My knock on her door is more tentative than I feel.

"Go away."

"Mira, let me in."

I hear her sigh. Anyone else and she'd have simply refused, door locked, and they would have to just give up. She only opens it a crack and I can see the fresh tear streaks on her cheeks that match my own.

"I want you to teach me to fight. Before…you leave." Conscription day is only a few days away, then I'll be alone. Without either of them.

She rolls her eyes, "Violet. Scribes don't fight."

"Sorrengail's do. Teach me."

"Go to bed," she growls and turns back to her bed, and I notice quickly how she stuffs whatever book she was reading in her pack.

I enter without her permission, and the glare she sends my way matches the one our mother uses daily. "Please?"

"Violet, you're not going to be able to fight. Ever."

Ouch. "Why not?"

Her strong grip clamps around my willow-thin wrist, and she wobbles it back and forth. "These aren't for punching. They're for carrying books. I love you, little sister, but you're not going to be strong enough to fight."

"I can practice," I try again, determination settling high in my chest.

Another Mira sigh - I've been getting those a lot since he died. "Can't you just stick to throwing daggers? You've gotten pretty good with those."

"Scribes don't carry daggers," I grumble. "Brennan would have taught me," I whisper and see the sorrow hit her whole face, and flinch at the sharp finger she points in my direction with a snap of a warning in her eyes.

My chin trembles and I find myself clutching the end of my braid as it sits over my shoulder, the silvery strands weaving around my fingers then loosening then weaving as I wait nervously.

A sigh, her shoulders slouch, I've won. "Thank you," I say softly and she waves me off with a grumble.

"Godsdamnit, Violet. I'm not going to teach you to fucking fight. The last thing we need in Basgiath is a battle scribe. I'll show you how to throw a punch so when some asshole inevitably makes a move you don't appreciate, you can break his nose and leave him bleeding in the dirt."

She comes back to my side and grabs my arm again, one hand balling mine into a fist with my thumb tucked on the outside as the other one grabs my bony elbow at an angle close to my body.

You have to put your whole body into a punch, Vi, it's not just your fist or even just your arm." She pulls my fist toward her and away from me until my knuckles touch her shoulder. "To start, we'll just do the arm, but your shoulder comes into it too. Your power will come from that snap."

I scoff, "of my shoulder? Yeah, snaps are a bad thing."

That drags a slight smile to her lips. "Not that snap. Okay. Just how when throwing a dagger isn't about the dagger, throwing a punch isn't about your fist. As you come forward, you twist your lower arm to horizontal, and shift your upper body forward to put some umph behind it."

"Okay," I say, my eyes following the way she extends my arm forward and back, the motion unnatural to me, but something I could get used to.

"Now, hold your arm just like that," she orders, so I do - the elbow kinked up and the hand still balled into a fist, and her hands set to my hips to turn me at a slight angle. "Your hips should be in a line with your arm, see?"

"Yeah," I agree, looking down and seeing my body make something of a straight line - a paper thin one, but it's still a line.

"Bend slightly at your knees," I do, "and your back leg is going to push off the ball of your foot to help you with your momentum."

Mira turns to the padded training dummy rising from the center of her room and takes up the pose, so I mimic everything she does. As she extends her fist forward, I watch as the hardening lines of her body snap to attention. Her hips turn to line up with her muscled arm, her back foot is already up on the toes ready to spring her forward, and as she extends the fist slowly to rest her knuckles gently against the dummy, I see how her back leg extends and her shoulder flexes.

"Got it."

We do it slowly a few times until I start to get it, her hands pushing, poking, and straightening my body into the right pose with each step of the movement. Finally, she holds up her hand directly in the line of where my fist has been ending up.

"You want me to hit you?"

She grins again. "You weigh ten pounds, I think I can handle it."

My eyeroll is legendary, and I take up the stance she just showed me. I see the lift of her brows and the surprise that tells me I must have gotten it right.

"Go for it when you're ready. As hard as you can," she slaps her palm, "hit me."

I put my whole ass into it and swing, and the snaps and crunch of breaking bone makes us both scream.

…

"Mom's gonna kill me," she says behind the palms of her hands.

"What on earth did you think would happen, Mira?" Winifred's normally sweet voice is all hard edges and blame tonight. Luckily, the healing ward is blessedly empty. With no flying, sparring, or other activities in the days before Conscription, the healers almost got the night off.

"Iss okay Win'frd. 'M okay,'' I promise as my head swims, the room fuzzy with each movement of my eyes as I lay on the familiar bed looking up at the healer that I've gotten to know so well over the last few years.

"You're going to be just fine, little Violet," she pats my head and I roll my eyes, nearly passing out as the room spins. "Woah," I can't help but say until the door opens and Nolon comes waltzing in.

"Here I was, cracking into a book and a glass of brandy when, lo and behold, I'm summoned. What happened this time, Violet?"

With my good arm I point at Mira, "I hit 'er."

The surprise on Nolon's face makes me giggle, though it's probably also the pain medication his wife has dosed me with, and Mira hops up.

"She hit you?"

"Practice. We were…practicing."

His eyes narrow and I see him really try and figure out what my sister is telling him. "She'ss teashing me howto fight." To punctuate, I lift both of my arms and attempt to ball my hands into fists, and that's when I remember the broken fingers and the floppy angle of where my wrist snapped leaving my hand to dangle and make everyone, including me, wince. "'Mmm not toogood yet."

"I see," he drawls, his hand grabbing for my broken arm and holding it stable while setting a gentle pat to the purpling fingers before lowering it back to the bedside. "Does your mother know yet?"

"Not unless you've sent someone to tell her, which I'm really hoping you didn't," Mira's voice is almost pleading, and Winifred shakes her head to confirm as best as I can tell with the world being so pleasantly fluffy.

"No, but I did send for your father. He'll be here shortly. Here, dear," Winifred holds up another vial, and I open my mouth as the bitter concoction slides down my throat. I know in a few moments I'll be out for a few hours before waking up as if nothing had happened in the first place.

I start to slip away, and reach for Mira. "It's okay, Vi, I'm here. I'll be here when you wake up, okay? I'm sorry."

"Iss okay. I hit real good, din't I?" Suddenly, my head feels like it's filled with iron and sleep tugs at my darkening vision.

"My hand still hurts," she promises, and I want to ask her about the sheen of tears in her eyes but can't as the blackness pulls me under.

I blink my teary eyes as I hold the Book of Brennan on my lap, the comforting sound of the rain pattering against the window dragging me out of my memories. I can't help but be continuously thankful for how far I've come as I sit in my own room in Basgiath with an armoire full of rider black.

It wasn't the plan, but I'm still here. A grin hits my lips as I tip back onto my pillow and think of the way my challenger's lip split today under my fist. Sure, it's sore as hell, and I flex my fingers just to remind myself of that fact, but I can't help but think over and over to myself:

"Mira would have been proud of that one."

…