by Elise Marion
The four men turned to one another and communicated silently in the way they always did. Isabelle often wondered if they all possess one mind. They nodded as one, seeming to reach some sort of mutual agreement.
“I’ll stay,” Vernon declared.
“Naturally,” Ava grumbled. “The rest of you may leave. Her Majesty is now in my care.”
Isabelle turned to Gayle with a forced smile for the other woman’s benefit. She looked as if she would weep for being separated from the lady she’d cared for from infancy. The maid put on a brave face and smiled back, though her chin wobbled a bit as they embraced and then pulled apart.
Squaring her shoulders, Isabelle lifted the small valise she had brought along with a few of her belongings
“Wish me luck,” she said before following Ava away from the smithy with Vernon on her heels.
“His Highness will not like this,” Vernon whispered.
“His Highness is not here. I’m doing this.”
They fell silent as Ava led them through the nearly empty streets of Gladstone. The sun had almost disappeared on the horizon, and shopkeepers were closing up for the night and going home to their families.
When they reached the outskirts of town, the captain guided them toward a set of iron gates leading to what looked like a city within a city—the compound of Barony’s female soldiers regiment.
“This is where we live and train,” she explained as the female gatekeeper spotted them and allowed them entry. “It will be your home for as long as you choose to remain here.”
She indicated a large building at the center of the compound.
“That’s where we take our meals. The food will not be what you’re likely accustomed to, but it’s hearty.” She indicated two other nearby buildings. “That’s the infirmary and that’s the armory. You’ll tour them tomorrow, if we have time.”
They entered a long row of neatly arranged cabins, most with yellow light spilling out through the windows and smoke wafting up from small brick chimneys.
“These are the barracks,” Ava continued. “You and your bodyguard will share that cabin. It is all one room, but there are two beds. The space is small but adequate to your needs.”
They arrived at the hut she’d indicated, and stood back as she pushed the door open. Moonlight spilled through the open door to illuminate the one-room lodge. Isabelle made out a small stone fireplace with wood stacked beside it, a crude table with two chairs, an empty bookshelf, a small armoire, and two cots on opposite sides of the room. Never had she slept in so small a bed, or existed in such Spartan conditions.
“You will find your required clothing in the parcel on one of the beds,” Ava said as she ushered them inside. “The uniform includes the only clothing you are allowed to wear for your training sessions, and includes a pair of boots. If any of the articles do not fit, be certain to inform me and I will provide replacements. Breakfast is served promptly at four o’clock in the morning. You are allowed thirty minutes to eat and then you will report to the training yard immediately after. Make certain you are on time. You do not want to suffer the consequences for tardiness.”
With that, Ava strode through the door to the cottage and closed it behind her. Vernon had already begun stacking firewood in the small hearth, and now busied himself lighting the kindling. Within minutes a fire roared, illuminating the room in an orange glow and suffusing it with warmth.
Isabelle dropped her valise onto the floor beside her cot, and reached down to take up the parcel sitting there. She unwrapped it to find three pairs of breeches, two pair of warm stockings, three long-sleeved tunics made of rough wool, a coat, and a belt. A pair of heavy-looking boots rested on the floor at the foot of her bed.
Isabelle wrinkled her nose at the clothing in distaste. Everything came in shades of brown, both light and dark. She’d always hated the color as it made her fair skin appear sallow. Setting the clothing aside, she took off her cloak and fur muff and hung them in the armoire, where she promptly stashed her uniform items.
She and Vernon agreed to split the armoire in half and share the drawers below. After they had unpacked their meager belongings, he offered to step outside while she prepared for bed. She quickly slipped out of her dress and undergarments and into her heaviest wool nightgown. After letting Vernon back in, she dove under the rough blanket on the tiny cot, knowing she’d need all her rest in order to have the energy to train in the morning.
She lay awake for at least an hour, her nerves too raw for her to sleep. She had just taken the first step to changing her life forever. Gone would be the pampered princess, and in her place would be a fierce and fearless fighter. If her dream proved any indication, the capability was hidden within her, just waiting to be released. What would people think of her decision? Vernon had mentioned Serge, and though she tried not to think of her husband, he remained on the edge of her mind.
He was already angry with her, and she might have just given him more reason to be with her latest decision. But, she could not allow that to stop her.
I did the right thing.
With memories of her vision dancing thorough her mind, she knew that no matter the consequences, this was something she had to do for herself.
* * *
Isabelle curled her body into a tight ball when a blast of frigid air suddenly struck her. Shivering, eyes closed and face still buried in the pillow, she felt about blindly for the blanket. After trying for a few seconds, she finally pried one bleary eye open and raised her head.
Ava stood at the foot of her narrow cot, the coarse blanket draped over one arm. Her silvery-gray eyes were narrowed, her mouth pressed into a grim line. Isabelle fell back against the pillow with a groan as she realized she must have overslept.
“It is now thirty-five minutes past four, and you are officially late,” Ava said before kicking at the cot. It vibrated beneath Isabelle, pushing her further into wakefulness. “You have missed breakfast, and wasted five minutes of my time already.”
Without another word, she gripped the sheet that Isabelle laid on top of and pulled, causing her to tumble onto the floor. Her bottom struck first, then her head, the impact rattling her teeth and sending a painful jolt through her body. She eased upright and glared at Ava through the hair that had fallen into her face. Annoyance prickled the surface of her skin, while embarrassment heated her cheeks.
Her first day as a new recruit, and she’d already failed her first test.
“You have five minutes to get dressed and report to me outside this cabin.”
Isabelle continued to glower at Ava’s back until she had disappeared through the door. The sound of laughter had her turning her glare on Vernon, who’d been awakened by the commotion. Still lying against his pillow with one arm thrown over his eyes, his shoulders shook with mirth.
“Not a word,” she muttered as she scrambled to her feet and reached for the ugly clothing Ava had provided.
Vernon rolled to face the wall, presenting Isabelle his back, but she could swear she still heard his snorts and chuckles from across the room. Ignoring him, she set about dressing as quickly as possible. The last thing she wanted to do was infuriate Captain Longley more than she already had.
The tunic fell down to her hips, which was fortunate because the breeches were entirely too tight. She barely got them up and over the ample curves of her hips and buttocks. The rough wool stockings and scuffed boots followed, then the belt which fit around her waist. Her coat went on last, a suede affair with no adornments. With deft fingers, she formed one long braid and tossed the mass of hair over her shoulder before heading for the door.
When she stepped out into the frigid darkness of early morning, she found Ava waiting with her arms crossed over her chest, face expressing her clear annoyance.
“I apologize,” Isabelle said with a yawn. “I am not much for rising early. It will take a bit of getting used to.”
“It’s quite all right,” said Ava calmly. “This is only your first day, aft
er all.”
Isabelle’s eyebrows shot up and shock rippled through her. She had not expected understanding from the authoritarian captain.
“I am certain I will,” she replied.
“Come along, then,” Ava said, setting off toward the armory. “We have a lot to do, and you’ve already wasted an entire hour.”
“But what about breakfast?” Isabelle asked as she trailed in the captain’s wake, her stomach growling as if to lend urgency to her question.
Ava laughed, but continued walking, the sound harsh and grating. “I distinctly remember telling you that breakfast was served at four o’clock and lasted for thirty minutes.”
Her jaw dropped and she nearly tripped over her own two feet, disarmed by the realization that she was to be deprived of breakfast. “Do you mean to tell me that I am not allowed to eat?”
The captain shrugged before throwing open the door to the armory. “I warned you that you wouldn’t want to suffer the consequences of tardiness.”
Isabelle’s stomach twisted and lurched as if begging her to put a stop to this. But, what could she do? As the captain had stated upon her arrival, she was not a queen here. She was a lowly recruit, subject to the whims of the woman responsible for molding her into a soldier.
As Ava disappeared into the armory, she remained where she had been left and reminded herself of the reason she was doing this. If it meant she must suffer a bit in the beginning, then so be it.
“I hate mornings,” she muttered as Ava returned holding a bow and quiver of arrows.
“We begin with archery,” the captain said, indicating that Isabelle should follow her.
The compound had already come alive for the day, the women’s regiment keeping the same early hours she was to be subjected to. Some trailed through the gates and out into Gladstone to relieve the guards who had been on the night watch, while others made their way to the stable or the armory.
Cordoned-off training areas surrounded them, with a few of them already beginning to fill with soldiers holding swords and various other weapons. But it was to an archery range Ava guided her now.
The tall, imposing African she remembered from her arrival in Barony stood at the center, armed with her own bow and quiver. Isabelle watched with awed fascination as she retrieved an arrow and placed it to the bow in one smooth motion. Pulling back on the string, she took aim and released with a single fluent motion. The arrow hissed through the air before exploding through the red center of a target
“This is Mudiwa,” said Ava, indicating the archer.
Isabelle could not help staring at the dark beauty. Mudiwa’s hair had been braided and coiled intricately around her head. Her bone structure was sharp beneath smooth, dark-as-night skin, and her large, fathomless eyes assessed Isabelle with a shrewdness that made her want to squirm. She offered Isabelle a smile, putting her a bit more at ease as she approached, slinging the bow back over her shoulder.
“Mudiwa will begin your archery training,” Ava continued, nudging Isabelle forward. “She is the best with a bow to be found anywhere in Barony, so you could not ask for a better.”
Isabelle extended her shaking hand to the other woman. “It is an honor to meet you, Mudiwa.”
“The honor is all mine, Your Highness,” she replied while taking hold of Isabelle’s hand, her voice rich with husky tones and a melodious accent.
“Just Isabelle for now,” Ava corrected her. “She is one of us, and is to be treated as any new recruit.”
“Yes, Captain,” Mudiwa said, her smile widening. “Understood.”
“Good.”
“Where are you going?” Isabelle asked as Ava turned her back to leave.
“I have other duties to tend to,” she threw over her shoulder. “I’ll return later to assess your progress. Don’t disappoint me.”
Left alone with the archer, Isabelle wiped her damp palms on her breeches and lifted the heavy quiver from the ground.
“Put that on your back,” Mudiwa commanded before extending the bow toward her. “It is important that you learn swiftness,” she said as she moved into position behind Isabelle. “You must also achieve the proper posture. Using a bow takes a great deal of strength, precision, and control. When I am done with you, you will have mastered all three.”
Mudiwa placed one foot between her legs and used it to position her feet wider apart. She grasped Isabelle’s shoulders and pulled until her back stretched ramrod straight, then reached around to adjust the angle of her head.
“This is the proper stance,” Mudiwa said, moving around her in a slow circle. “You must perfect it. If your form is incorrect, so are your aim and your balance. With experience, you will learn to shoot while in motion. For now, we will concentrate on learning to stand still. Now, raise your bow arm.”
Isabelle raised the arm holding the bow straight out in front of her. It proved heavy, straining the muscles of her arms. She’d thought her fencing practice had given her adequate strength, but now began to realize she’d been mistaken. How could she ever wield such a weapon?
“Now, your drawing hand on the string,” she commanded again.
Once Isabelle’s fingers gripped the string, Mudiwa grasped her elbow and pulled. She choked back a cry of agony as her arms screamed in protest. She now registered muscles and tendons she hadn’t even known she’d possessed, each one crying out from disuse.
When Mudiwa released her elbow, she lost her grip on the bowstring with a choked gasp.
The other woman heaved an exasperated sigh. “You are too soft. Your arms and shoulders are weak and must be strengthened.”
Isabelle nodded her understanding, even as the words resounded through her in a clear challenge. If she wanted to do this, she was going to have to build the strength for it. She would have to endure the pain that would come before she did.
Mudiwa grasped her elbow once more as she took hold of the bowstring with a deep breath. This time, when the other woman moved her hand away, Isabelle maintained her hold on the bowstring, slowly releasing her breath and forcing herself to focus on something other than the strain it caused.
“Do not move,” Mudiwa instructed, moving out of her field of vision. “Hold that stance.”
Isabelle’s arms trembled and her muscles burned. “For how long?”
“For as long as it takes.”
Her knees grew weak and her legs buckled.
“I can’t!” she cried, her entire body shaking and crying out against the unfamiliar posture. She felt as if her limbs would disconnect from the rest of her, leaving her in a heap on the ground
“You can!” Mudiwa declared, beginning to slowly circle her, gaze roving over Isabelle from head to toe. “All your life you have been a spoiled and pampered little princess. Hiding behind the men who defend you and whimpering at every loud noise, every little threat.”
Isabelle’s cheeks flushed hot with the same embarrassment and anger she’d felt when Ava had insinuated these same thoughts. But, how could she protest? Mudiwa was right; weakness had become a part of who she was, the crippling trait caused by years of passive acceptance.
Gritting her teeth, she hissed sharp breaths through the pain and used the soldier’s word as fuel.
“You are weak and you are soft,” Mudiwa continued. “You want to learn to be a warrior? Show me you have what it takes. Show me what’s hidden deep within.”
Isabelle took a deep breath and nodded, focusing her mind on the images from her dream. She straightened her back and relaxed her fingers, drawing the bowstring back even farther. Her chest expanded and her breathing came more easily as she let herself sink into the posture.
Mudiwa paused before her with a slight nod, her expression still hardened, but the light of approval glimmering in her dark eyes.
“Very good. You are weak now, My Queen, but I will teach you to be strong.”
* * *
By the time she’d reached the end of her first day, Isabelle’s entire body ached. Mudiwa had spent h
ours teaching her how to quickly extract an arrow from her quiver and notch it to the bowstring. After hours of maintaining her newly learned archer’s posture and pulling back the taut bowstring, she felt as though her arms would break free of her shoulders and simply cease being part of her body. Having gone without breakfast or an afternoon meal, her hunger proved only slightly more acute than her exhaustion
So, she followed her teacher to the dining hall, where all the soldiers had gathered for dinner. Long wooden tables and benches lined the dining hall, where a massive hearth roared with a warm fire, and rough iron chandeliers overhead offered light. Large dishes full of steaming meats and vegetables and hunks of crusty bread were laid out for them to serve themselves from. The fare was just what Ava had described—simple but hearty—and after the day she’d had, Isabelle had never smelled anything more tempting in her life. Her stomach twisted and howled, her entire body shaking with the need for sustenance.
The lesson Ava had taught her took hold in that moment. She would not miss breakfast another day that she resided in this camp.
Mudiwa led her to a table near the back of the room, where Ava sat with two other women Isabelle recognized. The first was the small woman who had wielded the deadly pole blade, and the other was the large, blond woman who had fought with a club the size of a man’s arm. They both nodded to Isabelle in greeting as she and Mudiwa took a seat among them.
She filled her plate from the dish before her, and attacked her food with relish, not bothering with pretty manners or the refined motions she’d been taught. This level of hunger went beyond all reason, causing her to forgo any sort of niceties in favor of filling her belly. When a heavy mug of ale was set before her, she grasped it with both hands and drank with noisy slurps.
Only when she used her sleeve to wipe the foam from her upper lip did she remember she was not alone. Glancing up to find the others watching her with amusement on their faces, she flushed and cleared her throat.
“I’m starving,” she murmured.
