his friends followed Edmund into the armory, which was a converted ballroom and absolutely cavernous.

Sure enough, the fencing master was engaged in a bout with a student, the two of them blurs of white jacket padding and silver masks across the piste.

Henry, who knew nothing about fencing, turned to Adam for an explanation.

“They’re fencing foil,” Adam said knowingly. “You can tell from the strike zone and the swords. Only the torso is fair game for a touch.”

“I bet he’s a third year,” Henry overheard bespectacled Luther whisper to one of his friends.

“Well, he’s rather small for a third year,” Adam said, and then let out a low whistle. “Brilliant footwork, though.”

So swiftly that Henry barely knew what he was watching, the student took a huge lunge and scored a touch on the fencing master.

“Touché!” The fencing master called and removed his mask for a handshake.

The first years leaned forward eagerly to see who the student was.

The student reached up and unfastened his mask.

But it wasn’t a he.

It was Frankie, her hair tangled and her face red and sweating in a rather unladylike manner. She grinned as she stowed the mask under her arm and shook hands with the fencing master.

The crowd of first years began to whisper:

“A girl!”

“The headmaster’s daughter, I heard.”

“Still, a girl!”

“She wasn’t that good, actually. My mistake.”

“I could have done the same my first time with a sword.”

Henry could hardly believe how ready the other students were to write off Frankie’s skill once they realized she was a girl. One moment they had been watching in awe, and the next moment she was utterly unremarkable.

“I still think she was brilliant,” Henry muttered, nettled.

“Well, Theobold doesn’t,” Rohan said with a small smile.

The fencing master finished talking with Frankie and turned to the boys.

“Being early will earn you no points with me,” he said, and then paused. “Get it? Points? As in, fencing?”

A few boys smiled politely.

“Right,” the fencing master said. “Anyone here left-handed?”

With a sinking feeling, Henry raised his hand.

“I’ll have to fetch a left-hander foil and glove from the storeroom, then,” the fencing master said, half muttering to himself as he disappeared through a doorway.

Frankie stood there calmly removing her glove, regarding the crowd of boys as though she knew a particularly hilarious joke that she had no intention of sharing.

“Girls should stick to sewing and piano, in my opinion,” Theobold said loudly.

“Yes,” Valmont agreed with a sneer in Frankie’s direction. “I rather support the Nordlands’ banning women from schools. An educated woman is the same as a ruined woman, in my opinion.”

“That’s enough,” Henry said sharply, whirling to face Valmont.

Everyone quieted.

“Look at that, you’ve gone and upset the servant,” Theobold said. “How sweet, he’s going to defend her honor. Have at it, then, Grim, we haven’t got all day.”

“I can defend my own honor, thanks,” Frankie said with a derisive snort.

Before Valmont could react, Frankie had crossed the piste, slapped him across the face with her glove, and told him exactly what she’d embroidered on her pincushion.

The boys gasped.

Valmont stood there, rubbing his cheek.

“Why aren’t you hitting back?” Frankie asked, casually twirling the glove around a finger. “Or are you afraid to hit a lady?”

Valmont’s fists clenched.

“Code … of … Chivalry,” he managed to growl.

“Pity,” Frankie said. “I was so hoping to discover that you hit like a girl.”

Things might have gotten very sticky indeed if the fencing master hadn’t chosen that moment to walk back into the room, his arms full of fencing gear.

“Francesca, is there a reason you’re still here?” he asked.

“None at all, maestro,” she said with a curtsy that, judging from the look of surprise on the fencing master’s face, was purely for show. “Thank you for the lesson.”

With a wink in Henry’s direction, Frankie held her chin high and strutted from the room.

“Well, line up,” the fencing master commanded. “Two rows, face the mirrors. We’ll start with a review of footwork and then split the beginners from the intermediates.”

Henry, who had never fenced before, fumbled with the advance-retreat for a bit, but managed to get it right after watching what the others did. Valmont, to Henry’s dismay, could do the exercise with his eyes shut—and, not surprisingly, so could Adam. Rohan was excellent as well.

Theobold, however, was another story.

“Archer, you’re too heavy-footed,” the fencing master said, coming around to Theobold’s side and demonstrating. “You must step like a feather, on the balls of your feet.”

Theobold sneered and went again, making no adjustment.

“Think of feathers, boy! Feathers!” the fencing master shrilled, as