiate his end.
The twin scimitars were her choice weapon, though Queen Hippsodeth had suggested others. Perhaps a single blade, straight and light, so that one hand might be free to defend. Or a short dagger, easy to conceal and quick for the kill. She would learn them in time. For now, the grip of a sword in each hand was what she needed, a natural balance as extensions of her own body. She moved and breathed through them, felt the air around them and cut through it with the slightest turn of her will.
You should not go alone.
The queen's advice was truth. Her skill with blades, however sharp, was not enough. She could not go alone. Yet she could not sit idly and wait.
There were many things she could not have done. She had done them. It was a matter of circumstance and will when the next impossibility would fall.