“You didn’t say that to me, and I’m not deaf, or stupid. Nor do I tolerate being pushed around,” I snarled, shoving her hand (and the dagger) away from me. “Not by you, not by anyone. Got that? Good. Now, I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m not a spy, I’m not one of your soldiers, and I’m not going to allow you to push me around.”
She watched me with glittering green eyes while I spoke, and when I finished, she was silent for a few seconds before saying, “Brave words from a woman who spent the night in a cell.”
“I just told you that I’m not stupid. Fighting ten armed men while in the company of my mothers and an elderly mortal isn’t a bright idea.”
“That is possibly true,” she said, sheathing her dagger. “Regardless, you have two choices: you can be executed as a spy or you can replace the injured soldier and take up his banner on the field of battle.” She glanced at her watch. “His shift started twelve minutes ago. You have thirty seconds to decide.”
“You have got to be out of your mind!” I said, shaking my head. “I’m not going to make that sort of a decision! I’m an alchemist—”
“And now you’re either a spy or a fighter. Fifteen seconds.”
I stared at her openmouthed for the count of five until I realized I was wasting time. I was between a rock and a hard place, and I knew it. I couldn’t fight her, not with all the soldiers around us, and I wasn’t willing to risk my mothers’ lives by attempting an escape. Not at that moment, at least.
“Fine,” I said, glaring at her. “I’ll pretend I’m a soldier if it gives you your jollies. But I’m going to suck at it.”
She made a dismissive gesture. “That matters not.”
She strode off again, leaving me damning my life, damning my decision to bring my mothers here, and most of all, wishing they hadn’t abducted Mrs. Vanilla in the first place.
I turned to go back to where the soldier was, and bumped into Colorado, who was standing right behind me with an anxious look on his face.
“I assume you heard what was said.”
His eyes widened. “Yes, but only because I was worried that Lady Holly might . . . er . . .”
“Stab me?”
He made an apologetic little wave of his hand. “She doesn’t suffer fools well.”
“Uh-huh.” I straightened my shoulders and headed back to where the RSI soldier was being assisted in the removal of his armor. “Neither do I, as a matter of fact. I’m not a soldier, Colorado.”
“Well, so far as that goes, none of us were before Lord Gideon called us up,” he said, lifting the newly discarded breastplate and eyeing it before turning his gaze to my chest. “But you are most sturdily built, and I’m sure you will have no trouble lasting two hours.”
“Two hours?” I crossed my arms over my breasts despite the total absence of sexual interest in his eyes as he considered my torso. He discarded the breastplate and went into the tent, coming out with two others.
“That is the length of each shift. It goes quickly, I promise you.” He held up a chest piece, squinted at my boobs, then dropped it in favor of the other one. “I believe this will offer the best fit. There’s no time to have armor made to your specifications, but once your shift is over, we’ll have the armorer get to work on a set so that you’re equipped for tomorrow. We have a very good armorer. She makes Lord Ethan’s armor and has a wonderful touch with the blacksmith hammer.”
“Back up a sec,” I said, obediently holding up my arms when another teenager, this time a slight girl with a pixie haircut who held an armful of chain mail, instructed me to do so. “What’s this about a shift? You guys fight in shifts?”
“Of course,” he said, assisting the page or squire or whatever she was called to slip the chain mail over my head. A few strands of my hair snagged on it, making me wince. Surprisingly, the mail was very light, and although it hung down to mid-thigh, it didn’t seem to be overly large. “If we fought longer than that, we’d get tired.”
It was hard to dispute that logic. I said nothing more while Colorado and the girl (whose name turned out to be Columbine) slapped a plate chest piece on my front. It was attached to the mail with leather buckles, and although it was significantly heavier than the mail, it wasn’t overwhelming.
“You guys do know that I’ve never lifted a sword in my life,” I said conversationally as they strapped on shin guards, plates that resembled wrist braces but that Columbine referred to as gauntlets, and finally, handed me a small oval shield.
“None of us had when we started,” Colorado answered with a cheerful smile. “You’ll learn quickly. Now, as for a helm . . . I’m not sure what we have to fit you. We’ll try a couple, shall we?”
What followed was a painful five minutes as I tried on, and rejected, a number of closed helms. Most of them were simply too small, which just irritated me since I knew that both Columbine and Colorado were thinking what a fat head I had, but one of the helms that wasn’t too small was far too massive to be worn. In the end, Colorado said, “I believe that for today we’ll do without a helm. Now, what do we have left? I’m not sure what we have in the line of a lady’s sword . . . My lord!”
Colorado bowed low.
I turned, ignoring the little spurt of adrenaline. A dark-haired man with a short goatee strolled up, wearing what can only be described as a maroon velvet smoking jacket, a white silk ascot, and a fez. One of his hands was in his jacket pocket, while the other waved as he spoke. Two young women in harem costumes trotted behind him, one bearing a tablet computer, the other holding a spiral notebook and pen. “—That was the last that was ever seen of those brigands. Naturally, I offered to return the jewels and fine silks that had been stolen, but the fair maiden insisted I keep them as a sign of her gratitude. That and her virginity, but we need not speak of that now. End chapter. What have we here? A new recruit?”
“Yes, my lord,” Colorado said, bowing low again while gesturing awkwardly at me. “It is my honor to present to you the Lady Gwen.”
“Hi,” I said, refusing to be awed or give in to my curiosity about the man’s bizarre outfit. I held out my hand to shake his.
He looked at it for a moment, then pulled a monocle from his breast pocket and eyed it like it was made up of worms. “Greetings,” he said finally, tucking away the monocle. “You are not one of Aaron’s souls?”
“If you mean am I alive, yes. My mothers and I sought sanctuary here from some mortal police,” I said, hoping my exclusion of mentioning the Watch wouldn’t come back to sting me. “We were promptly arrested for spying. We aren’t spies. My mothers are Wiccans, and I am an alchemist.”
“Wiccans. Are they here?” He looked around.
“They are housed in Mistress Eve’s tent, my lord,” Colorado said quickly.
“Excellent. I have need of Wiccans. Tell them to start bespelling Aaron’s men immediately. Now, as for you . . . can you make fiery orbs that will rain down from the sky and decimate my enemy?”
“No,” I said firmly. “I don’t make bombs.”
“Pity.” His left arm, the one with the hand in his pocket, twitched and started to move. He grabbed his elbow and jammed his hand back down into the pocket. “You will be fighting on my behalf, I see. Colorado, make sure she wears my colors. All ladies like to wear my colors. And give her one of my signed head shots. The one used in my last book. It’s in profile. Ladies love my profile.”
“I will gladly see that she wears your colors, Lord Ethan, but first I must find a sword suitable for a lady’s use.”
Ethan stroked his chin for a moment, then waved an airy hand. “Give her the Nightingale.”