by Elise Marion
“No need to be embarrassed,” said Ava with a smile. “You have earned your meal, Isabelle. Enjoy.”
She nodded and bent her head back over her plate. Never had any food tasted so good. It was nothing like palace fare, but because she had worked for it, it tasted like manna from Heaven. When she’d finished her first helping, she went back for more, eating until she felt as if she’d burst. Only then did she push her plate away with a contended sigh.
“Now that you have eaten,” said Ava. “Allow me to introduce you to the others who will serve in your instruction.” She gestured toward the larger woman. “This is Nell. She will teach you how to fight while keeping your seat on a horse.” She pointed to the smaller woman. “This is Hanako. She will teach you how to fight hand-to-hand.”
Isabelle acknowledged each woman with a nod. As her gaze flitted from one to another, she had the thought that she’d never before seen such a mismatched group of women in her life. Even so, it was plain to see the camaraderie that bound them into a sisterhood of warriors.
“I hope you do not mind my asking, but … how did you all come to be here together?”
Hanako spoke first, her voice soft yet still somehow sharp and commanding, compelling the listener to hang onto every word. “In Japan, where I am from, women warriors were once a part of our culture. I was part of an elite group known as the onna-bugeisha. Women who are a part of the bushi—or upper class as you would call it—were trained in the use of weapons in order to protect our villages and families.”
“You are a long way from home, then,” Isabelle said, her curiosity now piqued. “How did you come to be in Barony?”
“Over the years, the role of the onna-bugeisha has diminished,” she murmured, her jaw hardening as she spoke of what must have been a painful experience for her. “The Japanese men no longer see us as companions, but as servants and child bearers. When my parents tried to force me into marriage for the sake of wealth and status, forcing me to abandon my life as I knew it, I ran.”
“You left your husband?” Isabelle gasped.
Hanako nodded with a tiny smile. “While he lay sleeping, I dressed as a man and stole onto a ship. That ship made port in Cardenas, and I eventually found my way here.”
Such bravery and daring was nothing short of inspiring for someone like Isabelle, who had stepped out on the first bold decision she’d ever made.
“What about you?” she asked Mudiwa, curious to know if her story proved anything like Hanako’s.
“In Dahomey, where I was born, warrior women are also customary. King Agadja first trained his wives for the purpose of using them as royal bodyguards. When he died, his son took on more wives and trained them to form a militia. We became known as the Mino. Being chosen to serve the king in such a way is thought of as a great honor, and my father was all-too happy to hand me over for such a cause.”
“Why did you leave?”
Mudiwa paused and looked way, her eyes becoming turbulent. Tear glistened in the dark depths when she looked back at Isabelle, but she did not shed them.
“The Mino are not allowed to have families or children. They are sent out to fight for the king and return to live in his palace, under his rule and subjugation. It was a lonely life—one in which I was required to give up the man I loved and remain celibate to honor a king who saw me only as a possession.”
“What is his name?” Isabelle asked, her heart breaking as she bore witness to the other woman’s pain
“Asita,” she said with a shaky smile. “When they found us together, I was sold to slave traders. They took me onto their ship, intending to take me to their country. In a fit of despair, I threw myself overboard during a storm, thinking to end my own life. I did not realize we were close to land, and when I saw that I had a chance to survive I swam for the shore. I, too, landed in Cardenas before making my way here.”
Tears had begun to brim in her own eyes, but Isabelle blinked them back. If Mudiwa could tell such a story without shedding her own tears, then she could hear it and do the same. Reaching across the table, she clasped the other woman’s hand.
“I am glad that you survived,” she croaked, her voice heavy and hoarse.
Mudiwa nodded, squeezing her hand back before letting it go. “So am I.”
Isabelle looked to Nell next, who smiled and shrugged.
“I don’t have a special story,” she said with a hearty chuckle. “Ava and I are cousins. Our fathers wanted boys and got girls instead, so they treated us like the sons they’d always wanted. We’ve been training to fight our entire lives, so joining up with the women’s regiment was only natural.”
Ava drained what was left in her mug before rising from the bench. “Now you know who we are. We are a family here, like sisters. If you are willing to learn and open yourself to what we have to offer, you will become a part of it.”
Isabelle’s heart leaped at the idea of a sisterhood. She had never had parents or siblings. Aside from Gayle and her bodyguards, she’d never had anyone to call her own. Marrying into Lionus’ family had filled only so much of that void within her, and the losses they’d sustained had dealt quite a blow. But now, she had the opportunity to become a part of something else—something that could be hers alone, without a connection to the family she’d married into. It felt like the best gift she could ever receive, and she vowed to grab hold of it with both hands. She wanted what they had, and would earn her way into their circle.
As she left the dining hall and walked back to her living quarters, muscles crying out in agony with every step, she allowed her mind to wander over her eventful day. Each second of it had been difficult, and she’d likely awaken sore and stiff in the morning, but that only enhanced the sense of accomplishment she felt at getting through her first day.
When she reached her cabin in the barracks, Vernon was waiting with a letter from Serge.
“It was delivered this afternoon from Guthrie Hall,” he said, handing her the crisp envelope affixed with her husband’s seal.
She took the letter in and flopped down onto her cot with a sigh, glad to be off her feet. Tearing the letter open, she held it up to the moonlight streaming through the window near her bed.
November 7, 1866
Ulas, Barony
Greetings Isabelle,
After weeks toiling endlessly in Ulas, things are finally starting to come together. The people now have homes to call their own and their storehouses have been filled for winter. They are grateful for our help and protection, and remain ever loyal to the crown. The rebels grow enraged at our interference, and retaliate in an effort at squelching our efforts every chance they get. Fortunately, our losses have been few, and we’ve been able to fight them off and preserve what we’ve built.
It seems we will finish here just in time for Christmas. The men could use a rest, so we expect to return to Guthrie Hall for a few days before setting out to Wyndon. I have been informed of your plans for a ball, and can say with all honesty that we are all looking forward to it.
Regards,
Serge
Chapter 16
Serge looked down from where he sat perched on the roof of the unfinished schoolhouse he and his men had spent the past fortnight working to complete. A rider approached at breakneck speed, putting a knot of apprehension in his throat. The horse’s hooves kicked up clumps of snow and dirt. As the man drew near, he recognized the rider as Nicholas, one of Isabelle’s bodyguards. His stomach clenched and his heart plummeted as he realized something must be terribly wrong and it concerned his wife
He climbed down from the roof and ran to meet Nicholas with his heart in the pit of his gut.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice as unsteady as his emotions.
Every horrible thing he had ever imagined happening to Isabelle in his absence flashed through his mind. He clenched his hands into fists and waited for the bodyguard to give him the news. His heart was already halfway back to Guthrie Hall, his hands itching to strangle whoever
had caused her harm—to murder her guards one by one for allowing her to come to harm.
“Your Highness,” he said with a quick bow, struggling to catch his breath. “Perhaps we should speak in private.”
Serge’s eyes widened. Could it be that bad? Was she hurt? Dead? He fought back his fears and motioned for Nicholas to follow him to his tent. While he was anxious to get on with it, he understood the wisdom of speaking in private.
“Well?” he urged once the tent flap fell closed behind them
“Her Highness is well, but we thought you should know what she’s been up to.”
Relief flooded him as he realized that she was unharmed. Relief then gave in to suspicion, and he narrowed his eyes at the guard.
“What has she done?”
Nicholas cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “She’s decided that it would be a good idea to join the women’s regiment. We were ordered to take her to Gladstone, where she has taken up residence and trains under the tutelage of Captain Longley.”
The corners of Serge’s lips turned up, his fears giving way to amusement. His prim and proper queen, training to be a soldier? He could not stop the laughter that spilled out at the ridiculousness of it all. He clutched his stomach, his shoulders quivering as he laughed, certain this must be some kind of joke. Perhaps Isabelle herself had put them up to it.
“Come, now … you expect me to believe that my wife has decided to become a soldier?”
“Yes,” said Nicholas without batting an eyelash. “She convinced us to take her to Gladstone for training nearly three weeks ago. When we arrived, she forced us to leave her there. Only Vernon remains for her protection. We were told not to inform you, but I thought it best to come here and tell you myself. Your orders were for her safety, and that is my only care.”
Serge’s amusement faded as well as his smile. He felt the familiar tingle of rage in his blood as he realized that not only had Isabelle gone against his directive by shrugging off her protection, she’d also directed servants under his command to keep secrets from him. Suddenly, there was nothing funny about any of it.
“You mean to tell me,” he said, his voice low and quivering with anger, “that my wife is in the middle of a military training camp as we speak? A camp in a village where the rebels could attack at any moment?”
“Yes, Your Highness. Forgive me, but we could only obey when she made her wishes known.”
Serge pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, trying to contain the pounding there. Never had he known Isabelle to be so rash in her actions, nor could he believe she would do such a thing without speaking to him about it first. What on earth could she be thinking?
There was only one way to find out, he decided as he reached for his sword belt and began fastening it around his hips.
“Locate my valet and inform him to saddle my horse,” he commanded Nicholas, his mind already racing toward Gladstone. “God help that woman when I get my hands on her.”
* * *
“Imagine that you are in the midst of battle.”
Isabelle stood in the training yard of the compound, her eyes closed against the afternoon sun. The first weeks of her training had been grueling, but her headstrong determination had kept her from giving up. Ava, Mudiwa, Hanako, and Nell had been pushing her at a grueling pace—with sunrise horseback rides during which Nell taught her speed and agility, followed by runs during which Ava pushed her to new levels of endurance, and then archery practice during which Mudiwa helped her to hone the new skill.
Having grasped the basics of the bow and arrow, Ava had declared her ready to move on to her next phase of training: hand-to-hand combat.
Hanako, who had commanded her to close her eyes, paced in front of her. Isabelle could hear the crunch of snow beneath her feet as she marched back and forth.
“You have fought long and hard,” she continued. “But in the heat of battle your sword has been knocked from your hand. You have used all of your arrows, and you have left your dagger in the heart of an enemy long gone. Now, you must defend yourself using the only weapons you have left … your hands.”
Isabelle nodded with a tiny smile, thinking this would prove far easier than the bow and arrow. How hard could it be to throw a simple punch?
“One of the most important things you must do is learn to anticipate the moves of your adversary. Like a game of chess, you should always be thinking several steps ahead of your opponent. Because our opponents are always men, this is especially imperative. A man may be stronger than you, but he is not more cunning, and he is almost never as swift. You must use your wits and your agility as well as your fists. You may open your eyes now.”
Isabelle obeyed, squinting against the brightness of the sun reflecting off the white snow. A rush of air against her skin was all the warning she had before Hanako’s palm connected with her face. Pain exploded behind one eye, and brilliant bursts of color filled her vision. Her hand came up to press against her face, and she turned her narrowed gaze on Hanako.
“What was that for?” she screamed, rubbing her stinging face.
The other woman merely shrugged one shoulder. “Pain is how you learn. If you don’t want to be hit, learn to avoid my blows. For this first lesson, I will use my open palms. After that it will be my fists, so you’d best learn quickly.”
Quick as lightning, Hanako was coming at her again, her limbs moving with fluid grace as she attacked. Ready for her this time, Isabelle ducked when her arm arced out, flying over her head as the other woman missed. She countered with an open hand to Hanako’s ribs. She smiled triumphantly and laughed as Hanako staggered backwards from the force of her blow. Arching an eyebrow, the soldier gave her an amused glanced before attacking again.
She crouched and swung her leg in a sweeping motion, catching the backs of Isabelle’s ankles and sending her sprawling to the ground. The breath was knocked from her as her back collided with the hard earth, snow dampening her tunic and breeches.
Hanako approached, looming over her with a smug smirk. “Did I forget to mention kicks?”
With a low growl, Isabelle leaped to her feet, slinging her heavy braid out of the way before advancing on her teacher. She swung wildly with first her left hand, then her right. Hanako dodged both blows before her delivering another vicious slap to the side of Isabelle’s neck.
“You are angry,” Hanako said, her voice still surprisingly calm as she circled Isabelle. “Anger is a fatal emotion; one you must learn to control. It makes you irrational and sloppy, and far less capable of defending yourself. Focus! Remember that avoiding my blows while raining down the most effective ones you can manage is the objective here.”
Hanako lunged for her again, an open hand coming at her face. Isabelle dodged the blow and lunged, catching the other woman around her middle and taking her to the ground. The two rolled, grappling and wrestling for dominance, until Hanako straddled her torso, arm thrown back to deliver what promised to be another painful blow. Already her face and neck were on fire, her body aching from being knocked down.
“Enough!” a masculine voice bellowed, out of place in this compound and therefore more impactful because of it.
A large hand came to rest on the collar of Hanako’s tunic, and she was yanked from on top of Isabelle. Head spinning both from confusion and her dizzying wrestling bout on the ground, Isabelle struggled to sit up and determine what was going on.
When she finally managed to sit up, the hard blue eyes that met hers caused her blood to run cold.
Hanako had been released, and now swept into a graceful bow, her head lowered. “Your Majesty.”
Her husband stood over her, his face stony and hard, eyes flashing rage. Jaw clenched, he offered her his hand. Ignoring it, she stood on her own and brushed the snow from her clothing. Ava, who had been watching the entire exercise from the front steps of the armory, made her way toward them.
“What in God’s name are you doing?” her husband thun
dered.
Isabelle opened her mouth to answer, but then realized that Serge’s tumultuous gaze now rested upon Hanako, who had yet to lift her gaze to meet his. Her husband was angry with the soldier for striking her, it would seem.
“Serge, it’s not what you think,” she protested.
He held his hand up to silence her and advanced on Hanako, towering over the tiny woman. Hanako finally lifted her head, her black eyes flashing as her gaze connected with his
“With all due respect, I am only doing what Her Majesty has asked of me.”
Serge cast an incredulous look at her, then Isabelle. “By assaulting her?”
“By teaching her to take a hit, as well as deliver one, Your Highness.”
A muscle in Serge’s jaw worked furiously as he looked from Hanako, to Isabelle, and finally Ava. He seemed to wait for some sort of explanation, but Isabelle made no effort to give him one. He’d come here looking for her, which meant someone had already told him what she was doing here.
“This stops now,” he said, taking hold of Isabelle’s arm. “She leaves with me.”
Ava and Hanako stood back and remained silent, aware that defying their king could be interpreted as disrespect. The meaningful look the captain gave her as her husband steered her away spoke clearly.
This was her battle to fight.
She fell in step with Serge as he set off toward the barracks, his hand still clamped around her arm. Trotting to keep up with his long strides, she tried in vain to free herself from his hold. His grip wasn’t painful, but neither did it allow for her escape.
“Which cabin is yours?”
“The last one,” she panted, still out of breath from sparring.
When they reached her cabin, he threw the door open. It crashed against the wall with such force, Isabelle was surprised it did not fall off the hinges. Vernon leaped to his feet from where he had been sitting at the rough table, his eyes wide with surprise. When his gaze fell upon the king, he bowed and then made a swift and silent exit.
