Wystwood

30. Cleave steel for feathers

Solen's fingers edged along her bandolier and alighted on a fine blade with a tip that flickered silver in the sunlight. "You of all people should know how to take your time. Tell me, Diane, how long are your banquets these days? Five hours? Six?"

Diane grinned, revealing her string of pearly teeth. "Four and a half last I timed it, though the season's spring wine is certainly helping the hours to gain wings and fly."

She flexed her fingers, each one long and slim with their too-many joints that were so similarly pronounced in Raeph's uncovered hands. But unlike Raeph, Diane's skin was soft and silken, not roughed by the work of bandits and thieves, even as she gripped her dagger.

"Well, it's always a pleasant surprise to see that you haven't yet drunk enough to loosen your tongue and get yourself locked away again." Solen's eyes flickered, watching Diane as she inclined her head, almost imperceptibly were it not for the ruffling of her long hair.

Then, she laughed, whirling forwards in a flurry of tulle to meet Solen in a hug. They clung onto one another for only a moment, before Diane caught Ada's eye and gasped, "Oh! And you've brought company. Have you found another to join our practices?"

Ada fumbled for words, unsure how to react as Diane turned to her with doe eyes and pink-blushed cheeks. She was suddenly timid, feeling overdressed in the cloak, even as she tried to retreat further into it. But since Raeph had revealed her identity to his companions the night before, perhaps Solen's friends could be trusted also. Though Armestrong's reaction had been strong enough for Ada not to desire that experience again so soon.

Her decision was made before she could even offer a hand to the willowy woman. Solen stepped into her path, still smiling but with squared and stiffened shoulders. It was clear that she didn't want anyone getting too close a look at Ada when she said, "Not quite. She's here to help me run an errand."

"An errand," Diane repeated, running the word around her tongue before it clicked against her teeth. She and Solen held one another's stare before she swirled back to Ada and said, "Regardless, it's a pleasure to have you here..."

"Ada," Ada supplied, tentatively returning Diane's smile. She dipped her head down as she spoke, letting her hair and hood slip forwards, sure to cover her ears and graze the rounds of her cheeks.

The afternoon passed with the sun through the wooden slats above. The three other women gathered on the embankment were just as welcoming to Ada as Diane had been, if not quite as lavishly dressed nor sweetly spoken. They each had their own blades, though one of the younger girls, who wore a mauve shift with a toolbelt stitched from hessian, appeared to be using a blunt-bladed kitchen knife.

They had circled together beneath the ramshackle pier, laughing and sharing stories of their mornings while Solen tugged on a pair of leather gloves and drew out two of her daggers. She had briefly turned to Diane in the lull, pulling her aside to whisper back and forth. Diane had shifted something small and glinting off of her finger and slipped it to Solen before fluttering back into the group.

Solen called their attention, and so began a lesson in combat. Solen took on the role of a teacher, swiping through the air with daggers in both hands. Mud clung to her boots as she dodged invisible assailants and pierced airborne assassins. She then stepped back, splitting the women into two pairs and watching them practice their attacks, pausing occasionally to comment on their form or adapt their movements.

Ada stuck to the canal bank, unsure on what to do as she balled her hands into her shirt sleeves. It was only when the women seemed absorbed in their battles that Solen floated back to her. Ada hardly noticed her approach, riveted by the women who circled, lunged, and parried. It was like watching a ballet, each movement precise and calculated, right down to the pointing of their toes and the delicate tilting of their heads.