The Treachery That Stirs  

Amara drifted into uneasy dreams of dark forbidden rites beneath the perfumed silks of her royal bed. Velkan's urgent shaking of her shoulder startled her awake still thick-headed. Torchlight from the passage beyond outlined his worried face.

"Rise, sister, our aid is needed! Treachery stirs on a nearby isle." He pressed a silver goblet into her hand. The spiced wine cut through Amara's grogginess. Throwing back the covers, she checked the room's chill air.

"Tell me plainly," she demanded, hurrying to don a tunic, leggings and boots better suited for action than courtly raiment. Velkan averted his eyes politely until she was decent.

"An informant arrived secretly from the governor's office of Pelian Isle. Rebel factions grow bold there, inflamed by some firebrand. They may attempt a coup before long." He buckled on his sword belt with practised motions while Amara similarly girded herself for uncertain trials.

"Does father decree we answer this threat in force?" Her thoughts moved swiftly now to tactical matters learned through hardship.

Velkan gave a terse nod. "The garrison entrusts six war galleys under our joint command, bound for Pelian Isle on the dawn tide. But..." He hesitated, eyeing Amara sidelong. "Father wishes you remain here. I will go in your stead."

Amara froze, blindsided. "He doubts me so soon?" Hot anger stirred her blood before cold doubt flooded back. What credentials of leadership did she truly have beyond Bane's twisted mentoring? But the thought of cowering behind castle walls while her brother fought gnawed bitter as gall.

Velkan looked pained. "Father worries for you, as do I, sister." He brushed her shoulder awkwardly. "We both know you are brave as any man in spirit. Yet war's reality..."

"...Is no stranger to me now, Velkan," Amara finished for him, steel in her tone. Impatient with further debate, she headed for the darkened training yards, sensing her brother's reluctant footsteps following. The brisk air helped cool her churning emotions. But the sting of wounded pride remained sharp. Her family still saw only a fragile scholar's daughter, not the woman adversity had honed. She burned to prove herself worthy of command. But how?

The answer came as they entered the broad packed-earth square ringed by weapon racks and straw targets. Hardening her eyes, Amara halted and turned to face Velkan. "Brother, you judge me untested," she declared. "Then test me yourself before all here." Her gesture took in the few yawning guards and servants gathering curiously.

Velkan looked taken aback. "Sister, I cannot—"

But Amara cut him off. "If you defeat me in fair sparring, I will remain as father bids without complaint." Her voice rang clearly in challenge. Velkan hesitated, then gave a formal half-bow of acceptance.

"So be it." He turned and selected two blunted sparring blades from a rack, tossing one to Amara hilt-first. She hefted the unfamiliar weight, twisting her wrist experimentally. Velkan slid into a ready stance, suddenly business-like. "When you are prepared..."

Amara regulated her breathing and nodded back, raising her blade in salute. He approached in measured steps, sword cocked back. At the last instant, his stroke snapped out, angling for her leading leg. She pivoted barely in time, countering awkwardly toward his shoulder. Velkan batted her clumsy riposte aside and slid back.

"Guard your left side, sister! And don't just flail back at me." He demonstrated a basic blocking manoeuvre. Amara bit her lip, adjusting her feet to match his. His nod spurred her into a more disciplined lunge. Steel rang as he deflected her.

They slowly circled exchanging probing strikes. The servants were murmuring with interest around them. Velkan called out advice, though pity softened his tone. That stung, but Amara focused on not embarrassing herself further. Without magic's aid, her swordsmanship was woefully lacking. But she refused to yield.

Intent on an overhand chop, her foot turned on a loose stone. Velkan instantly knocked her legs out from under her, following through to rap her hip sharply with the flat of his blade.

Wincing, Amara clambered upright. "The bout is yours, brother." She barely kept frustration from her voice.

Velkan gave a perfunctory nod, not gloating in his easy victory. "You understand bladework takes long practice. No shame—"

"One more pass." Amara cut him off. Before he could argue, she caught sight of Rhys lurking just within the torchlight, brooding as ever. On sudden reckless impulse, she crossed the intervening distance to grasp his bearded face in both hands and pull him down into a passionate kiss.

"Huh!? What are you…?" His muffled grunt of surprise gave way quickly to enthusiasm.

A collective gasp arose from the onlookers scandalized by this brazen impropriety. But Amara recked nothing of their outrage, focused only on drawing forth the well of sensual energy that ran molten beneath the rogue's rough exterior. This communion was far more intimate than their previous unthinking couplings. Amara felt Rhys's corded muscles loosen as he yielded himself fully to her questing intensity.

When at last they broke apart, Amara's blood thrummed with borrowed vitality. She shot Velkan a fierce smile before pulling away from a stunned Rhys and retaking her ready position. "Again, brother!"

Her renewed challenge jolted Velkan from gawping. Brows drawn together, he contemplated briefly, 'What aptitude has she solicited?' then gave a curt nod.

Clang! Clang!

Steel rang once more as they closed in. But this time Amara moved with lithe power, economical and swift. Her reactions flowed smoothly, sword an extension of will, forcing Velkan's instincts to their limit. No more stumbling inadequate blocks—her ripostes and feints came swiftly unerringly from her core. The duel became a whirlwind dance, balanced on a knife's edge.

Their rapt audience fell silent. Even Rhys forgot his outrage while watching Amara with new reckoning. Back and forth across the sandy earth, the siblings strove, neither yielding ground. But gradually Velkan's greater size and strength mattered less as he struggled to penetrate her steeled guard. Their sparring turned in earnest to battle.

Amara saw fatigue weigh Velkan's sword arm fractionally. Instantly she pivoted into a stop-thrust, the point of her weapon pricking his sweat-soaked jerkin just above the heart. They froze—Amara fierce and exultant, Velkan dismayed. Then his blade fell from his limp fingers.

"Your match, sister." Simple words, but the impact of the unexpected admission rippled outward like rings on water. Velkan stared as if seeing Amara clearly for the first time. The guards bowed respectfully to their princess earned. Even Rhys regarded her with new estimation.

Amara kept her head high, resisting the urge to lean wearily on her sword. Let them read strength in her bearing if nothing else. She faced Velkan squarely.

"The garrison awaits my orders." She spoke the truth plainly. "Unless you challenge my right of command?" Delicately she offered him the choice that was no choice: accept graciously or force public refusal. Velkan was too shrewd to attempt the latter now. He gave her a rueful half smile through his fatigue.

"They await OUR orders, sister." The emphasis acknowledged her fairly won honour.

"Well said." Amara clasped his shoulder, relief leaving her almost giddy. But duty left no time for celebration.