And yet freeing. If Kip did this, he’d do it on his own. Not because of his father, but on his own merit.

So, it comes to this: an easy life as a student who doesn’t even need a sponsor, or a terrifically hard life as the worst of the scrubs, and a slim chance to actually make it into the Blackguard on my own and be something.

“Fuck ’em,” Kip said. “I’m staying.”

“Good,” Ironfist said. A fierce pleasure filled his eyes. He took a deep breath that expanded his giant chest and brought his massive shoulders proudly back. “Good. Now, five laps. Blackguards guard their tongues, too.” Suddenly he was back in command, sharp and stern and all professionalism.

“F-five?”

The commander said, “Don’t make me repeat myself. Adrasteia, you, too. Partner runs, you run.”

Chapter 28

The next day, the girls in Blackguard scrubs class were split off from the boys and brought into another training area. As in many of the training areas, one wall was covered in weapons, but here the weapons were bows of various sorts, from short horse bows to the great yew longbows from Crater Lake, to the composite bows of Blood Forest that packed as much power as those yew bows into a much smaller frame. Crossbows of a dozen sorts completed the armory. There were numerous targets in the area where the girls were walking. Several female Blackguards were at the front, standing with arms folded, waiting for the girls to approach. As Adrasteia followed the other nine girls, she studied the women. Though their body types ranged from the squat thick Samite to the willowy Cordelia, they all had something that Adrasteia wanted badly: they were confident, at ease in their bodies, with the world and their place in it. Somehow, that made even the plain look luminous.

Not sure what else to do, the girls lined up before their teachers.

Petite, curvy Essel spoke. “There is a legend about warrior women of old on Seers Island. They were peerless archers, but—” She picked a bow off the wall, drew a practice arrow from a quiver over her shoulder, and aimed between Adrasteia and Mina.

At first all Adrasteia felt was alarm. The target wasn’t very far away from her, and she had no idea what the Blackguards were trying to teach. It could well be How to Take an Arrow and Keep Fighting.

“Anyone see a problem?” Essel asked.

Aside from you pointing an arrow at me?

“Your breast’s in the way,” Mina said. Teia felt a surge of jealousy—first, that Mina wasn’t fazed by having an arrow nearly pointed in her face, too, and had been able to answer, and second, that Mina had probably thought of it because she had breasts, too. Unlike Teia, whom Kip had thought was a boy.

But Essel had obviously been chosen to give this talk exactly for her large bosom. She grinned and took tension off the bowstring. “Ah, you’ve trained with the bow?” she asked Mina.

Mina nodded, suddenly shy. “Yes, my lady. It was, um, fine until one day when I was thirteen and I near tore my…” She trailed off, blushing. “My father hadn’t thought to teach me to bind my chest. I think it made him feel more awkward than me.”

“Well, those warrior women of legend were called the Amazoi. Literally, the Breastless, so perhaps you can think of their solution to the problem,” Essel said.

Eyebrows shot up, though at least a couple of the girls seemed to already know the story.

“Of course, they only actually cut off their right breast—or their left if they were left-handed—and perhaps they didn’t make the flat women join them. But the Breastless makes a better name than the Women Who Cut Off One Breast, Sometimes, If Their Breasts Were Big Enough to Interfere with Archery.”

The girls giggled.

“The story isn’t true, of course,” Essel said. “It endures, probably, because men are fascinated with breasts, and men are fascinated with women who don’t have to take their shit, and because women are fascinated with women who don’t have to take men’s shit. I personally can’t imagine a woman dumb enough to cut off what she could bind with a strip of cloth.”

Again, more grins.

“Regardless, the bow is the symbol of the women of the Blackguard. That much is known to all, but what follows is not to be shared with any man—even if you fail out, even after you retire. Men think the bow is our symbol because a bow is used to kill from distance, because women aren’t as strong as men. Some say the bow is a coward’s weapon. Some say as Orholam made women better at drafting, so men are better at fighting. They say that because men are more muscular, in this, women should defer.”

Essel stopped, and Teia and all the others waited, expecting her to say something withering. Instead, Essel shook her head slowly. “They may be right. Generally. Thing is, I don’t care. To be a Blackguard is to be the exception to the rules. Put me in a room with fifty men off the street, and I’m the best fighter there. Put me in a room with fifty soldiers from any army in the world, and I’m the best fighter there. But if Commander Ironfist fell in battle, big as he is, most of the men in the Blackguard would still be able to carry him off the field. Alone. I couldn’t. Samite here, she could. I’ve seen her.”

So what’s the lesson? Teia wanted to ask. She could tell from the sidelong glances that the other girls were thinking the same thing.

“The bow is our symbol because the bow represents the sacrifices we have to make to be Blackguards—and the sacrifices we don’t have to make. You could cut off your breast if you wanted to be an archer. Or you can bind it. Your choice. Both have their drawbacks. It’s an annoyance that none but the fattest of men have to deal with. Fine. That’s how things are. I see it. I accept it. I deal with it. I don’t expect a man to consider the world as if he had breasts—though a good leader might. Mina, if your father could have seen past his own embarrassment, he would have been able to give you simple advice that would have spared you pain. He didn’t. That’s fine. We all have limitations, and we all see our own needs first.

“There are things about combat that are harder for women, and there are some few things that are easier. We’ll talk about those, and we’ll train you in what sacrifices you need to make and what you don’t. These sacrifices are not the fault of men, they are the fault of the bow. What it is to be a Blackguard, what it is to be an elite warrior, what it is to be a powerful woman, is all the same: it is to stare unflinching at what is, and then move what is toward what you will.”

Samite stepped forward. “Let’s be blunt and practical. The Blackguard will make the minimum possible accommodation for any warrior. You have horrible cramps during your moon blood? You can switch guard shifts without asking your commander. Men are not allowed to do that. But you will make up the shifts you miss, and your sisters will expect you to be more willing to switch with them when their turn comes. In the barracks, women have a separate room—though the door between the rooms usually stays open. We have separate baths and toilets. But in the field, if your commander says battlefield rules, you bathe and change and piss where the men do, and anyone who gives you trouble gets punished severely. We’re never allowed to have relations with other Blackguards, man or woman. You want to get married, one of you retires first. You’re caught sleeping together, both of you are bounced out, ostracized, and fined equal to what replacing you costs the Blackguard. You are to think of the men as your brothers—your little brothers. You take care of them, they take care of you, but they don’t get any say over your life. You spend your money and your time off how you want. You drink as much as you want. You bed who you want. Obviously, not all choices are equally wise, and sometimes the men get their roles as brothers confused and think they can tell you what to do in your off time. We will stand together with you and correct them. Mostly, they understand the rules and do their best.