43. Bark & Bite

Bark it's not like swords were any good if you didn't know how to wield them. I was under no delusions about my skill level. I was the novice my swordmistress named me.

It still felt better to have the sword than to be weaponless.

She took a seat next to me in silence.

We sat there for a while, my swordmistress staring out at the horizon and me staring into the middle distance. I kept expecting her to say something cutting, and she kept not saying anything. She didn't even seem to notice the expectant tension in the air. She simply sat there, silently, and breathed with the same steady pace of someone meditating.

"Why are you here?" I asked when I couldn't bear the silence any longer. "This isn't what you're paid for."

She didn' t bat an eyelash. "I was paid to assess you, and chose to remain. I would not have done that for someone I deemed unworthy. You are my student," she said with calm finality. "You have a lesson to learn, and so I am here."

Sharp outrage shrilled under my skin in immediate defensiveness. "I don't need a lecture about this from you ," I snapped, all but sneering the words. "Your job is to teach me about swords. This has nothing to do with you."

My swordmistress turned her head and regarded me as if I was a speck of dust. "Do not presume to tell me what is and is not swordsmanship, novice."

"Don't call me that. I'm your Queen ," I said. The anger was all I had left; the only thing keeping me from sobbing like a broken child. I clung to it like a blanket. If I bent, even for one second, I would shatter.

"No, you are not," she said. Her eyes swept across me with dismissal. "I am not a citizen of any Court. I am a paladin of the sword." She turned her face back towards the horizon, her face set in flat calm. "If you cannot master your emotions, you will never master the sword. If you cannot see the field of battle with clear eyes, you will be struck down like wheat at the harvest."

I jerked back, the level words hitting me harder than any emotional outburst. "Do you even have feelings?" I asked viciously. I needed… needed something. Anything. If that was hatred, so be it. "I don't need relationship advice from some… some monk ."

A slow blink, dark lashes sweeping across dark eyes. "I feel many things, novice," she said without any reaction. "You deserve to see none of them."

She was like a wall. I could batter myself senseless against her, and she wouldn't change at all. I sat there, shaking, my hands clutching the scabbard so tightly my knuckles went white, and it didn't affect her one bit.

Not like Cass. Not like my soulmate, who'd always had his heart bared for me.

"Can we start over?" I'd asked him, wanting him to like me and knowing I was driving him away, biting at him because it was so much safer to bite first. "Can we start out at neutral instead of in opposition?"

He'd said yes… and now here we were again.

It was my fault as much as his.

My shoulders slumped, my armor cracking into a thousand pieces. "I know," I said softly. "I don't deserve anything Faery gave me, either. The power, the Court, the crown… it's all his. I just… I wanted to do a good job. To match up." I swallowed, hard, my throat going tight. "I didn't."

"Hm." My swordmistress leaned her weight back on her hands in a relaxed pose. "I am not a monk. I have never taken religious vows. I did train in a monastery, though," she said in her monotone voice. "Faery monasteries are generally remote, accessible only by foot on rugged trails. Such places are rife with monsters. Do you know how they protect themselves? "

I blinked, startled to be asked a question. "I could hazard a guess?"

"Don't."

I narrowly bit off a laugh, which got no reaction whatsoever from my swordmistress.

After a moment, she said, "It is common for such places to keep mastiffs as guardians. Have you seen a faery mastiff, novice?"

"No." I sprawled back against the throne, watching the sky. "Are they like mortal mastiffs? Big scary dogs?"

"They are something like that," she allowed. "Ours are greater in size, I think, and they have a stronger bite. But they are alike in that they are large, and strong, and fervent in defense of that which they love." She wet her lips. "A mastiff is a great-hearted beast, and fearsome in battle, but like any creature, he cannot do everything. He is not agile, nor is he enduring; he is built for forceful speed. His eyes and ears are small, so that they cannot be torn by enemies, and so his senses are not keen. For all his affection and love, he is a brute."

I looked away. I knew she was talking about Cass. "He hates being called that," I whispered.

"Perhaps what he hates is that those he wishes to love see first his strength, and fear him. Nevertheless." My swordmistress exhaled, her breath steaming in the cold. "A mastiff alone cannot defend a monastery. He is given a sentry."

I glanced back at her, frowning. "A sentry?"

She inclined her head. "A sentinel dog is small and curious. She is quick on her feet, agile; her eyes are sharp. She knows every inch of her ground, and the voice and scent and step of all of her people." My swordmistress shook her head. "A mastiff sleeps by the gate. His sentinel patrols tirelessly, and when she finds something out of place, she cries out for her partner to come defend their home. Ruf! Ruf! " she barked, startling me. "Such a small creature with such a bold voice. One might think her helpless, but even the monsters fear her, for they know what it is she summons."

"I'm not— I'm not some yapping dog," I said. My throat ached. Was that all I'd ever be to people? Small, helpless, and charmingly loud?

She snorted with derision. It was the most emotion I'd ever seen her show. "If you think that's what I'm saying, then you have not been listening." She pinned me with her flat gaze. "A sentry and a mastiff are a team. They have different strengths and weaknesses, and they both understand them and are willing to rely on each other," she said. "Tell me, novice. What are your strengths? What can you do that he cannot?"

"I…" I scraped my teeth over my upper lip. Even though I hated admitting it, I was the one who liked to bark. "I'm loud. I like people to look at me. He hates the attention, but I really like having all eyes on me."

"Good," my swordmistress said. "What else? "

I took a deep breath, feeling some of the strain in my ribs releasing. "I'm adaptable. Whatever circumstances I'm in, I can find a way to come out on top." I took another breath, inhaling through my nose, focusing on the feel of my lungs like I was meditating. "I guess it's because I don't have a lot of attachment to how I get to the top. I want to be there, and I make it happen. I guess I'm ambitious, and ruthless about it. Is that even a good thing?" I asked with a self-deprecating laugh.

"A swordswoman who hesitates on the battlefield is a dead woman," she said coolly. "What else?"

"I'm approachable," I said, warming to the task. "People aren't scared of me the way they're scared of him. I'm small and pretty, and people will talk to me." I breathed another laugh, tipping my head back to look at the stars. "I'm voracious. It doesn't matter what it is, I want to learn about it. Everything is my favorite topic."

"Good," she said again. "What about him? What does he have that you do not?"

"Healing," I said.

"Yes." My swordmistress didn't look away from me, her eyes boring into mine with single-minded focus. I could almost hear her flat voice: what else?

"He's strong," I said reluctantly, not liking having to focus on the good things he brought to the table. I wanted to be mad at him – to disdain him – but that one word was like a crack in the dam. My heart broke, and everything poured out. "Nobody in their right mind will challenge him when he steps in. He's so fucking powerful . If he walks into a room, it's his room now, no questions asked. But he's—he's so stupidly nice about it."

She sat there in silence, watching me.

Tears stung my eyes, my harsh breath halfway between a laugh and a sob. "He just likes people. He's so sure people are worthwhile, and he's so fucking earnest about it that they prove him right. I don't get it. I don't know why everyone can't just see that." I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "He could tear the world apart, but he never will. But people don't see it. He makes himself so small for them, and they're still scared of him. They always will be."

"If you gave a dragon chick to a nursing cat, she might raise him." She turned her eyes back out to the horizon. "He would surely grow up wanting nothing more than to be a cat, but he would never fit in. Other cats would see him and hiss. His jaws would be too large, and his sharp, sharp claws would never retract. There would always be flame behind his teeth, and the cats would know, and fear him for it." My swordmistress wet her lips with deliberate care. "If the keeper of the dragon-mews gave you such a beast, how would you treat him, novice?"

The tears in my eyes grew sharper. I blinked hard, trying not to cry in front of this self-possessed woman. "I'd get him a kitten," I said, choking back a sob. "I'd— I'd give him a friend." A single hot tear tracked down my face.

"Do you think," she said in her level voice, "that perhaps Faery has done exactly that?"

"He calls me 'lioness,'" I whispered hoarsely. Another tear fell, and another.

"Just so, novice." My swordmistress got to her feet with easy power. "Even the smallest kitten may grow to have a fearsome bite. Remember that you are mortal, and he is faery," she said, nudging the scabbard of my sword with her toe, "but remember, too, that you have claws."