The Queen's Rising by Rebecca Ross

Author:Rebecca Ross
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-01-09T05:00:00+00:00

SEVENTEEN

A SWORD LESSON

How did one greet a Maevan queen?

I didn’t know, and so I fell back to my Valenian upbringing and curtsied, my heart pounding wildly.

“I have heard so many wonderful things about you, Amadine,” Yseult said, her hands reaching for mine as I straightened.

Our fingers linked, both pale and cold, a passion and a queen. For one moment, I imagined she was a sister, for here we stood among a room of men, daughters of Maevana who had been raised in Valenia.

I vowed in that moment that I would do everything I could to see her reclaim the throne.

“Lady Queen,” I said with a smile, knowing the Maevans didn’t bother with “highness” and “majesty.” “I . . . I am honored to meet you.”

“Please call me Yseult,” she insisted, squeezing my fingers just before she let go. “And sit beside me at dinner?”

I nodded and followed to a chair beside hers. The men filled the spaces around us, and the ale was poured and the dinner platters set along the spine of the table. Again, I was surprised by the sentiments of a Maevan dinner—there were no courses set down and taken away before us in orderly fashion. Rather, the platters were passed about, and we filled our plates all at once to overflowing. It was a casual, intimate, natural way to partake in a dinner.

As I ate, listening to the men speak, I marveled at how well they had forced their accents into hiding, how Valenian they truly seemed. Until I saw little glimpses of their heritage—I heard a slight brogue emerge in Jourdain’s voice; I saw Laurent draw forth a dagger from his doublet to cut his meat, instead of using the table knife.

But for all the Maevan air that had settled about the table, one thing I could not help but notice: Yseult and Luc still maintained the strict posture, the correct handling of their forks and knives. For, yes, they had been born in Maevana, but they had both been very young when their fathers fled with them. Valenia, with her passion and her grace and etiquette, was the only way of life they knew.

No sooner had I thought such did I glance down to see a dagger belted to Yseult’s side, nearly hidden in the deep pleats of her simple dress. She felt my stare and glanced at me, a smile hovering just over the edge of her goblet as she prepared to take a sip of ale.

“Do you fancy blades, Amadine?”

“Never held one,” I confessed. “You?”

The men were too absorbed in their conversation to hear us. All the same, Yseult lowered her voice as she responded, “Yes, of course. My father insisted I learn the art of swordsmanship from an early age.”

I hesitated, unsure if I had the right to ask such of her. Yseult seemed to read my thoughts though, for she offered, “Would you like to learn? I could give you a few lessons.”

“I would love to,” I answered, feeling Luc’s gaze shift over to us, as if he knew we were making plans without him.

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