‘But the real fight is coming,’ said Justice. ‘Your friend Will stands at the centre of a great battle. He may be all that can hold the Dark King back.’
‘What does that have to do with me?’
To her surprise, Justice went over to one of the racks, took out one of the long silver swords, and held it out to her, hilt first.
‘Here.’
A sword. Like the ones the novitiates had been using when she had watched them training. Her heart began to beat faster at the purposeful way he was proffering the sword.
He meant for her to take it. She did, gingerly testing its weight. She had never held a sword before and was surprised at both the solidity and the heft of it.
And then, disconcertingly, she was looking at him over its length.
‘You heard the word shieldmate,’ said Justice. ‘Stewards do everything in pairs. We take a partner when we take our whites. Someone to fight beside and protect.’
‘That’s what Marcus was to you? A shieldmate?’ said Violet.
‘That’s right.’
She looked into Justice’s warm brown eyes, remembering how desperately he had looked for Marcus on the ship.
‘You could be that for your friend,’ he said.
Violet curled her hand around the hilt and lifted it. She shivered with the same sense of destiny she had felt when she had put on the Steward clothes, a connection to the past, as if she held a sword in an ancient battle.
She thought of Will, then of the sequence she had seen the novitiates practise. She tried to replicate it, stepping forward and arcing the sword to the right. She could feel how awkward it was: new to her body, the motion did not flow easily. This was a crude copy. She didn’t have the grace of the Stewards. She finished the first movement frowning, knowing she could do better.
But when she looked up at Justice, she saw that she had surprised him.
‘You did that from memory?’
She nodded.
‘Try the second movement.’
This time, as she began the slow arc, he brought his own sword up to meet hers in a countermovement, as if they were clashing in a stylised battle. ‘Now the third.’ His sword met hers again, this time on its downward stroke. Then he began a slow, sweeping attack that aimed at her neck, and she found herself lifting her sword into the fourth movement – which was somehow a perfect block to his attack. It was her turn to show surprise.
‘We train for the opponent that we will face,’ said Justice, responding to her expression, ‘when the day comes that we are called on to fight.’
Justice in his Steward garb faced her with a sword in his hand. Their blades came together again as she executed the fifth movement, and Justice became that opponent. The beautiful, abstract sequence suddenly had a purpose. She found herself looking at Justice across naked steel. Her heart was pounding, and not from exertion.
‘Relax your hands. You don’t need to grip the hilt so tightly.’
It was unnerving to mimic fighting him, yet thrilling at the same time. You tried to kill my brother. Another movement. Stewards killed the first Lion. Another. She remembered her Lion brother, Tom, blocking a Steward’s sword with an iron bar. Right before he drove it through the Steward’s chest.
‘Less weight on your front foot.’
It felt terrifying, and right. She had dreamed of taking part in the battle, just never thought she’d be training to fight against Simon.
‘Blade tip higher. Hold it steady.’
The sequence was relentless. Her arms had started to hurt, and her tunic was damp with sweat. Cyprian had made this sequence look easy. Justice, moving with her in counterpoint, made it look easy.
Three movements left.
Why couldn’t a Lion fight for the Light? Why couldn’t she find a place here? She was as strong as any Steward.
Two movements.
‘Your friend carries a great burden,’ said Justice. ‘If he is what the Elder Steward believes him to be … When the darkness comes, he will need a protector. Someone who’ll stand by him. Someone who’ll defend him. Someone who can fight.’
One.
‘I can fight.’ She gritted out the words, and with a surge of determination she finished the final movement. Chest heaving, she looked over at Justice in victory.
‘Good.’ She felt a rush of success. ‘Now do it again.’
Justice stepped back, lowering his sword.
‘Again!’ she burst out.
He called a halt hours later. Dripping with sweat and trembling with exhaustion, she looked up at Justice. Her vision was hazy, her limbs at the edge of their endurance. She was barely able to lift her sword.