sword and was behind that poor thing. Garranon was far too stunned to defend himself and was weaponless besides. But I'm a woman and most men would have thought me even more defenseless than Garranon."
I pictured what she would have done if I had abandoned Garranon to protect her and laughed. "So, did you reduce the last man who tried to protect you to a pile of humility with your tongue? Or did you just run him through with your sword?"
She raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"
I shook my head. "Poor misguided fool."
"Ward, did you hear Kellen this morning at breakfast? He's really upset with Rosem for holding him back."
" 'A girl and an old man fought it off, and you think it was too dangerous for me, I believe is what he said, though fortunately he and Rosem ate rather later than most of the Council," I replied.
"I've never seen Kellen this angry," she said.
"Rosem was right," I said. "We can't afford to lose Kellen. He's not ready to go fight monsters. He doesn't have the stamina yet."
"I was hoping you could do something about him." She stepped closer to me as she talked, and I took another deep breath before I caught myself; lilac, that's what she smelled like. "It's not just the physical danger he put himself in - but the time in the Asylum has left him suspicious and wary. If he quits trusting Rosem, who can he trust? A king who trusts no man is weak."
I asked, "Why come to me? He's more likely to listen to my uncle - and Beckram was close to him once, too. Or Garranon."
"I haven't seen Garranon this morning - but I don't think talking will do. Someone is going to have to show him that he is not ready for a serious fight."
"You want me to attack my future king?" I asked incredulously. "In the hopes that proving Rosem was right will make Kellen trust Rosem's judgment?"
She flushed the same color she'd turned when I'd taken off my shirt last week when she'd joined us in Stala's daily training. It had been cold fighting without a shirt - but seeing Tisala's blush had been worth it. This time it wasn't discomposure but anger that heated her face.
"Beckram could beat him - I could beat him," she snapped, bringing my attention back to the matter at hand. "But that would only humiliate him. Being beaten by a man of your reputation and size humiliates no one - but it might humble him enough to listen to what you have to say."
Put like that it made more sense.
"I'll do what I can," I said.
What I could do was hunt down my aunt. Stala would know when and where Kellen practiced. If I found him, then it would be away from the people who might try and stop me - like my uncle.
I found Stala in her rooms in the newly constructed housing for the Blue Guard. The hide-covered windows made her rooms cooler in the early winter morning, but the fire in the stone fireplace was warm.
"What do you think you can do about him?" my aunt asked me without looking up from her needlework.
"Teach him the same kind of lesson you'd teach me," I said. "I'd let you do it, but his ego is flattened enough. Being beaten by someone a head taller and several stones heavier won't hurt him much - being beaten by a woman half his size who's old enough to be his mother might."
She grinned at me and set aside the skirt (Ciarra's) that she'd been mending. My aunt taught all of her men to sew - me included - saying you never knew when you'd need the skill on harness or skin. "He usually practices twice a day, morning and night, but not with the Guard. He's been using the training ring by the stables and fighting only with Rosem. He doesn't want an audience."
I didn't ask how she knew. "But he didn't fight this morning."
She shook her head.
"Thank you," I said, and impulsively took her hand in mine and kissed it as if we were at court.
She stood up, pulled my head down, and kissed my cheek. "For that I'll give you a word of advice you won't like. You have to beat him quickly and mercilessly. Make him understand that it would have been his death to fight that thing you faced last night. Then you pick apart his fighting style