When Donovan first became my teacher, he promised me that when I was older we would travel together, as all Shang do. Even though the idea was exciting to me, I never pressured him about it. My family moved several times a year, from our home in Legann to our Manse in Conté, to the Palace in Corus for Midwinter every year, and to the Yamani Isles once or twice a year. We rarely went anywhere new, but the scenery changed so often that I was content and happy. Roaming off with my teacher was only a vague wish in the back of my mind.

Our first chance to go off like true Shang came two years after Grandmama's death, a few months after my eleventh birthday. We were in Conté when Papa's Second Company was called south to track down a band of raiding centaurs. Mama volunteered to go with them to act as protection against the centaurs' magic. She was having a good year, with only one small cold, and wanted to make the most of it.

Donovan saw his chance. He went to my parents and asked permission to take me with him to Corus. Valorie of Masbolle, the training mistress of the pages and squires in training to be knights, had written a letter to him a few weeks prior, inviting him to come to the Palace. She wanted her pupils to get a taste of a new, completely foreign style of combat, to help them become more resourceful and adaptive in the face of an alien style. Shang warriors learned countless techniques gather from all over the world, while the pages and squires studied to master only one.

My father needed little convincing. He gave his permission almost immediately. The trouble came when they had to decide whether my bodyguards and Miwako would come along as well. I had never gone anywhere without them. Corus wasn't anywhere new or far away, but on this trip I wouldn't be the daughter of Raenef of Conté and the granddaughter of King Roald. I wanted to go simply as Melly, a student of Shang, where people would judge me on my own skill and personality, instead of my pedigree. If the twins and Miwako came along, it would be obvious that I was not a commoner. And as much as I loved them, I wanted to go only as Donovan's student

Adish and Namir, usually two of the most relaxed and fun-loving people I knew, were solemn and grave when speaking to my parents and Donovan. Protecting me was something they never joked about. Miwako, while worried about me, understood my reason for wanting to go without them. She sided with Donovan, supporting him as he pleaded his case to my very skeptical parents and two bodyguards who were as stubborn as mules.

I wasn't present for the conversation, but Katla and Somerled were. They were both old now, and spent their days lying on the plush carpet in Papa's study. I sat in my room as the hounds relayed the conversation to me, holding the light crystal Mama had given me in my lap.

"Lord Raenef, if something happened to Melly and we weren't there to protect her, I'd never forgive myself." That was Namir, according to Somerled.

"I understand your fears, my boy, but I believe my presence alone would be more than enough to protect Melly." Katla moved over to lay at Donovan's feet to compensate for her failing hearing. "We're only going to Corus."

"I must agree with Donovan on this one." Somerled had trouble making out Miwako's words through her thick accent. "I'm as worried about letting her go off without us as you are, but Melly needs this. If she goes she'll be a normal girl, instead of nobility. There are girls training to be knights as well as boys; it would be good for her to see that she's not the only girl who plays with blades and armor instead of dolls and dresses."

Adish began to speak, but suddenly our connection was severed. I jumped involuntarily at the abrupt disappearance of the hounds' presences. Mama had caught on to my snooping and put a stop to it, as she often did. What was said after that would forever be a mystery to me.

But whatever it was that Donovan and Miwako told them, it worked. My parents gave their consent for us to leave for Corus, and Miwako and the twins would remain in Conté. I would miss them, but I was excited to be off on the road with Donovan like a true Shang.

It took us four long days of riding to reach the capitol, but we did not enter the city until the fifth day. I had never ridden through the market before. The streets were filled to bursting with people. I had never seen so many people in one place, and the cacophony of their voices nearly overwhelmed me. My pony, a gelding named Jordi, was as unaccustomed to crowds as I was and it was making him very nervous. He walked as closely behind Donovan's mare as he possibly could, his nose brushing against her rump every time she was forced to stop to avoid trampling someone.

There was so much to see. The vendors were selling anything and everything you could think of. They haggled tirelessly with customers, using words like a finely sharpened blade. Our pace was slow at best. I could see a few others on horses having the same problem trying to navigate through the sea of bodies. I turned my head back and forth, trying to see it all at once but only managed to make myself look entirely foolish.

Donovan laughed when he looked back at me. "Close your mouth, girl. You're catching flies."

I stuck my tongue out at him and was about to call him something very rude, but I was suddenly distracted by the touch of ghostly fingers at my belt. For a moment I was unsure if it was real, but they persisted, searching slowly for a coin purse or valuables in my pocket.

Without hesitation I turned in the saddle, my hand darting out to grab my would-be robber by the wrist. They were quick, trying to duck away into the crowd, but I was quicker. Using a hold Donovan had taught me, I dug two fingers into the soft skin of his wrist between the two bones and pressed my thumb hard into the same spot on the back. I was immediately rewarded by a loud cry of pain.

Turning in the saddle, I looked down into two indignant eyes of bright blue. It was a boy only a few years my senior, with an unruly mess of dirty blond hair that fell over his eyes and the tan common to those who spent long hours in the sun. He was tall and ridiculously thin, his arms and legs seeming to have outgrown his body. He wore a well worn pair of breeches and nothing but a brown vest that needed mending,

He grabbed my wrist with his free hand, trying to yank himself free. "Oy, leggo o'me 'and, y'scrawny piece o'crow bait." He spoke with the thick, rough accent from the slums of Corus, but his voice was incredibly deep, and it made me wonder where it could come from in such a skinny body.

I tightened my grip and he cried out again, letting go of my wrist. Donovan had used the grip on me once to demonstrate, so I knew how much it hurt, but any pity I might have felt was erased by his anger. Hadn't he been the one trying to pick my pocket?

"Melly," Donovan's voice held a hint of warning. "Let him go."

I scowled, and instead of letting go I tightened my grip even further. "Perhaps next time you should think more carefully before slipping your hands into places they don't belong."

He grunted and tried to pull away again, still cringing in pain. I would've held on longer, but I saw Donovan's disapproving frown and squeezed one last time before letting go. The boy clutched his wrist and an oath that I had heard many times before in the barracks of the Own, then quickly fled, but not before shooting me a look of pure venom.

When I looked up at my teacher, the disapproving frown had been replaced by a bemused smile. I scowled. "You knew he was there, didn't you?"

"Of course I did."

"You're a rotten bastard, you know that?" I said. At times like these without my parents around, I tended to swear quite a bit, but Donovan never paid it any mind.

He laughed. "Maybe. But there was never anything to worry about. I have the money. And I wanted to see if you would notice he was there."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "You should've been the Shang Weasel."

"What makes you think I wasn't?" He asked. "I wasn't always the Gryphon."

I laughed despite my ire. He grinned at me, then turned back around in his saddle and urged his mare forward. Once we cleared the market, it wasn't long until we reached the Palace gates. I was excited, but very nervous. How would the group of elite young nobles treat a "commoner" that was suddenly thrown into the crowd? The worst thing they could do was ignore me, but I prayed that a few would accept me for my merits. That was my entire reason for being there.

Valorie of Masbolle was a tall, sturdily built woman with a welcoming smile that helped ease the churning nerves in my stomach. She wore simple working clothes and boots, her shoulder length gray-streaked hair pulled back into a tail at the nape of her neck. When she shook my hand I could feel heavy calluses from years of handling weapons, much like the state of my own hands. I'd heard Miwako say it, but it wasn't until I saw it with my own two eyes that I could believe that there were women like me who shunned the old ways and lived as warriors.

"Master Donovan, thank you for coming." She spoke with a voice that was warm and deep. "They've just returned from lunch."

"They finished their studies for the day, haven't they?" He asked.

"Yes, so you don't have to sit through that mess, gods be praised." She said, then laughed at my shocked expression. "Not all of us are gifted scholars. I've always hated books." I couldn't help but smile back. The more she said, the more I liked her. She was just like me.

Valorie led us to a large training yard behind the student's wing. A large group was gathered along the fences, ranging in age from my age to around sixteen, although I spotted a few squires in the crowd who could've been even older. After a moment I realized that at least a third of them were girls, most of them with short hair like mine. They mingled effortlessly with the boys, joking and laughing as if it were perfectly natural for them to here, learning to fight. My heart sang as I watched them.

Valorie's booming voice cut their conversations short and brought them all to attention. "Alright, my young pups, play time's over!"

"When did it begin?" Asked an anonymous voice from somewhere in the crowd, earning laughter from the students.

The training mistress herself could help but smile. "Very funny." She stepped to the side and ushered Donovan forward. I followed, suddenly afraid to be separated from the only person I knew in this place. I wasn't used to being around so many people, and it made me nervous.

"Good afternoon," Donovan bowed slightly to the gathered adolescents. "As you all know, I am Donovan Steelwind, the Gryphon of Shang."

He smiled and turned slightly to pull me forward. "This is my student, Melly. She will be assisting me in my instruction."

When their collective attention shifted completely to me, I felt the sudden, nearly overwhelming urge to go hide in the stables. Some of them didn't bother with even a glance, but most looked at me with good-natured curiosity and some even smiled. Not knowing what else to do, I did my best to smile back and clasped my hands behind my back to keep them from trembling.

Donovan put a hand on my shoulder and I relaxed a little, reassured by his presence next to me. He knew I wasn't accustomed to being around so many strangers.

"Lady Valorie, might I ask what you've been studying this week?" He asked. Their focus returned to him, and I suppressed a sigh of relief.

"It's still near the beginning of the year, so we're still on the quarterstaff. A review for everyone but the first years." She said. "What do you have in mind?"

"Could you run them through a drill, so I can see what we're working with?" He asked, walking over to a barrel next to the fence that held the quarterstaffs. He picked one up to test its weight.

"Of course." She said brightly. Turning, she sent her students scurrying with her booming shout. "Grab your weapons and line up, you little snots!"

I sat on the fence to watch as she led them through a fast but basic drill. She reminded me of the officers of the Own. They put on a tough front, calling the troops names and shouting orders fiercely. But if one of the men faltered or was struggling with the task, they instantly dropped the act and helped their troops without hesitation. As I watched the lesson, I noticed Valorie doing the same thing, always ready to help one of the pages with a stance or maneuver they had trouble with. I felt my respect for her grow tremendously as I watched, and I couldn't help but smile as my nervousness slowly began to ebb away.

This won't be so bad, I thought to myself.

After the first warm-up drill the group separated into two groups, the squires going off with the fourth year pages while the rest stayed with Valorie for another, more complex drill that involved pairing off and trading mock blows. I followed Donovan and the older students, painfully aware that I was the youngest child in the group. But at least I didn't look it; I silently blessed Grandpapa Numair for granting me my unusual height. I stood as tall, if not taller than, most of the fourth years and even matched one or two of the squires. It helped me relax, a little.

Donovan picked up a quarterstaff and regarded his audience. "Find a partner and line up. I want to see how you handle yourselves without someone to follow."

They were eager to comply, finding partners and lining up with more efficiency than I would've expected from a group of headstrong youths. Donovan had them form into a wide circle, and one by one he let each pair free spar, complimenting their strengths and gently offering advice where they lacked. It was a lengthy process, but I noticed that as time went by the squires and pages grew more relaxed and accepted his advice more readily. It hadn't occurred to me that just as I was intimidated by them, they would be intimidated by Donovan and his station as an immortal Shang.

A few in particular caught my eye. A young squire, lacking a badge on her arm and most likely in her first year, was exceptionally quick and adaptive. Like me, she was tall and thin, with a long golden braid and bright blue eyes that made it obvious that she came from the far north, most likely close to the Scanran border. She had a quick smile and a bright laugh, readily listening Donovan's advice and immediately putting it to use against her partner. When her turn was up, she identified herself as Gwenna of Northwatch, a first-year squire who'd yet to be chosen by a knight.

Another drew my attention, this time a fourth-year page. His unruly short hair was dark brown, and his eyes were an even darker brown, filled with curiosity and eagerness to learn. What made me notice him, though, was the fact that he obviously had Yamani blood in him. His wide eyes were slightly slanted, his nose smaller and flatter than the typical Tortallan, and his tan skin was the distinct olive complexion associated with the Isles. He was very thin and a little awkward, probably in the middle of a growth spurt, but he still managed himself pretty well in his spar. When Donovan asked his name, he turned out to be Sorata, second son of Hiroyuki of Queenscove, the Royal Physician.

I watched each one carefully, noting their strengths and weaknesses silently and storing them away for later reference. I knew that in the course of the week I would probably have to spar more than one of them, and watching them now would give me an insight into their knowledge of one-on- one combat, which would be a great advantage for me. It was one of the first lessons Donovan had taught me: Knowing how an opponent worked would tip the scales in your favor if you used the knowledge right.

Besides, I hated losing.

A small obstacle came when we discovered there was an odd number, leaving the last squire without a partner. A small knot formed in my stomach when Donovan turned and beckoned, placing a staff in my hands with an encouraging smile.

The squire was a young man who stood a head taller than me, most likely in his second year. He reminded me of Donovan, tall and dark, moving with catlike grace. Half of his shoulder length black hair was tied back in a short horsetail to keep it clear of his face. His skin was naturally tan, and his eyes were a deep, piercing black. When he turned his intense gaze to me it was hard not to fidget under his scrutiny, but I managed somehow, clinging to my staff with a white-knuckled grip.

Donovan nodded to the boy. "What's your name, son?"

He bowed slightly to my teacher. When he spoke, his voice was a pleasant midrange, and his words were so soft that I had to struggle to hear them. "Eyvind of Tirragen, Master Shang. I am here with my knight master, Sir Padriac."

I looked at the badge on the arm of his tunic and immediately recognized the crest of GoldenLake. He must be special, I thought, to have been chosen by such a reputable knight.

"Sir," one of the squires stepped forward with a raised hand. "Isn't this pairing a bit unfair? Eyvind is one of our best, and with all due respect your student is rather young to be set against him."

Donovan nodded, politely acknowledging his words but of course paying them no heed. "And your name is?"

"Heath of Kennan, Master Shang." He bowed respectfully.

"Well, Master Heath, I understand your skepticism, but I assure you that Melly is more than a match for any one of you. I may be biased, but I say this objectively. I've seen her spar against veteran soldiers and hold her own, and sometimes she even wins." He grinned, flashing white teeth. "We are Shang, Master Heath. Age is of little circumstance."

I couldn't hide my blush, hearing Donovan openly praise me in front of so many strangers. But I knew he wasn't bragging. I often trained with the men of the Own, and that year I had started sparring with them to practice my spear and sword work. I could hold my own with a sword for a good period of time, but usually ended up losing because of their superior strength and heavier swords. But with a spear, or hand to hand, I could match and best many of them. I was smaller, and I would never be as strong as a man, but I was fast, and years of tumbling training had given me uncommon agility.

But by the looks of Eyvind of Tirragen, he was fast too, built with a long, slender but muscular frame. And not only that, but I was certain that he was much stronger than me. If I left him get too close, he could end the match simply by brute force.

The youth named Heath bowed again and stepped back, but I could still see doubt on his face, mirrored on the faces of many of his companions. My blush faded and I set my jaw. I had a good chance at besting any one of them, especially in hand-to-hand combat. I hated being underestimated. Now I would show this pompous city boy just what it meant to be Shang.

On Donovan's mark, we bowed to each other then assumed our stances. I recognized his immediately; it was the same stance my father used in his spars with Donovan. The technique of knights had changed little.

I fought the urge to grin as I took my own stance, standing up straight and bringing my left leg up and bending it at the knee so my left foot nearly touched my right knee. I knew Donovan would scold me later for being so cocky, but my naturally competitive nature overwhelmed my reason. This technique required an excellent sense of balance, which I knew I had, and I had practiced it many times with Donovan. It was really meant to be used with a sword, but Donovan had taught me early on how to adapt one technique so it could be applied to almost any weapon. If I executed everything correctly, I would be able to deflect his blows and retaliate instantly with swift kicks from my upraised leg.

Turning so I was almost sideways, I held my right arm up and back, keeping my left level in front of my face so my staff slanted down at a sharp angle in front of me. As I heard murmurs of confusion from our audience, I saw a glint in Eyvind's black eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. Like me, he enjoyed a challenge.

I didn't wait for his attack, stepping forward quickly to flick the butt of my spear under his. It caught him by surprise, and one hand lost its grip and the spear dropped. With his guard wide open, I landed three quick blows to his side and shoulder, not bothering to check the force of my swing. He was wearing a padded shirt underneath his tunic, like all the squires and pages. But I wasn't, and I didn't know if he would bother checking his own blows. If he didn't and managed to land a good hit, I would spend the rest of the week sitting on the fence with broken bones.

He surprised and impressed me by recovering quickly, swinging his staff low at my feet while still only holding it in one hand. Instead of jumping over it, which he obviously wanted me to do, I jabbed my staff down to block his blow. But instead of stopping it completely, I angled the shaft so it kept going, then knocked it back, using his own momentum to sending it straight for his face.

He avoided a broken nose by simply catching it with his free hand, and when he looked at me his smile had widened and his eyes were full of respect. I couldn't help but smile back.

Then it was his turn to attack and my prediction proved correct: he was fast, incredibly so. But I was faster.

We traded blows, blocking and dodging in one of the fastest fights I'd ever been in. Adrenaline pumped through me as I matched his speed and surpassed it, driving him back with a rapid series of swings and jabs. But he countered my speed with his strength, which was far superior to my own, knocking my staff away and quickly stepping forward to close the gap between us. As I had feared, he was going to try to use his size and power to win, now that he knew he couldn't match my speed.

I did my best to keep him as far as I could. I kept my odd stance, because it allowed me to deflect his blows and then strike back quickly with either my staff or my foot. I gave him two solid kicks to the gut before he shifted his guard to accommodate my attacks. When I could no longer get a good kick through, I used my foot to capture his staff, stepping down with my free foot as hard as I could and trapping it. Before he could react I landed a quick hit to his hip and another to his knee.

Before he could parry, I stepped back and out of his range. I was determined to keep him from landing a hit. Not because I wanted to upstage him, but simply because I was completely unprotected against the force of his weapon. But he got alarmingly close a good many times. I avoided many by dropping low to the ground, one leg out and the other bent as low as it could so my face was inches from the hard-packed dirt. In those cases I kept my staff behind my back, so it would block any downward swing he sent after me, even though it jarred my arms all the way to my collar bone when his hits collided with the wood.

I was grinning now, and so was he, and it was hard not to laugh. I couldn't remember having so much fun in a spar before. I always enjoyed my mock fights with Donovan and the twins, but they tended to be rather one sided. I was smaller and weaker than them, and they had far more experience than this boy. This match wasn't a hopeless cause, this was a challenge.

I loved every moment of it.

A fine layer of sweat covered my skin, and even more rolled down my back and dripped from my brow. My short cropped hair began to cling to my chin and forehead, but I managed to keep it from my eyes by shaking my head whenever I could. Eyvind was in a similar state, but he'd had the sense to tie back his hair before he started. When he noticed I was struggling to keep my vision clear, he began to press forward, making it harder and harder for me to avoid getting hit and keep my hair from my eyes. Soon my movements were entirely defensive.

Finally, it got so bad that I had to shake my head over and over to get my hair from my eyes. Eyvind saw his chance and took it, bringing his staff down in powerful blow that was sure to end the fight.

I narrowly avoided getting smacked in the face by the butt of his weapon. I stepped back as quickly as I could and brought my staff up to block his swing. But instead of blocking it, my staff split in two in a sudden burst of splinters that embedded themselves into my hands and forearms. His staff continued downward to land solidly on my upraised left leg, sending a thunderbolt of pain racing through me.

I bit down on my lip to muffle my cry of pain, my balance faltering until I had to put my leg down and stand on both feet, sending another lance of agony up my left leg. Eyvind began to step back and lowered his weapon, obviously considering the match won.

His thoughts were painfully predictable for a sheltered noble. My weapon was broken, so according to the rules of a duel he had one. But I was Shang, and I was learning to use anything and everything as a weapon. I still had the two halves of my staff.

I bolted forward, ignoring the screaming pain in my left leg and the stinging splinters in my hands. With my two new, significantly shorter weapons, I knocked the staff clear out of his hands and caught him completely by surprise. Eyvind could only blink in shock as I dropped the left half and grabbed his arm, jerking it back and up behind his back at a painful but safe angle. I used that arm to pull him down, and the great gap between our heights forced him down to his knees to keep himself from falling over completely. My right arm went around his shoulders, pulling him hard against me so I could hold him immobile while the remaining half pressed against his throat like a dagger. I was much weaker than him, but if he tried to move I could still easily break his arm.

After a brief struggle against my grip, he relaxed, conceding defeat. I had won.

I saw his mouth lift into a smile as he turned his head slightly to look at me. "Well played, little Shang."

Up close, his black eyes burned intensely. Despite his friendly smile it was still very unnerving. I held on for a moment longer, just to make sure it was truly over, but then I quickly stepped away and dropped the shortened staff. When he got to his feet and turned to face me, I quickly ducked into a stiff Yamani bow, letting my hair fall forward to hide the blush on my cheeks.

The rest of the world came rushing back, and I realized that our audience had grown considerably, and they were clapping. I straightened up and looked around. Valorie and the younger pages had come to watch sometime during our fight, and they were very impressed.

My blush hadn't faded, but now they wouldn't think anything of it. Of course a country bumpkin like me would blush under such attention. Or at least that's what I hoped they were thinking.

In truth, the real cause was Eyvind, who was still staring at me. It was almost as if his eyes were burning straight through me. I quickly averted my gaze, managing a somewhat uneasy smile as I was surrounded by pages and squires eager to offer their praise.

"That was incredible, Melly!" The boy with Yamani blood, Sorata, grabbed my hand and shook it enthusiastically. "I've never seen anyone fight like that!"

That made me laugh. "Just wait till you see Donovan."

A young page clapped a hand on my back, smiling brightly. "It was amazing. I never thought I'd see anyone beat Eyvind like that," she said.

I blushed. "Thank you," I replied, then winced at how ridiculously timid I sounded.

"Mistress Shang," a voice called from behind me. I turned to find a red- headed young man offering me his hand. After a brief moment I identified him as Heath of Kennan, the one who had questioned my ability to put a good fight against Eyvind.

When I reached out to accept his handshake, he put his other hand over both of ours, smiling warmly. "I was wrong to underestimate you so. I hope you accept this fool's apology."

I could see that he was sincere, so I smiled back and bowed slightly. "It's all right. If anything I fought better because I wanted to prove you wrong."

He laughed and let go of my hand with one last friendly squeeze. Despite his good intentions, his grip made my hand scream, and I remembered the dozens of scrapes and small splinters that still covered them. Looking down, I saw blood smeared over the pale skin of my hands and forearms. They were anything but serious, but they stung like the blazes.

Thinking about my hands made me remember my leg. Nothing was broken, but surely by now my left thigh was one great bruise. It would have to be treated if I wanted to continue to participate in these exercises. I excused myself and limped over to the barrel of water kept for drinking during breaks in training. Dipping the ladle in, I poured the cool water over my bloody hands, washing most of it away so I could get a better look. There weren't many splinters, and the cuts were shallow. Easy enough to mend.

That taken care of, I filled the ladle again and this time drank the water down, the water hitting my empty stomach like a kick in the gut, but also bringing sweet relief from the heat.

A shadow appeared next to me, and without looking I handed the ladle to Eyvind, keeping my eyes locked on the water in the barrel. I was too afraid to look at him, although I wasn't entirely sure why.

When he'd drank his full I helped myself to another ladle of water. I was still very hot and sweaty, and it was hard to keep my breathing even. Throwing manners to the wind, I grabbed the rim of the barrel and quickly plunged my head into the water. When I pulled up, my hair was soaked with cool water and it ran down my back and chest, and I was suddenly much cooler.

I realized suddenly that what I had done was rather rude, so I turned to apologize to Eyvind. I was immediately hit with a spray of water as he followed my lead, dunking his head in the barrel and then letting the water drip down from his hair.

He laughed at my wide eyed stare. "It seemed like a good idea. I don't think anyone will mind."

I smiled back. After brief consideration, I held out a hand to him. "Thank you for the spar. It was the most fun I've ever had training."

He accepted my grip. "You're very welcome, little Shang. But I would think living with the Gryphon would give you many opportunities to fight against a much better warrior than myself."

I shrugged my shoulders sheepishly, pushing my dripping hair back off my face. "Well the problem with him is that he's too good. I'm still a novice, and I'm much smaller than him. It's kind of a lost cause trying to win against him. I don't get many chances to fight people closer to my size and age."

"And exactly how old are you?" He asked.

"How old do I look?"

"Thirteen, maybe fourteen."

I laughed. "I'm twelve."

His eyes widened in disbelief. "Twelve?"

I nodded. "I'm just tall for my age."

"Well now I'm even more impressed," he said, making me blush again.

"Excuse me, please." He stepped back and quickly pulled his tunic up over his head and hung it on the fence, and then he started working his way out of the padded shirt all of the students wore. It hadn't occurred to me that with that on it was even hotter, and I could only wonder how he hadn't passed out by now.

I looked away, turning my gaze to the group of students milling around Donovan and Valorie. This was nothing new, men in the Own often worked without their shirts, but for some reason I was suddenly very uncomfortable being so close to him. But I forgot my discomfort when I saw the bruises on his sides and arms.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you," I said. "I'm not used to pulling my punches."

He waved my apology away and smiled. "It's alright, nothing's bleeding or broken. I get bruises in training all the time."

When he mentioned bleeding I looked at my hands, which were again covered lightly in blood. Light red welts stood out in sharp contrast with my fair skin, and the shallow scratches still bled a little. I would have to pull the splinters out soon.

He followed my gaze and frowned. Reaching out, he took my hands gently and examined them closely. "Did I do this?"

I shook my head. "It's nothing. I just got a little scratched up when my staff broke. Don't worry about it."

He looked at me skeptically, but I just smiled and pulled my hands away. It looked like he was going to say something more about it, but Valorie's voice cut him off.

"Eyvind, come over here and listen to what Master Donovan has to say."

Sighing lightly, he grabbed his tunic and pulled it over his head. With a slight bow to me, he turned and jogged over to join his classmates. I caught Donovan's eye and waved towards the building, telling him that I was going to take care of my hands. He nodded once, and then returned to his lecture.

Normally I would have stayed to listen, but I had heard most of what he was saying many times before. He'd taught me to go over a fight in my head and pick out the mistakes and things I could've improved upon. As I limped up the hill to the Palace, I mentally went over the match again and again, picking out my own faults as well as Eyvind's. I'd wasted too much energy avoiding getting hit, and I knew I'd hear of it later from Donovan. I decided to ask Lady Valorie to borrow one of the padded shirts so I wouldn't have to do that again.

The training mistress had arranged for us to stay in the wing that was kept for the servants of nobles visiting the Palace. Half the rooms were empty, but in a month they would be almost entirely full as more and more nobles coming to stay for the winter parties arrived. I grabbed fresh clothes from my pack and then made my way down to the servant baths. I was too hot too stay in the steaming water for long, but after sweating so hard I desperately needed to wash.

There wasn't much time left until dinner would be served around the Palace, so the baths were almost deserted. There was no one to stare as I picked the miniscule splinters from my hands. My left thigh was covered by an ugly mess of blue, purple and black, and it was difficult to walk more than a few steps. My hands I could take care of myself, but I'd have to see a healer to fix my leg.

I felt much better after I was clean and in fresh clothes. I heard the bell ringing to announce the evening meal, and limped as fast as I could to the mess hall. Donovan was already seated at the table atop the dais at the front of the room, but I didn't fancy sitting up there where everyone could stare at me. After I got my food I would have to look for an empty table.

The fare served to the trainees was good, but not to my taste. I didn't have much of a stomach for the rich foods of Tortall. I preferred the spicy foods from the Yamani Isles, Carthak and the Copper Isles that Cook always served at dinner. But I wasn't about to ask the cooks here to make something different just for me. I loaded my tray with fruit and bread, avoiding the gravy covered meat and potatoes. The servers insisted I take some meat, so I chose the smallest piece I could find and limped off to find my own table.

A voice stopped me from going very far. "Melly, over here!"

When I turned, I saw Sorata of Queenscove waving me over to his table. He was sitting at the squires tables with a girl and two other boys. I hesitated when I realized one of them was Eyvind, but I didn't know how to refuse and be polite, so I gave in and took a seat next to Sorata.

"We haven't been properly introduced," he said, his voice full of cheer and energy. "I'm Sorata of Queenscove, but you can just call me Sora."

He turned to the girl and two boys sitting across from him. "This is Gwenna of Northwatch, Heath of Kennan, and you already know Eyvind."

I smiled at them, my earlier shyness returning with a vengeance. They were all older than me, and as far as they knew I was a commoner. We didn't have much in common.

Except for Sora. I looked at him and spoke in Yamani. "Where did you get your Yamani blood from?"

His eyes lit up, and when he replied his words were perfect, but he did have a rather noticeable accent. "My grandmother, Yukimi. You speak Yamani?"

"Yes. My grandmother is also from the Isles, and my father taught me the language." I glanced at the others. I could tell from their puzzled looks that they didn't understand what we were saying, so I took advantage of it. "Tell me, the dark one, Eyvind, does he always stare at people so?"

Sora laughed, and our companions looked even more confused. "Yes, don't let it bother you. You stop noticing it after awhile."

I nodded, glancing at Eyvind. He must have heard me say his name, because one brow was raised in inquiry. But I was saved from having to explain when Lady Valorie called us all to stand for the blessing. After that, everyone was too busy eating to talk.

I ignored the meat on my plate, demolishing one roll and then another before grabbing an apple. Mama often told me I ate too fast, and Namir and Adish said it was like a pig going after slop, but I was hungry and didn't care about being ladylike. And even though I ate fast, I was neat.

Gwenna grinned at me over her potatoes. "How can you eat like that?"

"Complete focus," I said with mock seriousness. "Otherwise you end up inhaling your food."

Heath surveyed the food I'd heaped on to my tray and asked. "Can you really eat all that?"

I nodded. "I wouldn't have taken it if I couldn't eat it."

Gwenna looked a little puzzled. "But you're so thin! Where does it all go?"

I shrugged. "I use up a lot of energy. And I'm rather stupid so I wouldn't be surprised if there's a lot of empty space up there." I grinned and tapped my forehead.

They all laughed, and I found myself laughing with them. Glancing up at the dais, I found Donovan watching me with a soft smile on his lips. I smiled back.

As I lay myself to bed that night, my mind was buzzing with thoughts of tomorrow.

So I said the next few chapters would come fairly soon. Turns out I jinxed myself. I lost my notebook. I don't know if I left it at school or my cat ate it or what, but I'm rather upset. So I skipped one of the chapters I had planned and moved straight to this. This part of the story will take up the next few chapters, and so far it's been really easy to write. I'm writing from memory of what I had in my notebook but also adding and changing things so it's even better now. (In my opinion.) Now that I have everything set up like I want it, the plot's going to open up a lot more, so stay tuned.

Lol I don't know who I'm talking to, nobody reads this but my sister. (No I'm not begging for attention or reassurance, I promise )

Au revoir.